THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 An Unconventional Novel. 
 
 IN FETTERS: 
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 
 
 BY 
 THOMAS KIRWAN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 DE WOLFE, FISKE & CO., PUBLISHERS. 
 1893.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY THOMAS KTRWAN. 
 (All Rights Reserved.)
 
 PS 
 
 INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 I have called my novel an unconventional one, for the 
 reason that it will probably not interest the ordinary 
 novel reader the devourer of those works of fiction 
 which rise but little above the level of mere family or 
 village gossip, but which in some cases may contain cer 
 tain good ideas mostly un virile ones, however 
 though, as a matter of fact, they generally pander to the 
 abnormal longings or sensuous appetites of the class of 
 readers for which they are written. 
 
 This work is not for such frivolous minds, but for 
 thoughtful people, who are accustomed to regard life 
 more as a drama than as a comedy or a farce. It calls 
 for the exercise of the thinking faculty, and will be of 
 interest to earnest people, who have, often paused in the 
 whirl and turmoil, in the disappointment and the worry, 
 of life, and have soberly asked themselves such questions 
 as these: 
 
 What is the world in which we live, and what is its 
 relation to the universe ? 
 
 What is life, and especially human life ? 
 
 What are we here for? 
 
 What is our mission? have we any? and what is 
 our destiny? 
 
 894419
 
 iv INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 This work does not profess to answer these questions 
 from any supernal source of information or inspirational 
 standpoint. It simply aims to express the common 
 thought of the intelligent people of this age, who dare to 
 think for themselves, in protest against the old beliefs 
 and forms of religion which claim special divinity of 
 origin and authority, and to help such free thinkers in 
 the consideration of the problems of life. In doing this 
 it will illustrate in a manner the travail of inquiry, of 
 discussion, and of earnest, honest, and intelligent thought 
 in the direction whence these questions tend. 
 
 In this book, though one creed is chosen as an illustra 
 tion of the power of the Christian church over men's 
 lives and conduct, the purpose is to treat all existing 
 creeds and beliefs as survivals of primitive ignorance 
 and its consequent development of that imaginative 
 faculty which has entered so largely and perhaps 
 legitimately into the psychological constitution of 
 humanity. 
 
 It will be observed that most of my characters are 
 honorable and high-minded people, as the world goes; 
 with peculiar views of life, if they have any; some 
 personal oddities, perhaps, but mostly acting according 
 to the best light and intelligence which they have 
 meaning to do right, in their way. 
 
 I have a constitutional aversion to the common villain 
 of the ordinary novel or drama. In my opinion, if good 
 ness and uprightness of character cannot be made 
 striking except by contrast with criminal depravity 
 that is, if it cannot shine by its own light it amounts 
 to but little. I have never found the conventional villain 
 in real life, though undoubtedly there are vain and even
 
 INTRODUCTORY. V 
 
 wicked men to be found on occasion ; but, outside the 
 criminal classes, there are no such men as we see painted 
 in novels and exaggerated on the stage, and, in my 
 opinion, the sooner we rid our literature of them the 
 better. I confess to a dislike to such people, or rather 
 caricatures of people ; have never studied their peculiari 
 ties, and would consider it in as bad taste to introduce 
 them to my readers as I would to present a man whom 
 I knew to be a professional thief to a friend. 
 
 My characters are intended to be natural, and to act 
 like the common run of people, who are experimental in 
 thought if not in act ; who are, in fact, seeking, like most 
 people, to make the best of life. 
 
 In regard to the discussion of religious matters so 
 called I aim to present the thoughts of people who 
 reason about them in perhaps a somewhat crude, but at 
 the same time logical, way. Without knowing anything 
 about the rules of inductive philosophy, they yet like 
 the person who can write good and even elegant English 
 without knowing the rules of grammar reason from 
 analogical bases to sensible deductions. 
 
 It is a common error for people in opposition to regard 
 one another with suspicion, as being insincere, dishonest, 
 and vicious. This I conceive to be not the right method. 
 The man who honestly doubts the divinity of Christ or 
 the inspiration of the Scriptures may be, and usually is, 
 quite as honest, sincere, and virtuous as the man who 
 believes firmly in both. The fact is, we are what we are 
 by reason of the conditions which environ our lives. 
 These may impel us to be saints or sinners, according to 
 what they are and the material which we furnish them 
 with.
 
 VI INTRODUCTORY. 
 
 The growing tendency of the present age, so far as I 
 can judge, is to regard religion as the best expression of 
 the highest social development, rather than as being 
 derived from some source or influence outside of and 
 apart from humanity. Whatever 'authority' there may 
 be in the churches of the present day, or of any and all 
 ages, may be regarded as a thing having its origin in 
 humanity itself, and, therefore, that all church regulation 
 should be based on the authority whence it emanates 
 that of the people constituting the churches. This is 
 democratic doctrine in politics why not in religion ? 
 
 THOMAS KIEWAN. 
 Boston, Mass., June, 1893.
 
 IN FETTERS: 
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCING SOME OF THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS THE 
 
 YOUTH, THE MAIDEN, THE UNRELENTING FATHER. 
 
 The scene of this opening chapter is laid in a maritime 
 town in one of the eastern provinces of the Dominion of 
 Canada, but at the time this narrative begins viz., 1849 
 a separate province. We shall call the town Chebucto. 
 This place was and is an agricultural centre, and being 
 situated on a strait in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with a 
 fairly good harbor, enjoyed a moderate share of com 
 merce. Among its earlier industries was that of shipbuild 
 ing, which at one time had been carried on to a consid 
 erable extent, but at the time in question only two men 
 were engaged in it, their building yards adjoining on the 
 water front. These men kept extensive supply stores, 
 and were, in many respects, rivals in business. 
 
 Their names were James Warden and Richard Gaston. 
 They were both quite wealthy for that section of country, 
 and were doing a large and profitable business, not only 
 in shipbuilding but in merchandise. They each owned
 
 8 IN FETTERS: 
 
 several ships, which in the fall they loaded with oats, and 
 sent to England, the ships on return bringing merchandise, 
 machinery, etc. When not engaged in this business of 
 exchange, these vessels traded to any place where they 
 could obtain charter, or carried loads of deals to England. 
 
 James Warden, as the name would indicate, was an 
 Englishman, and in religion a Roman Catholic. Richard 
 Gaston was of French descent, and also a Roman Catholic. 
 
 The latter had taken for wife an Irish woman, whose 
 principal attributes were piety, affection, and goodness of 
 heart. She had little education, but any one knowing 
 her would forget this lack in the real respect she inspired 
 by her sincerity, sweetness of disposition, and genuine 
 good nature. 
 
 Curiouslv enough James Warden had for wife a wo- 
 
 v O 
 
 man of French descent, her maiden name Marie Laroche, 
 who was a fine speciman of her race. She had been edu 
 cated in a convent, and was intelligent, vivacious, and, 
 what is rare in these modern days, an obedient and duti 
 ful wife. Indeed her husband's wish or will was a thing 
 she never dreamed of disputing. This couple had an only 
 child, a daughter named Agnes, who at the time this story 
 opens was eighteen years of age. She was tall, straight 
 as an arrow, with a well-developed form, and the face of 
 an Evangeline beautiful, but with a pensive expression 
 in it. Richard Gaston had two sons, Thomas and Richard. 
 The former, at the time our tale begins, was twenty-four 
 years of age, and had then been some two years in 'the 
 States,' at Boston, in fact, pursuing his studies. 
 Richard, who was now twenty-two, decided to remain 
 at home though offered a college course preferring 
 a business career to a professional one.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 9 
 
 He was a tall, manly fellow, with a wealth of curly 
 chestnut hair, covering the head of an Apollo. He had 
 received a fairly good academy education, and was quick 
 and intelligent in business matters. He was earnest, 
 honest, sincere, and was withal blest with a bright, sunny 
 disposition that sought only cheerfulness. His mother, 
 Mrs. Gaston, had often importuned Richard to go to col 
 lege and study for the priesthood. ' We've had priests 
 in our family,' she said she was a Brady 'for ages, and 
 it would be the glory of my soul to see one of my sons in 
 that most holy order of Christ's disciples.' But the son 
 invariably shook his head and replied: ' Mother, I am not 
 cut out for the church. I am not good enough. My de 
 sires and my ambition are all too worldly. Try Tom.' 
 
 The fact was that Richard Gaston had in view a secu 
 lar life, in the business of which Agnes Warden was to 
 be the partner. He had known Agnes from her infancy 
 and had always loved her. 
 
 His father and her's had formerly been warm friends, 
 but that friendship had been broken for some years, and 
 while he had not formally forbidden the visits of Richard 
 Gaston to his house, Mr. Warden looked upon them with 
 growing disfavor. The former's visits to Agnes were of 
 almost daily occurrence, and these usually in the sum 
 mer season ended in an evening stroll along the street 
 leading by the water side out to a hill or cliff overlooking 
 the sea, where the lovers, seated on a boulder, would talk 
 of the future and lay plans, as lovers often do, plans never 
 to be realized. 
 
 It was a Saturday evening in August. The day was 
 unusually warm, but the evening brought in the cool and 
 refreshing sea breeze, which made existence once more
 
 10 IN FETTERS: 
 
 an enjoyment. Richard went, as usual in the evening to 
 see Agnes, and invite her out to enjoy the evening air. 
 She donned her bonnet and shawl, and the two lovers 
 walked slowly toward their trysting place. But Agnes, 
 during this walk, was unusually silent, or only answered 
 Richard's vivacious questions and talk in monosyllables 
 or with a sad smile on her face. 
 
 lie noticed this unusual preoccupation and was puzzled 
 to comprehend it, for though never demonstrative, Agnes 
 was usually frank and cheerful, and seemed to enjoy 
 every moment of the time spent in her lover's company. 
 But he made no remark about it until the trysting place 
 was reached, where, after seating themselves, he said : 
 
 'Agnes, you seem sad tonight. Has anything hap 
 pened to make you unhappy? Havel 
 Instead of replying, Agnes burst into tears. 
 ' Why what is it, dear girl ? Speak to me ? ' 
 With an effort she calmed herself, and said : 
 ' Richard Dick I am afraid that there is going to 
 be trouble for us. Mother tells me that father has threat 
 ened to forbid your coming to the house, and also to for 
 bid me to keep company with you any longer.' 
 
 ' What have I done to merit his displeasui-e, Agnes ? ' 
 'Nothing. It is simply on account of his unfriendli 
 ness to your father. I understand that they had some hot 
 words today this forenoon and at dinner time father 
 told mother that he would never have a Gaston in his 
 family, which means oh, you know what it means to 
 us, Dick ! ' 
 
 ' But shall I be treated as an enemy because my father 
 is so regarded by your's ? Are we to share our parents' 
 dislikes and prejudices? This woiild be as senseless as
 
 THE MA^ OR THE PRIEST? ll 
 
 it would be wicked. It is monstrous ! It would be like 
 going back to the savage usages of barbarous ages.' 
 
 1 My father is a very determined man, Dick, and when 
 he makes up his mind to do a thing he will do it. lie 
 may at any moment forbid me to see you again as a lover.' 
 
 ' And would you obey such a command ? ' 
 
 ' I would be bound to. He is my father, and has the 
 right to command my obedience.' 
 
 'Would you not leave your home for my love ? I can 
 offer you as good a home as the one you would leave.' 
 
 Her breast heaved with a fierce conflict of feeling. He 
 watched her closely, and with an anxious, beating heart 
 awaited her decision. She was like one tempest-tossed 
 in a sea of emotion, and could not speak. In the hope 
 to urge a favorable decision he said : 
 
 'Agnes, my love, do not for God's sake decide against 
 me ! Let me see your father, and try if I cannot soften 
 him. At least let us wait until he actually forbids you 
 to keep company with me.' 
 
 She heaved a sigh of relief and said, simply, ' I will,' 
 and the despondent and now'silent lovers took their way 
 homeward, and parted with a whispered 'good-bye.' 
 
 The following day Sunday the sun rose in a clear 
 sky, and all things in nature seemed to feel the inspira 
 tion of its glowing influence. As the time for attendance 
 at church drew near, Richard Gaston, as was his custom, 
 stationed himself at a point on the route of the Wardens 
 churchward they usually walked, as did the other vil 
 lagers. It was at this place, under the eye of her parents, 
 that it was his wont to meet her and walk with her after 
 them to the church, which was about a quarter of a mile 
 distant, on the highest elevation in the town.
 
 12 nv FETTERS: 
 
 He had not been at his post more than five minutes 
 when the Wardens came along. As they approached 
 him Richard raised his hat, and bade them a respectful 
 ' good morning.' To his astonishment his salutation was 
 not noticed by Mr. Warden or his wife, though the latter 
 looked pityingly at the young man, as if she longed to 
 say a kind word to him but dared not, while Agnes, 
 instead of falling to the rear to join him, kept her place 
 between her father and mother. But her eyes told him 
 plainly that her position and refusal to accompany him 
 were not of her own choice, and he fancied he could see 
 tears in them. 
 
 The blow had come sooner than he expected, and he 
 reeled under it as if it were a stunning physical infliction. 
 For a moment his head swam around, and he staggered 
 to the fence, where he supported himself, his head droop 
 ing on his arm. In this position Mrs. Warden, who had a 
 woman's curiosity to look back as they turned up the street 
 to the church, saw him, and her heart was smote with 
 pity for the young man, but she made no remark, and 
 went forward to church. 
 
 Richard Gaston had pride as well as feeling, and after 
 the first effects of the shock had passed away, this pride 
 took possession of him, and he said to himself: 'Why 
 should I be cast down by this unjust and undeserved 
 treatment from a man I have never wronged, and have 
 always treated with respect? I will show him that I am 
 not a lout to cry and act like a fool because he refuses 
 to let his daughter walk with me. I will show them all 
 that I am not cast down ! ' and straightening himself up 
 he started for the church by a short cut, and arrived there 
 before the Wardens, who kept on the street. He was not
 
 THE MAN OR THE PillEST? 13 
 
 aware that Mrs. Warden had seen Ids despairing attitude 
 beside the fence. 
 
 The Warden and Gaston families, being the wealthiest 
 people in the town, had the two front pews. Agnes, how 
 ever, who had a fine soprano voice, sang in the choir, and 
 Richard was also a member, singing a tenor part. This 
 day, however, instead of going up to the gallery where 
 the choir was located, he took a seat in his father's 
 pew, and there, much to their surprise especially 
 to that of Mrs. Warden the Wardens found him seated 
 when they reached their pew. 
 
 Services over, young Gaston was among the first to 
 leave the church. He went out into the bye streets, to 
 commune in solitude with his thoughts. He had a hard 
 struggle between love and pride. Love so far conquered 
 that he determined to ask his mother's advice, and, if 
 she would consent, have her in some way intercede for 
 him, though he could not see how she would be able to 
 afford him any assistance ; but a frantic lover, like a 
 drowning man, will grasp at straws. 
 
 He returned home, and after dinner, of which he ate 
 but little, he beckoned to his mother, and whispered 
 that he wanted to have a private talk with her. She took 
 him to her room, where he told her all that had taken 
 place, even to the repulse of that morning. 
 
 4 1 wondered,' she said, ' why you did not go up to the 
 choir today, and this accounts for it. Dick, my dear boy, 
 I pity you ; but I do not see how I can help you so long 
 as your father and Mr. Warden are bad friends. I think 
 we'd better call your father in and tell him all. He is 
 quick tempered, I know, and may have been outspoken 
 to Warden, who has been using very mean artifices to
 
 14 IN" FETTEKS: 
 
 take trade from our store. Your father loves you, my 
 son, and would I am sure make any sacrifice to secure 
 your happiness.' 
 
 Mr. Gaston was then called in, and made acquainted 
 with the condition of affairs. He was a sensible, honor 
 able man, but of high spirit and quick temper. He had 
 an affectionate nature, and loved his sons so strongly 
 that he was prepared to assist them in all proper ways ; 
 but if he loved one better than the other it was Richard. 
 
 When he heard it all, he paused for a while, in deep 
 thought. Then he said : 
 
 ' Dick, my boy, I regret that your affair with Agnes 
 has gone so far, though she is a grand good girl, worthy 
 to be wife of the best man in the province. I would be 
 glad to see her your wife, and both of you settled for life. 
 I would also like to be once again friendly with James 
 Warden, and would willingly let bygones be bygones, for 
 both your sakes ; but I know enough of human nature 
 as it is exemplified in that man to feel that this can never 
 be. When a man injures you, you may forgive him 
 but will he forgive you ? Warden will not forgive me 
 because he has injured me ; that is now the trouble.' 
 
 ' Father,' said Richard, 'I understand your 'point. If 
 he were a true Christian he'd forgive ; but as he's not the 
 injured party he will not. But he is doubly mean in 
 thus extending his enmity to me, to wreck my life.' 
 
 ' Dick,' said his mother, ' are you so set upon having 
 Agnes that you cannot give her up ? There are other 
 good girls in Chebucto that you might have for the ' 
 
 ' Mother,' he interrupted, ' if I cannot have Anges, I 
 will have no other woman I will never marry ! ' He 
 said this sadly, but in a tone of determination,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 15 
 
 ' Well, Dick, if you don't get her, and will not marry, 
 why can't you ' 
 
 ' Stop,' said the elder Gaston, who divined that she 
 was going to revive the idea of his becoming a priest. 
 ' It will be time enough to talk of that later on, for, as you 
 both know, I do not favor such a step. I have a good 
 business, which Dick understands thoroughly, and which 
 he can have when I'm called away. Tom has no head 
 for business, and if Dick should go away, he could not be 
 induced to leave Boston and come home to the unevent 
 ful life of this quiet village. On the other hand Dick is 
 just suited for this life, and could be happy here if he 
 would be contented. Well, we shall see what may be done. 
 What do you now propose to do in the matter?' he 
 asked, turning to Richard. 
 
 ' My impulse is to see Mr. Warden and ask him for 
 Agnes to -plead with him for her, if need be.' 
 
 ' I fear he will only insult you. But, as it will bring 
 matters to a focus, perhaps it. is the best thing you 
 can do. Let me advise you, however, not to lose your 
 temper, even if he should insult you. The man who 
 loses his temper is always at the mercy of his opponent. 
 Besides, his age, if nothing more, calls for your respect. 
 Talk plainly to him, but not offensively, and no matter 
 what he says to you, leave him with a respectful, unruffled 
 demeanor.' 
 
 'It may be a hard thing to do, if he is abusive and 
 especially if he should begin to abuse you, father but 
 I will treat him with respect, for Agnes' sake as well as 
 your sake and my own dignity,' said Richard, and thus 
 the conference ended.
 
 16 IN FETTERS: 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE INTERVIEW WITH MR. WARDEN. 'AGNES CAN NEVER 
 
 BE YOUR WIFE!' 'MOTHER, I AM READY!' 
 
 The morning succeeding the events narrated, Richard 
 Gaston entered the store of James Warden. The latter 
 saw him coming, and went into his private office. He 
 no doubt guessed the purpose of this visit, and wished it 
 to be private. 
 
 Ascertaining that the merchant was in his office, the 
 young man knocked, and in response to the 'come in' of 
 the occupant, entered. He was agitated, but once inside, 
 and noting the cold and even contemptuous look which 
 answered his respectful salutation, his native coolness of 
 manner came to his aid like an inspiration, and he stood 
 before Mr. Warden as self-possessed as if his errand were 
 one of ordinary every- day business. 
 
 'Mr. Warden,' he said, 'I come to have some private 
 talk with you about a matter which deeply concerns me 
 as well as one who is dear to you.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! And pray how do you know that it deeply 
 concerns the one you speak of?' asked the merchant, with 
 a sneer. 
 
 'Pardon me, sir,' said the young man, 'but I think I 
 have good reason for that statement. However, I have 
 not come to enter into any controversy. All I ask of 
 you is a patient and friendly hearing, which I think a 
 long acquaintance with me and a full knowledge of my 
 character and habits I have grown from a child under 
 your eye, sir warrant me in expecting from you.'
 
 THE MAX OR THE PRIEST? 17 
 
 The merchant made no reply, and Richard, accepting 
 this as an assent, in a manly and straightforward manner 
 told the tale of his love and courtship of Agnes, a court 
 ship which had been carried on with the knowledge and 
 tacit consent of both her parents as well as of his, and 
 pleaded eloquently that as they loved one another it 
 would be cruel to separate them. 
 
 Mr. Warden, who was an imperious man, did hear him 
 through, much to his own surprise ; but, when the young 
 man concluded, he said, in a harsh tone: 
 
 'After this fine talk, I suppose you want my decision ?' 
 
 'I do, sir.' 
 
 'You shall have it without equivocation: Agnes can 
 never be your wife ! ' 
 
 ' Sir Mr. Warden can you mean this?' 
 
 'I do mean it so make up your mind to accept it as a 
 final answer.' 
 
 'Have I ever said or done aught to offend you, sir?' 
 
 'You have not; but your father has, and one of his blood 
 shall never mingle with my race, if I can help it.' 
 
 The blood mounted to Richard's brow, arid then the 
 flush was succeeded by a deathlike paleness. But though 
 his emotions were almost overpowering, he mastered 
 them. Then, he said, looking full in Warden's eye : 
 
 'Sir, your unjust determination may wreck one if not 
 two lives God forgive you! 'and turning on his heel he 
 rapidly left the place. 
 
 As he passed up the street towards his father's place of 
 business he encountered Agnes, who was on the watch to 
 learn of the result of his mission. She saw by the expres 
 sion of his face that her father had rejected and perhaps 
 insulted him.
 
 18 IK FETTEKS: 
 
 'Dick Mr. Gaston I know by your face that my 
 father has refused you. O God! what shall I say or do? : 
 
 'lie not only told me that you can never be my wife 
 but insulted me through his enmity to my father.' 
 
 'I hope you said nothing in anger to him, in return,' 
 said Agnes. 
 
 ' I said nothing worse than that he had wrecked one if 
 not two lives by his decision, and that I hoped God 
 would forgive him for it.' 
 
 ' That was noble, Richard. Ah me ! what shall become 
 of me? We must part, Richard. While my father lives 
 he will never consent to our union. I know him well 
 enough for that. Try and forget me, Richard. There 
 are others 
 
 'None for me, Agnes,' was the passionate exclamation. 
 'If I cannot have you, I want no other woman for wife. 
 But, Agnes,' and here his voice assumed a pleading tone, 
 'can you not decide for yourself, as it most concerns you? 
 If we should get married your father would in time for 
 give you 
 
 'Never never! O,Dick, I know him too well to hope 
 for such a thing. He would curse me while living and 
 on his dying bed, and I could never be happy under such 
 conditions. It is out of the question.' 
 
 ' Then you would give up your love and hope of life at 
 the behest of an angry and unforgiving parent. Agnes, 
 think well what you are deciding.' 
 
 'I have thought it all over, Dick, and have spent two 
 sleepless and tearful nights thinking of it. My resolution 
 is taken: I cannot marry you against my father's wishes.' 
 
 'This is your final decision, then? Is there no hope of 
 your changing it?'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 19 
 
 'None, Dick, none,' she said, sadly. 'I have some of 
 my father's dogged nature in me, I suppose. At any rate 
 I will not marry without his consent, or during his life 
 time.' Her voice quivered with emotion, though she 
 managed to maintain an outwardly calm demeanor. 
 
 He took both her hands in his, and wringing them, said : 
 'Agnes, you're an angel! God bless you, and God help us 
 both to bear the burden of life, made heavy to us by no 
 fault of our's ! ' He turned away from her, and, instead 
 of going to his father's store, started in the direction of 
 his home. 
 
 His mother saw his approach, and stood in the door 
 way to "meet him. She read his disappointment in his 
 face, and led him into the sitting room. 
 
 'My poor boy ! ' she said, ' I see that you have met with 
 a refusal, and I have no doubt it was a cruel one.' 
 
 'It was cold and cruel, mother,' he sobbed, his head on 
 her breast. 
 
 ' Well, it may not be so bad, after all. Agnes may 
 brave his wrath, and 
 
 'No hope for that, mother. I saw her after the inter 
 view, and urged her to take that step, but she positively 
 refused. She said she would never marry without her 
 father's consent, and she knew he would never consent to 
 our union while he lived. Her decision is irrevocable. ' 
 
 Richard, after the paroxysm of his emotion had spent 
 itself, arose and paced the floor for a minute or two. 
 Then he approached his mother and said: 
 
 ' Mother, I am ready ! ' 
 
 She divined his meaning, but instead of feeling rejoiced 
 at his decision, a pang shot through her heart, and she 
 could not find words to reply.
 
 20 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'I will go to college, mother, and become a priest!' 
 
 'O, Richard!' was all she could say, and then, as if 
 realizing that perhaps it was the best thing he could do 
 under the circumstance, rose and embraced him, saying, 
 fervently : 
 
 ' God bless you, my son. The -holy profession of the 
 priesthood will not only enable you to aid and comfort 
 those who are unhappy like yourself, but will bring you 
 happiness in time by making you forget your own troubles. 
 The church will open to you a new world of thought and 
 effort, give you a noble work to do in this life, and a happy 
 reward in the next.' 
 
 When Mr. Gaston learned of his son's determination 
 he was far from pleased. 'Dick,' he said, 'you are more 
 fitted for business than for the priesthood. You have 
 a business head, but not a priestly one. What I mean is, 
 you can be more benefit to the world as a merchant or a 
 manufacturer than as a priest. You have brains a priest 
 needs none, or next to none. You have a capacity for 
 social enjoyment, while a priest looks mostly to the 
 enjoyment of eating and drinking. You are too acute a 
 reasoner, I think, to believe what you do not understand, 
 and too conscientious to teach what you do not believe. I 
 don't say that priests do this, as a rule, but my impression 
 is that many of them do. A priest, unless he be a really 
 able and honest man, would better be" a nonentity a 
 mere dealer in the ritual matters pertaining to religion ; 
 one who will obey his superiors without question, and get 
 along as smoothly as he can.' 
 
 ' You do not seem to have a high opinion of church 
 men, father, and you may be right from your standpoint. 
 But circumstances have impelled me to make this choice,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 21 
 
 and perhaps it is as good as any other. You will admit 
 that, after what has just occurred, I cannot remain here. 
 I might go to Boston, where Tom is, and become like him, 
 a free thinker. How would you like that, father'?' 
 
 'I would rather see you a free thinker and an honest 
 man than a cardinal and a hypocrite, Dick ; though I have 
 faith in you to believe that you will never profess one thing 
 while you believe in another. Your brother Tom, I am 
 sorry to say, has left the faith of his fathers, but he is 
 honest and truthful, and these are qualities which I believe 
 to be essential to true manhood. However, as you say, 
 you cannot remain here, for a time at least, after what has 
 occurred. If your wooing had resulted differently, I inten 
 ded taking you into partnership. A year's absence at col 
 lege may bring a change in your feeling, and perhaps you 
 would better take a course. Where do you desire to go 
 to what college?' 
 
 'As I have made up my mind to study for the priest 
 hood, I would like to go to the Jesuit college atMontreal.' 
 
 'Very well. Be it as you wish; only promise me this: 
 that you will not seek for ordination until you are perfectly 
 sure you shall like the new profession.' 
 
 'I will promise that,' was the response, and thus the 
 interview ended. 
 
 Preparations for the departure of Richard Gaston for 
 college were soon completed, and as it was but a short 
 time until the opening of the fall term, he tried to forget 
 his present troubles in assisting his father in putting the 
 account books of the business into good shape. 
 
 Richard had been a steady young man, and saving of 
 the salary allowed him by his father, so he had money 
 enough of his own to bear his college expenses, and even
 
 22 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 more. Then he had been given a small interest in two 
 of the ships recently built by his father, and as these had 
 been sold in the English market at good prices, there 
 was an amount of some six hundred and fifty pounds 
 sterling which he would get when the money was 
 received from the old country. 
 
 The sudden determination of Richard Gaston to give 
 up the succession to his father's business and become a 
 priest, together with the cause of this change, were not 
 long in finding their way to the gossips of the town, and 
 of course set their tongues wagging. But of this he 
 knew little or nothing, and cared less. 
 
 During the time intervening between the formation of 
 his resolution and his departure for college, Richard saw 
 nothing of the Wardens; but he met the young people of 
 the other families of the village, and on the eve of his 
 departure most of them, together with their parents, 
 called upon him to wish him God-speed; for, though 
 more sedate than the general run of young men, there 
 was nothing 'stuck up' about him, and he was popular 
 with both old and young. 
 
 The day of departure came. The stage coach stopped 
 at the door of the Gaston house to take him away, and 
 while the driver was putting on the trunks, Richard was 
 in the sitting room with his father and mother saying 
 parting .words and receiving advice and encouragement. 
 When the announcement came that all was ready for 
 the start, his mother put her arms about him, and after 
 embracing and kissing him affectionately, said: 
 
 'God in his goodness bless you my dear son and make 
 you an ornament to the church and a pride to your 
 parents ! '
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 23 
 
 His father kissed him affectionately and said : 
 'Write often, Dick, and let me know not only how 
 you are progressing, but how you are feeling in the new 
 path which you have chosen. Good bye, and God bless 
 you!' 
 
 Richard wrung the hands of his parents, and with an 
 affectionate adieu, mingled with tears, he rushed out of 
 the home of his childhood and mounted the stage coach, 
 which started off at a lively pace. He saw an unusual 
 number of his young friends on the street, all of whom 
 shouted or waved him an adieu, and when he looked 
 back to the old home, he there saw his father and mother 
 at the door, watching him out of sight, the latter waving 
 him adieu with her handkerchief. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PEDAGOGUE CLUNEY AND TOM GASTON. TOM'S VIEWS 
 
 ON RELIGION, AND GROWING SCEPTICISM. 
 
 John Cluney was a bachelor, a gentleman and a 
 scholar. He was about forty years of age at the time our 
 story begins. He was nephew of Father Tom McMahon 
 parish priest of Chebucto, and second master of the Che- 
 bucto Academy now a college and taught mathe 
 matics, philosophy, Latin and Greek, and other advanced 
 studies of a high or normal school. 
 
 Master Cluney would be counted a fair-looking man, 
 even though he had red hair and plain features, if his 
 eyes were not set obliquely in his head. Both were
 
 24 IN FETTERS: 
 
 askew, and inclined inward, so that when he looked at 
 any object, he had to focus them on it. In reading, he 
 held the book so that the lines were nearly perpendicular. 
 This peculiarity of vision was quite noticeable on first 
 acquaintance, and indeed was difficult to overcome on 
 closer acquaintance. 
 
 But if John Cluney was not prepossessing in appear 
 ance, he was a man to be esteemed and respected on 
 acquaintance. He was a fine scholar, and a man of brains 
 and culture far above his surroundings. He loved books 
 and was a great reader an omnivorous one, indeed, for 
 nothing in the way of literature came amiss to him. 
 
 He was of Irish birth and education, like his uncle, the 
 priest, and his speech had a certain virility of articulation 
 which might be called rough, but you would soon forget 
 this and even see in it a fitness for expressing the sturdy 
 masculine thoughts of the speaker. He was an earnest 
 man, and rarely indulged in trifling talk, though, on 
 occasion, he would perpetrate a pun, and chuckle over it. 
 
 Perhaps it was for this reason, added to his peculiar 
 appearance that he did not shine in female society. Per 
 haps, also, his great love of books and of study made him 
 prefer such companionship to the company of the young 
 ladies of the town, few of whom were highly educated 
 and fewer still possessed any literary taste. 
 
 As a pedagogue, John Cluney was a success. He was 
 a strict disciplinarian in school a hard master to boys 
 who tried to shirk their tasks or were dull. He called 
 them 'dolts.' To the boys who took an interest in their 
 work he was kind, sympathetic and helpful. 
 
 With such qualities it was no wonder that, notwith 
 standing his peculiarities, he commanded the respect and
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 25 
 
 even love of his pupils ; for even the ' dolts ' could see 
 that his severity was exercised for their benefit. 
 
 One of Master Cluney's favorite pupils was Thomas 
 Gaston Tom, he called him. Tom's ambition, like that 
 of many another smart young provincial, had led him, a 
 year and a half before the opening of our story, to go to 
 Boston, that Mecca of all downeasters, to study for the 
 profession of medicine. After a preparatory course, he 
 entered the medical department of Harvard College, 
 which was then, and for some years later, located on 
 Grove street, and among whose . preceptors was Prof. 
 John W. Webster, whose murder of Dr. George Parkman 
 on Nov. 23, 1849, caused such a profound sensation 
 throughout New England, and for which the professor 
 was hanged on the 20th of August following. 
 
 While pursuing his medical studies in Boston, Tom 
 Gaston maintained a regular and not infrequent corre 
 spondence with his old preceptor, who in turn was 
 prompt in reply and quite generous in the amount of his 
 matter. Tom Gaston was frankness itself in his commu 
 nications to his friend. 
 
 His letters were a faithful chart of the development of 
 his mind, especially on matters pertaining to religion. 
 
 Like most young men who are 'born into' a mode of 
 religious belief, he was restless at the restraint enjoined 
 against free inquiry about matters of belief and of relig 
 ious doctrine. The reason given as to why he should 
 not question the absolute right of the Catholic church to 
 decide on all matters of faith that he should not set 
 up his own judgement against the decisions or dicta of 
 the church was not satisfying to him. 
 
 Then he could not admit the sense or justice of the
 
 26 IN FETTERS: 
 
 condemnation of other Christian sects by the church, 
 nor could he understand why a young man in all other 
 respects like himself should be condemned because he did 
 not believe in the Catholic church and the infallibility of 
 the Pope, its supreme head, especially when that young 
 man had been born of Protestant parentage, and was 
 brought up a Protestant. 
 
 If Protestants and other sects were wrong, why did 
 not the Omnipotent God change their hearts and turn 
 them toward the truth as taught by the Catholic church? 
 Again, why did God permit the predominance in num 
 bers of pagans and Mohammedans among the peoples of 
 the earth ? If Christianity was the only saving religion, 
 why was not the whole world inclined to Christianity? 
 And if God was the merciful and considerate father 
 which he was painted, and if the Catholic church was the 
 only true Christian church, why was not the whole world 
 Christian and all Christians Catholics ? 
 
 These thoughts, which had haunted Tom Gaston during 
 his school days in his native town, occurred to him with 
 redoubled force and energy when he came to Boston, 
 and found a dominant Protestantism that was full of 
 vitality, highly intelligent, and in some respects liberal 
 and even progressive. But he found in Boston, also, a 
 surprising division of sentiment among Protestants. lie 
 found the orthodox and other so-called evangelical Chris 
 tians to be as strict and almost as dogmatic in their views 
 and pulpit teachings as the most bigoted Presbyterians 
 of the Provinces. But then there were the Universalists, 
 who had so far modified the doctrines of orthodoxy as to 
 hold that all men, even the most wicked, would finally 
 be saved. This was a step in the direction of liberalism,
 
 THE MAN OR THE 1'KIEST? 27 
 
 but in Universalism in its more radical form Tom Gaston 
 found religious ideas and conceptions best suited to his 
 own conceptions of a religion, in which humanity would 
 have some chance of fair play as against the doctrines of 
 the theologians. 
 
 Among the noted preachers of the day in Boston and 
 he heard them all none suited Tom Gaston so fully as 
 Theodore Parker, whose humanitarian views, freedom of 
 thought and expression, and evident sincerity, as well as 
 the moral courage and persistency with which he iterated 
 his generally unpopular views on theology and the rights 
 of man, at once won the approval and admiration of the 
 young provincial. 
 
 ' He is,' wrote Tom Gaston to Master Cluney, discussing 
 in one of his letters the famous preacher ' He is a phe 
 nomenal man. Of medium build, very bald, spectacled, 
 and with a voice at first somewhat harsh, he would not 
 impress you as being more than a commonplace preacher. 
 But before he talked five minutes this impression would 
 be dispelled, and you would forget the man in the ideas 
 he was enunciating. You would become conscious of 
 the unfoldment, the revelation of a sublime individuality, 
 a mind of vast power and penetration, a heart warm to 
 the ties of common humanity, a nature that would scorn 
 subterfuge a man, in fact, of the heroic mould, with 
 the strongest convictions, and the courage to express 
 them. His indignant protests against religious intoler 
 ance are finely and consistently supplemented by his 
 fierce denunciations of the system of human slavery pre 
 vailing today in the Southern states of this republic. 
 This attitude of Mr. Parker, though it is consistent with 
 his position as an advocate of human freedom, physically
 
 28 IN FETTERS: 
 
 as well as mentally, has made him many powerful and 
 vindictive enemies, and threats of personal violence are 
 not lacking to remind him that the man who is honest in 
 his convictions and outspoken in his utterances, .if he is 
 against the established order of things, is not to be toler 
 ated not because he is not right, but because he seeks 
 to do away with the evils that society has become accus 
 tomed to and grown to like. 
 
 ' You would feel a rapture in listening to this fearless 
 man, such a rapture as can only be kindled in the human 
 breast by the awakening of the heroic instinct in our 
 nature, the instinct that would rouse to rebellion against 
 the tyrant of oppression, whether he were embodied in 
 a personal king or an impersonal creed.' 
 
 To this Master Cluney replied, ' In regard to Theodore 
 Parker, you excite my curiosity. He must be a phenom 
 enal man. Is it what he says or is it the manner in 
 which he says it, that is so taking? Does he tell any 
 new truths, or does he clothe old ones in new and 
 attractive garments, as the milliner will make old maids 
 look young by artistic arrangement of dress and dra 
 pery? Seriously, Tom, let me say to you Do not be 
 carried away by the rhetorical methods of any speaker. 
 Take down some of his points as he utters them, and 
 then, in the stillness of your room, subject them to a 
 close analysis. They may be found then to be not so 
 enchanting as they appeared when uttered by this man, 
 who is evidently a master of his art. 
 
 'I do not write this to discourage you, or to lower 
 your estimate of Mr. Parker. I simply do it to suggest 
 to you that enthusiasm is often misleading, throwing a 
 glamour about the mental vision and making what is
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 29 
 
 merely bright dazzling, what is merely novel astound- 
 ingly new, and platitude the dawning of a new and vital 
 truth. Believe me, Tom, there, are few things that are 
 new in this world. Few thoughts now occur on old 
 subjects which have not occurred before. Indeed it 
 would seem as if every phase which religion could 
 assume has already been manifested in same form or 
 other, and that little that is new can be found in the 
 churches. We must look for new ideas on religion, not 
 in the churches, but outside of them. I will visit Boston 
 in July or August, when I hope to see and hear your 
 Rev. Theodore Parker, and judge for myself.' 
 
 It may be added that while Tom Gaston was open in 
 his confidences with his old master he was more circum 
 spect in what he wrote to his parents, for he disliked to 
 give them pain especially his mother in the thought 
 that he had repudiated the faith of his fathers. It is 
 true he had indicated enough in his letters to his brother 
 to give the impression that he was not a good Catholic. 
 But as he inclined to free thought, his people did not 
 have the mortification of the suspicion that he would 
 become a Protestant, a thing which all Catholics would 
 reprobate, for while they could tolerate a resort to free 
 thinking on the part of a member of their church they 
 would hardly forgive a change to Protestantism. 
 
 During the only visit made to his home, about a year 
 after leaving it, Tom had friendly talk with Father Mc- 
 Mahon, Chebucto's parish priest, with whom he was a 
 great favorite. This was brought about by Tom's good 
 mother, who, woman-like, conceived that a priest had, 
 by some occult means, the power of turning him from 
 the error of his ways.
 
 30 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' Tom,' said his reverence, ' I am told that you have 
 been playing fast and loose with the devil in Boston.' 
 
 ' If I have,' said Tom,, in a jocular way, ' I was not 
 aware of it. He was never introduced to me by that 
 name. Would you know him, Father Tom, if you met 
 him?' 
 
 ' I would know his works, anyway.' 
 
 'What are they?' 
 
 ' Evil, and you know it, Tom, as well as I do.' 
 
 ' But you speak of the devil as if he were a personality, 
 a being. Is he really such ? ' 
 
 ' He is the embodiment of the evil principle.' 
 
 ' Then, as I understand it, sir, the word devil is only a 
 term which you use to embody your conception of what 
 is understood to be the evil principle in nature ? ' 
 
 ' That might do for the materialistic conception of the 
 matter.' 
 
 ' Then if the devil is only a conception of the embodi 
 ment of the evil principle in nature, and not a personality, 
 and God is our conception of what is good in nature, is 
 he also only a conception of the human brain, or is he a 
 reality I mean a personality ? ' 
 
 Master Cluney, who was an amused listener to this 
 colloquy, noticing that his uncle showed signs of irrita 
 tion, here interrupted with a laugh, and said : ' Tom, you 
 are still the same radical asker of conundrums you were 
 when at school. Do you remember when you asked me 
 why the water in the sea wasn't fresh, like well water ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and I recall your reply, " because it wasn't." ' 
 replied Tom, smiling at the recollection. 
 
 ' And you afterwards realized that that answer was not 
 the result of my inability to explain the phenomena con-
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 31 
 
 nected with the production of fresh and the existence of 
 sea water?' 
 
 ' I did, of course.' 
 
 ' And can you not see the analogy between that ques 
 tion and the ones you are now asking ? ' 
 
 ' I could, if they were susceptible of demonstration, as 
 that was.' 
 
 ' Tom, you're incorrigible,' said Cluney, and the sub 
 ject was dismissed. At parting, however, Father Tom, 
 quite earnestly, but yet good-naturedly, said : 
 
 'I'm afraid, Tom, that the devil will yet claim one 
 more good fellow in you ! ' 
 
 'I shall not fear him, Father Tom,' was the laughing 
 reply, 'while I can call so good and noble a churchman 
 as you, and my dear Mr. Cluney, friends ! ' 
 
 ' Tom,' rejoined the gratified and more than half mol 
 lified priest, ' may God bless you, and make clear to your 
 understanding the things which now seem obscure ! ' 
 
 'Amen ! ' said Tom ; and they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 JOHN CLUNEY'S VISIT TO BOSTON THE 'OLD NATIONAL' 
 THEATRE AND ITS GALLERY GODS. 
 
 On an afternoon in August, 1851, Thomas Gaston 
 stood at the end of Lewis wharf in Boston, watching for 
 the St. John steamer. He had been waiting nearly two 
 hours, when he was at last rewarded by a sight of the 
 white hull of the steamboat rapidly making her way up
 
 32 IN FETTERS: 
 
 the harbor and towards the wharf where he stood. The 
 boat had hardly touched the wharf when he jumped on 
 board, and made his way among the passengers in 
 search of his expected friend, Master Cluney, whom he 
 quickly spied at the rail of the boat looking over the 
 assembled crowd, in search of him, his head thrown back 
 and quivering with a kind of palsied shake, that was 
 altogether familiar. 
 
 'Mr. Cluney!' 
 
 'Why, it's Tom! God bless you, Tom! You are after 
 me, while I have been looking for you. ' 
 
 Tom had provided board and lodging for his guest at 
 his own boarding place, and after arranging with an 
 expressman to carry the trunk of the latter which could 
 not then be reached to the house, took a carriage, and 
 they were soon whirling up Ann street towards the 
 West End. 
 
 ' Tom, ' said the master, as they rode up Ann street, 
 'what kind of a neighborhood is this? It looks like an 
 old-country city street more than an American one.' 
 
 'It is one of the toughest in the city a resort of the 
 lowest women and men, and a place where sailors are 
 often cast away, as you can judge, when one portion of 
 it is named the " black sea. " 
 
 ' And this is Ann street. I have heard much of it 
 and of its bad character. But, if I mistake not, it was 
 once the residence of some of Boston's first families.' 
 
 ' That is true. From the first families it has descended 
 to the worst families.' 
 
 ' Tom, you are the same punster you always were, but 
 in this case your attempt is more punitive than pungent, 
 considering the locality and the weather. But is not
 
 33 
 
 Father Taylor's Bethel in this locality, somewhere ? I 
 heard one of our sailors speak of him.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is in North square, and he is a character 
 yon must take him in ; also, you must see some of the 
 all-night dances which are held in this locality.' 
 
 ' I will, Tom. I'll take them all in.' 
 
 Arrived at the boarding house, the master was accom 
 panied to his room, which adjoined Tom's. After a good 
 wash and an arrangement of his toilet, Master Cluney 
 sat down with his friend and former pupil, to talk with 
 him of home and friends, in the interval before supper 
 time. But, first, Tom hastily read the letters for him 
 with which his friend was freighted. 
 
 ' These letters are short,' said Tom, ' but they give as 
 a reason that you will tell me all the news, and now for 
 it. Dick took a notion about two years ago to study for 
 the church a curious resolve, it would seem, if there 
 had not been a woman in the case, but love for the sex 
 is more apt to make fools of men than any other cause. 
 Dick wrote me all about it from Montreal, and I had 
 mother's version also. It delights her, of course, for she 
 is as true and sincere a believer as she is a good woman. 
 Well, what is the latest ? How is Agnes ? How has father 
 got along with the business since Dick left? Does mother 
 grow old-looking ? How are all the girls I used to know ? 
 How many of them are married ? ' 
 
 ' Hold on, Dick ! Do you think it is the part of a host 
 to stuff your guest with questions? Be aisy, as we say in 
 the old country. Give a man a chance to breathe. But, 
 before I forget it, let me ask you I promised your 
 mother to make the inquiry why is it that you have 
 not been home for so long a time ? it's over a year.'
 
 34 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' I'll tell you But, come to think of it, I cannot, for 
 I know of no reason why, except that I have been so 
 interested in my surroundings here that I do not care to 
 leave Boston. But now that Dick is away from home, 
 and father and mother practically alone, I suppose it is 
 my duty to go and see them, and I will do so. It would 
 cheer them, I know, and I love them both dearly But 
 hark ! That is the supper bell, and you must be hungry. 
 Come down to the dining room, and after the meal we 
 will go out and take a stroll about the city, and down on 
 to the Common.' 
 
 ' I'm with you,' responded the pedagogue. 
 
 After supper Tom proposed a stroll on the Common, 
 and Cluney readily assenting, the two friends" started for 
 that favorite resort of Bostonians. The muggy, warm 
 weather of the day had given place to a clear and cooler 
 atmosphere, induced by a brisk north-west wind, which 
 had set in in the late afternoon. 
 
 The fashionable promenades on the Common were 
 filled with throngs of well-dressed people, who found 
 relief in the open air from the summer atmosphere of 
 the houses. 
 
 ' The people here,' said Master Cluney, ' impress me 
 as having a smart, independent way and air about them, 
 which are in marked contrast to the manners of the peo 
 ple of the Provinces. They seem wide-awake, indepen 
 dent, and with a dash of swagger and braggadocio which 
 is, after all, not unbecoming to them.' 
 
 * You are right,' said Tom. ' The Yankees are a wide 
 awake, smart and even superior people to those you find 
 in the Provinces not that there is any better material 
 in them, but under a free popular government like that
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 35 
 
 prevailing here the manhood of the individual or the 
 individuality of the man, whichever it may be, finds 
 ample room for growth and development. Men are 
 made ambitious here because there is no position in the 
 nation to which a man properly qualified may not aspire. 
 I like the American people so much better than those of 
 the Provinces that I do not want to live in that part of 
 the country again.' 
 
 ' And yet there is much to criticise here, also. You 
 remember Tom Moore's notes on America, and what kind 
 of people he met here ? ' 
 
 'Yes, and I have read them with indignation. Though 
 he may be a fine poet, the English aristocracy took him 
 under their wing and made a snob of him. He gauged 
 American manners and men by an English measure, and 
 couldn't understand why a people, under pioneer condi 
 tions of development, could not have the finished graces 
 and manners of the old aristocracy whose patronage he 
 enjoyed, and perhaps, also, for whose delectation he 
 wrote his American notes. Bah! I despise Moore. But, 
 to change the subject, wouldn't you like to go to the 
 theatre?' 
 
 'I would, indeed. 'I have not been to one since I left 
 London, ten years ago.' 
 
 * Very well ; we will go to the National Theatre. It is 
 not the highest-toned place of amusement in the city, 
 but you can have a good deal of fun there ! ' 
 
 ' That's what I'd like, Tom. At a place of amusement 
 I think the best form of entertainment is comedy, or 
 plays that show us the comic side of life. Shakespere is 
 the great high priest of the drama, and his tragedies are 
 wonderful productions ; but I honestly like his comedies
 
 36 IK FETTERS: 
 
 best. Such plays, also, as the School for Scandal, She 
 Stoops to Conquer, and the Honey-Moon, are fine and 
 amusing productions.' 
 
 'It is singular,' said Tom, 'that you should have 
 named the Honey-Moon, for that is the play which is 
 billed at the National tonight.' 
 
 'Well, it is singular, as you say. I saw it performed 
 in Dublin, and afterwards in London, just before my de 
 parture for America. It has been immensely popular on 
 the other side, and I presume it takes- well here. 
 There is a sparkle and spirit about it from beginning to 
 end that is truly refreshing.' 
 
 ' I agree with you,' said Tom, ' it is one of those mas 
 terly works of the -dramatic art that will not easily tire 
 by repetition. I have seen it several times, and will en 
 joy it again. It is one of the immortals of the stage.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Cluney, ' if I remember correctly, it 
 has a sad history that is, sad for its author. It was 
 written by one John Tobin an Englishman with an 
 Irish name about the beginning of this century. He 
 offered it to the English manager Kemble, who refused 
 it, claiming that it had no originality, but was a plagiar 
 ism from comedies of Shakespeare and others. Tobin 
 found it impossible to persuade either actor or manager 
 to take his comedy and produce it upon the stage, and 
 the poor fellow died I believe he died at sea, on a 
 voyage to the West Indies for his health without rea 
 lizing that he had written one of the most brilliant and 
 successful acting comedies in the English langauge. 
 The Honey- Moon, I believe, was not produced until a 
 year after his death, and then its success was immense. 
 I think it had a run in Dublin beyond that of any other
 
 THE MAX OK THE PKIEST? 37 
 
 comedy, not even excepting Sheridan's brilliant School 
 for Scandal.' 
 
 'What you tell me,' said Tom, 'interests me greatly. 
 Poor fellow! How often the creative genius dies of 
 neglect, while his works become immortal. There 
 is a curious analogy in the lives of great men neglected 
 and even persecuted while living ; when dead, immor 
 talized, after the stupid world has awakened to their 
 excellence.' 
 
 'But, here we are, at the theatre. I think we would 
 better go into the family circle, so-called, which is the 
 first gallery of the theatre. Here we will be just a little 
 above the level of the stage, and can see the play to the 
 best advantage.' 
 
 ' I'll leave it to your judgment, Tom, for you should 
 know best,' was the reply. 
 
 Tom procured tickets and the friends entered the 
 theatre. At one side, the first thing that attracted atten 
 tion was a bar, where liquors were sold. 
 
 ' Why,' remarked the master, ' this is quite old country 
 style.' 
 
 ' I did not know it,' remarked Tom. ' Whatever style 
 it may be, it is not a good one, for it affords too ready 
 means for some of the people who attend this place to 
 get drunk before the play is over, and to make them 
 selves disagreeable.' 
 
 The entrance was on the street floor, on which level 
 the pit or main hall of the auditorium was located, the 
 seats extending out under the galleries on either side and 
 in the rear. 
 
 The first gallery, or family circle, was reached by 
 flights of stairs from the lobby on either side. Above
 
 38 IK FETTERS: 
 
 this was a second gallery, with a separate entrance, and 
 above it an upper or tlrird gallery, where newsboys and 
 street gamins who could raise a ninepence found a place 
 to have an evening's fun, and making things lively by 
 their cat-calls, shouting, and other hideous noises, at 
 which they were expert. Still above this, and in the rear, 
 almost at the ceiling of the theatre, was a small gallery 
 reserved for colored people, and known as ' nigger 
 heaven.' 
 
 At tlu time in question a colored person, no matter 
 how respectable, would not be allowed in any other part 
 of the theatre. Occasionally a colored man would be 
 found who had the hardihood to obtain a ticket for the 
 pit, and enter it. The moment he was discovered by 
 the gallery ' gods,' however, there would be shouts of 
 ' nigger in the pit ! ' ' put him out ! ' ' put him out ! ' and 
 if he did not take the hint and go out, the demands 
 would swell into an uproar that would not be stilled 
 until the man was either quietly or forcibly ejected. 
 
 Tom explained these arrangements to Master Cluney, 
 as best he could, amid the noise made in the galleries, 
 which, as the time approached for the rising of the 
 curtain, swelled into an almost continuous clamor, and 
 which ceased partially when the orchestra struck up the 
 music, quiet only being vouchsafed when the curtain was 
 rung up. 
 
 The characters of the play were sustained by members 
 of the excellent stock company, under the management 
 of Mrs. Pelby, widow of William Pelby, who on this oc 
 casion sustained the character of Juliana herself, that of 
 Duke Aranza being taken by the leading heavy man, Mr. 
 Fleming; Jacques, by 'Old Spear,' as he was then called,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 39 
 
 while, in the cast of female characters, Mrs. Vincent took 
 the part of Volante, and Mrs. Pry or that of Zamora. 
 
 The play was rendered with all the dash and vigor of 
 a strong company of players, and received the closest 
 attention of even the third gallery, famed for its usual 
 turbulence. 
 
 When the Duke, in his assumed disguise as a peasant, 
 said to his indignant and disappointed bride, Juliana, in 
 answer to her remark that perhaps he would beat her: 
 'Beat you! The man that lays his hand upon a woman, 
 save in the way of kindness, is a wretch whom 'twere 
 gross flattery to name a coward ! ' there was a surging 
 storm of applause, which made Cluney remark, ' If they 
 are a rough set, they are manly, at least.' 
 
 In the second scene of the third act, where Spear, as 
 Jacques, personated the duke, there occurred an episode 
 that is believed to be altogether singular in theatrical 
 experience. Spear was a natural buffoon, and, in the 
 part of the mock duke, his acting was so peculiarly 
 comical that it appealed more particularly to the uncouth 
 gods of the gallery, who fully enjoyed it. 
 
 But in the pit there was seated a stout, middle-aged 
 man, who was so irresistibly impressed with Spear's 
 comicality, that he laughed so loudly, and contorted his 
 body so violently that he drew from the stage, much to 
 the embarrassment and annoyance of the actors, the 
 attention of the whole house, and particularly of the 
 third gallery, the gods of which were at first highly 
 pleased with the fun, but soon became indignant that 
 any one in the pit should presume to take the noise- 
 making out of their hands, or rather their mouths, and 
 who set up a howl of 'put him out!' 'dry up!' 'bag yer
 
 40 IN TETTERS: 
 
 head ! ' and other remarks which savored more of indig 
 nation than of elegance. 
 
 One of the officers on duty went to the man, and 
 ordered him to desist, which he honestly tried to do, and 
 succeeded in doing so long as he kept his eyes off the 
 stage. But in an evil moment, when the mock duke was 
 on the point of giving audience to the wronged wife, and 
 was saying: 'I must appear important: big as a country 
 pedagogue, when he enters the school-room with a-hem! 
 and terrifies the apple-munching urchins with the creak 
 ing of his shoes ' the countryman incautiously looked 
 up, and was seized with such a fit of uncontrollable laugh 
 ter as again brought things to a stand-still, and drowned 
 the remainder of the mock duke's soliloquy. The of 
 fender was removed, limp, laughing, and unresisting. 
 
 The friends did not wait for the afterpiece, for the 
 reason that by going out early they would avoid the 
 crowd. This was suggested by Tom's former experience 
 at this place of amusement. 
 
 'Now,' said Tom, 'we will go to Parker's restaurant, 
 have a lunch, and then home and to bed, for you must 
 be tired after your journey,' 
 
 Cluney consented, and the friends repaired to Parker's 
 eating house, which was located in the basement of the 
 stone building on the corner of Court street and Court 
 square, the entrance being on the latter by stone steps 
 from the sidewalk, guarded by an iron railing. 
 
 Plarvey D. Parker himself, in a white apron, waited 
 upon his guests. He was below medium size, but quick, 
 active and pleasant, and furnished the best of viands, 
 cooked and served in a manner which made his place 
 famous even at that time,
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 41 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN WHICH THOMAS GASTOK AVOWS HIS UNBELIEF IN THE 
 IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. 
 
 The morning succeeding his arrival in Boston the 
 pedagogue was up early, and, being joined by Tom, took 
 a stroll before breakfast. They walked down Cambridge 
 street to the West Boston bridge. This was to afford 
 Cluney an opportunity to see the Charles river basin 
 when it looked its best, with the morning sun smiling on 
 it. On the way down, Tom pointed out the old Medical 
 College on Grove street. 
 
 This brought up the Parkman murder, and incidentally 
 the work of a medical student. Tom expressed regret 
 that it was the vacation season, as he should like to take 
 his friend into the dissecting room. 
 
 'That must be a nauseating business ;' said Cluney. 
 'Much as I would like the practical knowledge acqiiired 
 by the work of dissection, it would, I think, sicken me.' 
 
 ' It is not an agreeable work,' replied Tom, ' and the 
 oder is so bad that we have to smoke cigars in order to 
 deaden it. But, then, one forgets this in the practical 
 study of anatomy. I must acknowledge that I like it, 
 though at first I thought I never should.' 
 
 ' I suppose you have studied the chemistry of putre 
 faction enough to know the processes by which the 
 human body is resolved into its gaseous and residual 
 elements ? I have not familiarity enough with 07-ganio
 
 42 IN FETTERS: 
 
 chemistry to know it as I would like to, though in theory 
 I know something of it.' 
 
 'And yet,' said Tom, 'my first lessons in chemistry 
 were learned from you. The experiments you made, 
 simple 'as they may have been, were object lessons to me 
 that I will never forget. Your demonstration, that in 
 the union of oxygen with hydrogen in combination with 
 carbon, water was one of the resulting products, was to 
 me a new and surprising revelation. It was a key that 
 opened a storehouse of wonders, and started me on the 
 quest, the realization of which is that all phenomena are 
 ultimately resolvable into the action of energy upon mat 
 ter. I recall the delight which I experienced when first 
 I realized the fact that to produce the water of our earth 
 there must have been a state of conflagration maintained 
 upon it for millions of years, perhaps ; for water can only 
 be produced in one way, it being, curiously enough, a 
 sort of liquid ashes of combustion, though more properly 
 a compound of elements. What a vast, what a grand 
 conflagration that must have been ; but how insignificant 
 it was in comparison to that which is now going on in 
 our parent globe, the sun ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; these vast forces in the planets are beyond our 
 conception, but we can still admire them. You must 
 have enjoyed your opportunities of pursuing your favor 
 ite study of chemistry here. The study of organic 
 chemistry to me has great attractions, but I have never 
 had the opportunities that you have had,' remarked 
 Cluney. 
 
 'You may think it singular, but my study of organic 
 chemistry has had what I may call a metaphysical sig 
 nificance to me in the study of biology as well as now,
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 43 
 
 don't laugh theology. In other words, it has given me 
 ideas of the laws of the growth and dissolution of or 
 ganic bodies that in turn enable me to think about and 
 weigh mental or psychological matters in a manner that 
 I never could have done without such aid.' 
 
 ' I can understand this, to be sure, but is not such 
 a method likely to be misleading ? ' 
 
 ' How can it be, except perhaps in the matter of deduc 
 tion, where that is carried beyond the bounds of reason ? 
 To illustrate, life has its origin in cell structure, and 
 there is a perfect analogy in the development of man 
 and the other animals in the embryonic stages. Before 
 birth, each is after its kind, and the human animal is 
 more capable of higher development, because, first, he 
 has a larger brain ; then, he is more imitative, and, then, 
 he is capable of reasoning and experimentation. But as 
 he has his origin as an animal, in dissolution he is like 
 one. His body, after life ceases, is only a dead carcass, 
 nothing more. Now, is not this rational deduction?' 
 
 'But the soul, Tom, the spirit, what of it?' 
 
 'If I said it was immaterial, you would probably 
 accuse me of punning. But, as to the soul, what, after 
 all, is it? The ego is only the personality of the man, 
 when in life. Withdraw vitality, and it may be likened 
 to the tone of an instrument, that has worn out or been 
 broken. It exists no more ; it is a light gone out.' 
 
 'Then you believe the existence of the soul or spirit 
 is conditioned to that of the body?' 
 
 'You have expressed my idea, exactly.' 
 
 'That is a curious notion, Tom. Where did you run 
 across it?' asked Cluney, laughing. 
 
 'To tell the truth,' replied Tom, 'I should be puzzled
 
 44 IN FETTERS: 
 
 to tell whether it has been evolved from my own reason 
 ing or not, but I think it has.' 
 
 'Well, let us hear by what process of reasoning you 
 arrive at such a conclusion?' 
 
 'It is this: I cannot conceive of a process without 
 matter in action. Now, though I do not know what the 
 mechanical or chemical action of the human brain is, I 
 know there must be such action in the evolution of 
 thought. Then it requires a brain for even an ego or 
 soul, or it cannot think, or see, or hear, or feel, through 
 its auxiliaries, the eyes, ears, and nerves ; therefore, not 
 having these it cannot have a conscious existence. More 
 than this, an organism must be nourished by a circulatory 
 system, which, in its turn, receives its supply from the 
 results of the chemical action and reaction in the stom 
 ach. In other words, a soul or spirit, in order to see, 
 hear, feel and think, must have an organism similar to 
 our's, with like digestive and assimilative functions to 
 support and sustain it. Do you see my point?' 
 
 'I do, Tom, and it is a strong one, I must allow. But 
 given its truth, what are we here for ? If this life is all 
 and its close ends all, what is it worth? When man 
 begins to know something, that is, when his intellect 
 becomes matured, he dies, and is ended. It looks as if 
 there was some huge mistake in this plan.' 
 
 'Yes,' remarked Tom, 'almost as big a one as there is 
 in the orthodox plan of salvation, which saves only the 
 baker's dozen here and there, and damns the majority. 
 Well, if it be so, it is, and that is all there is about it.' 
 
 'Do you think if this were the case, life would be 
 worth living?' 
 
 'Why not? Indeed, from this fact alone, it should be
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 45 
 
 made doubly valuable, and men, generally realizing it, 
 should become less selfish, and vie with one another in 
 making life happy for all, instead of making it miserable, 
 as most of them now do.' 
 
 'Of course, I only admit the force of your reasoning 
 in this matter, not its truth. You do not -know that, 
 when life becomes extinct it ends all for the individual.' 
 
 'I do not claim to know this, though my reason con 
 vinces me it is so. Neither do you know that the indi 
 viduality of the body is perpetuated after its dissolution, 
 except by what is called faith, which is born of belief in 
 tradition handed down through bible and church.' 
 
 'You will find, Tom, that the weight of the oldest and 
 highest authority is in the balance against you.' 
 
 'Well, I have the weight of the strongest reason to 
 uphold me. I think my position is the strongest.' 
 
 ' You may think differently later on, Tom. It is not 
 safe at any time to assume that you know all that is to 
 be known about anything, or indeed all that you will 
 know about it.' 
 
 ' Very true, my good preceptor. I would not shame 
 your sound philosophical teaching by any such assump 
 tion. I do not think that I know it all, as the saying is. 
 I am aware that in this crucible of thought and reflection, 
 which, after all, is the highest form of life-enjoyment, 
 we must continually modify if we do not radically change 
 our opinions on vital questions.' 
 
 'Yes, and after you have swung round the circle of 
 scientific thought and deduction, you may come back 
 again to where you started from.' 
 
 ' My dear master, I am surprised at this remark. A 
 man of brains can no more go back to where he started
 
 46 IK BETTERS: 
 
 from in the line of thought and deduction than he can 
 return to the womb in which he was conceived. The 
 laws of nature are progressive, not retrogressive.' 
 
 ' Tom, I cannot help reverting to your argument about 
 the apparent absurdity of inorganic spirits performing 
 organic functions, but you have not taken into account 
 the circumstance that they could not have an individu 
 ality if they had not an organism, and an organism, as 
 you know, presupposes functions.' 
 
 4 True ; but there is no proof of a reproduction of the 
 human organism, especially an immaterial one. If man 
 were thus reproduced, why not the animals? The thing 
 is absurd the offspring of ignorance of natural laws.' 
 
 'I have no doubt that Swedenborg saw how illogical 
 the after existence of man was, according to the ordinary 
 conceptions of it, for he simply teaches that life is 
 continued on this earth in a higher plane of existence; 
 that we have there, as here, an organism requiring nu 
 trition ; that the spirits of infants there grow into adults ; 
 that there is marriage and reproduction there, as here; 
 that, in fact, spirit life is, in many respects, similar to 
 this one, with immortality added.' 
 
 'That is logical, in its way; and he no doubt feeds his 
 spirits on the ghosts of animals, fruits, and vegetables. 
 Just conceive of a spirit butcher cutting off a tenderloin 
 steak from a dead spirit beef carcass! But, I fear I am 
 getting somewhat mixed up it's mixed metaphor, in 
 fact. But has he no heaven and hell'?' 
 
 ' He has both. They are practically social conditions, 
 the good spirits congregating together, and by establish 
 ing an ideal state of society, contribute to their mutual 
 enjoyment and happiness. This is heaven. Hell con-
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 47 
 
 gists of a similar affiliation of bad spirits, who make others 
 miserable by their wickedness and bad actions, and are 
 in turn made wretched by the wickedness of others. It 
 is a state of irrepressible lawlessness and misery.' 
 
 ' But a most ingenious way to solve the problem of 
 punishing the wicked and rewarding the good. It is a 
 great improvement on the orthodox plan, but as a busi 
 ness method is not so promising. Of the two, I must 
 allow that I prefer Swedenborg's. But pardon me for 
 running on in this way. I fear it has prevented you 
 from enjoying the view of the bridge.' 
 
 'It has not, Tom. I do not know why it is, but when 
 I am engaged in thinking or listening to the thoughts of 
 others, I am conscious of a kind of double existence, for 
 I not only enjoy what is before my physical vision, but 
 what I see mentally, also; that is, the picture before my 
 eyes is heightened or in a measure transfigured by the 
 mental stimulus.' 
 
 'Well, I'm glad of that, for I often think I must be 
 very tiresome when I mount my hobby-horse.' 
 
 ' You will find your hobby a hard one to ride in this 
 world, Tom ; for your way is so divergent, I fear, that 
 you will often be lonesome for want of company. You 
 are a sad Infidel, Tom ; nearly as bad as Tom Paine is 
 estimated to be by Christians generally. And this 
 reminds me, do not the Infidels hold meetings in Boston, 
 and have you ever attended them?' 
 
 'They do, and I have been a frequent attendent at 
 their meetings. I admire these people for their moral 
 courage and their sensible humanitarian ideas.' 
 
 ' I'd like to go with you and hear them some time.' 
 
 ' You shall go, and, more than that, I will procure you
 
 48 IN FETTERS: 
 
 an introduction to the editor of the Investigator, which 
 is the organ of the Infidels in the United States. But 
 come, let us go back to our boarding house.' 
 
 After breakfast was over, Tom said to his friend : 
 'I must tell you something in regard to my life in 
 this city, which will perhaps explain some things for 
 your enlightenment. You may or may not be aware of 
 the fact that I have not drawn upon my father for means 
 of support for over a year. At any rate, I have not 
 asked or received a shilling from him in that time. 
 When he wrote asking why I did not, I replied that I 
 was earning enough to board and clothe myself, and pay 
 tuition fees, but did not say what I was doing to earn 
 money. 
 
 'Now, I'll tell you: I have a kind of independent 
 position on one of the leading daily papers here, and do 
 editorial and other writing for it. Thanks to Isaac 
 Pitman, I have been enabled to combine pleasure, or 
 rather instruction, with business. I report sermons, 
 speeches, lectures, and in the evenings devote my time 
 mostly to this work, to looking over exchange papers, 
 writing, and in the college term to study. I shall receive 
 my diploma at the close this term, and then, perhaps, put 
 out my shingle. Here it is, all ready to put in place on 
 "the outer wall.'" 
 
 THOMAS G ASTON, M.D. , 
 PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON. 
 
 ' Tom,' said Cluney, taking him by the hand, 'let me 
 thank you for being so frank with me. You are frank 
 ness itself in all things as frank as you are courageous. 
 Indeed, the one always accompanies the other, at least 
 in young men. Well, let me in turn confide to you the
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 49 
 
 fact that, on the eve of my departure from Chebucto, 
 your good mother desired me to find out just what you 
 were doing, and to give you this purse of one hundred 
 gold sovereigns, and her blessing. You see, she thought 
 you might perhaps need a few pounds, and was too 
 proud to ask your father for money.' 
 
 ' Heaven bless her, my dear good mother ! I suspect, 
 however, that she thought that the reason for my not 
 going home was a financial one, which, as you now see, 
 is not the case. Well, though I do not need this money, 
 I will accept it, for I know it would pain her to refuse 
 it, and I would not willingly give her pain. 
 
 'But now I must to work. Will you go with me to 
 the office, and wait till I get through my work? I will 
 give you papers to read, and in an hour or so can go out 
 with you, and we will then hire a team and take a drive 
 out through Cambridge and Brookline, where you will 
 see many elegant private residences, as well as the Har 
 vard College buildings.' 
 
 'I am at your service,' said Cluney; and the friends 
 forthwith repaired to the office of the Daily Times, at the 
 head of State street. 
 
 Here they entered a dingy office, with two desks, some 
 chairs half occupied with newspapers, piles of opened 
 papers here and there, a well-worn dictionary, and much 
 dust-covered rubbish peculiar to an old-time newspaper 
 office in Boston. One of the desks was occupied by a 
 tall and somewhat slim man, with side whiskers, bright, 
 keen black eyes, but careworn face. He was the editor 
 and proprietor of the Times. Tom exchanged pleasant 
 greetings with him, and then introduced his friend, who 
 was cordially saluted, and invited to take a seat.
 
 60 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 Excusing himself on account of press of business, the 
 editor then turned to Tom Gaston, and gave him some 
 directions in regard to a leading article for the issue of 
 the following morning, and requested him to do a half- 
 dozen minor things, and then resumed his work. Tom 
 first took up the smaller matters, which consisted in 
 'boiling down' articles from exchanges, and interlarding 
 them with comments of his own. He handed his friend 
 some papers to read in the meantime, and the silence of 
 the dingy office was broken only by a scratching noise 
 of the pens on paper, made by editor and assistant. 
 Then, when he had finished the smaller matters which 
 took him about two hours to accomplish Tom arose, 
 and, handing what he had written to the editor, said : 
 
 'I will have the leader ready for you by evening, and 
 will send it down by messenger. I must now keep my 
 promise to my guest, and give him a glimpse of our 
 suburbs.' 
 
 'Do so,' was the reply, 'and, by the way, Mr. Gaston, 
 here is a line to the Blank livery stable where my team 
 is. Take it. The exercise will do the horse good, and 
 I will not want to use him before the evening.' 
 
 'Many thanks,' said Tom, 'I will take your team, and 
 return it to the stable by four o'clock, at the latest.' 
 
 'It was clever and thoughtful of your editor to offer 
 you his team,' said Cluney, after the friends had left the 
 office, 'and you did quite right in accepting the offer. 
 A clever man like that usually means what he says when 
 
 v %J 
 
 he offers to do a friendly act, and would be hurt by a 
 refusal.' 
 
 'Yes, and under the cii'cumstances a refusal would be 
 positively rude, for his offer was solely a matter of hospi-
 
 THE MAN OK THE PEIEST? 51 
 
 tality for your benefit. He never made such an offer to 
 me before, and I am satisfied .that he would not have 
 done so today if you were not in the question. Well, 
 we shall have a fine time of it, for his turnout is one of 
 the best in Boston.' 
 
 It is needless to say that the ride of the day was a 
 most enjoyable one, and included a good dinner at 
 Porter's, in North Cambridge. 
 
 'These are beautiful suburbs,' remarked Cluney. 
 ' There are elegant places in Cambridge and Brookline, 
 equal in many respects to the surroundings of Dublin, 
 though you have not the elaborate mansions that are 
 to be found around the Irish capital. But there are 
 comparatively few of these, while in your suburbs fine 
 dwellings and well kept grounds are the rule ; and your 
 roads are nearly if not quite as good as our Irish roads.' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MORE OF THOMAS GASTON's MATERIALISM THEODORE 
 
 PARKER ON THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. 
 
 'Shall we take another morning walk?' asked Tom, 
 on the day following, which was Saturday. 
 
 'Yes, to be sure,' replied Cluney, 'and we can renew 
 our talk on physics, or, if you will, metaphysics.' 
 
 So they took their way, after the morning meal, down 
 to the Common, and along the Beacon street mall, out to 
 the Milldam, which began at the Public Garden, which 
 latter was protected from the waters of the Back Bay, 
 or empty basin, so called, above the Milldam, by a dyke
 
 52 IN FETTERS: 
 
 or embankment, just on the eastern line of Arlington 
 street of today. The gra.de of the Garden was several 
 feet lower than the embankment, which was on a level 
 with the Milldam road, now a part of Beacon street. 
 
 The friends walked out over the Milldam, the history 
 of which improvement Tom recited to his friend. The 
 idea was to keep the tide out of this section of the bay, 
 and by allowing it to flow into the other section through 
 a tide gate, and holding it there, direct its flow into the 
 so-called empty basin, through flumes which carried the 
 water to the waterwheels, converting the water into 
 power for the purpose of grinding wheat into flour. 
 
 ' That was a great enterprise,' remarked Cluney. 
 
 ' It seemed so,' replied Tom, ' but it never amounted 
 to anything profitable to the investors. There is now a 
 foundry on it, the machinery of which is run by water. 
 I expect to see the day when this whole territory will be 
 filled in and built upon.' 
 
 'Tom, you are an optimist in all matters of material 
 progress, though a sad pessimist in religious matters.' 
 
 'It is because I believe in substance, while what is 
 shadow, so to speak, is so much a matter of fancy that it 
 is too unsubstantial for serious consideration except 
 for churchmen, who find in it a rich mine for human 
 investment, on which they receive all the dividends.' 
 
 'Do you really think there is nothing in religion, 
 Tom?' 
 
 ' If you would change your question to embrace the 
 ology instead of religion, I would say I know there is 
 nothing in it beyond the glorious possibilities of a snug 
 profession for the sons of mediocrity, or where ability 
 may have its soaring wings clipped. As to real religion,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 53 
 
 comprised in the teaching of moral ethics, and their prac 
 tice, and the cultivation of social practices and brotherly 
 love a community of mutual good- will and thoughtful 
 living that is a thing I fully believe in. It is at once 
 the offspring and the parent of all true civilization ; and, 
 indeed, what progress has been made in our civilization 
 comes from this leaven which is operating in spite of all 
 adverse influences. I would not do away with religion 
 any more than I would destroy civilization, whose hand 
 maid it is. But I would divorce it from the fetichism of 
 barbarism, which had its origin in ancestor worship, and 
 changed to hero worship and to that of the gods. Our 
 modern Christian God is as great an improvement on the 
 early Christian one as the latter was on the Jewish Je 
 hovah. But the theologians have so metamorphosed the 
 real religion by enveloping it in the ghostly shroud of 
 fetichism that it is more promotive of fear and selfishness 
 than of the nobler instincts of our nature. It tends to 
 make slaves and cowards of men, and to take from life 
 much that is worth living for. A man must either stifle 
 his reason or be damned for doubting. I would rather 
 be in hell with the free and fearless thinkers of the world 
 the noble spirits who have suffered for exercising the 
 rights of manhood than in heaven with cruel priests 
 and the cringing cowards who obey them ! ' 
 
 ' Tom, I sympathize with your feeling, if not with your 
 judgment. What a glorious martyr you would have been 
 had you lived in the heroic days of Christian martyrdom ! 
 But, to return to the subject, do you think people would 
 be satisfied with a religion of pure morality one that 
 did not hold out any hope of a future existence, and a 
 system of rewards and punishments ? '
 
 54 IN FETTERS: 
 
 * I hold it to be wrong, outrageously dishonest, in fact, 
 to promise what you know you have not, and to make 
 dupes of the honest fools who believe you. Of course 
 the people who have been fed on such visionary hopes 
 and fears, would be loath to surrender them, as in 
 the case of users of liquor and tobacco. They would still 
 want the good (themselves) rewarded, and the wicked 
 (the other people) punished. Now, the acceptance of 
 these very shadowy conceptions, and the hopes and fears 
 which they excite, induce two conditions among men 
 which are baneful. One is, that men are made intensely 
 selfish by them, and act as if their motto was, 'every one 
 for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' The 
 other is, that it fosters a system of mental domination on 
 the part of priests I use the term in the broad sense as 
 including all ministers who preach about what they know 
 nothing of who claim to represent the ruling power 
 of the universe, when they do not do so any more than 
 the steam engine which converts energy into power; 
 while on the part of the people there is established a 
 mental slavery which has had an enervating as well as a 
 retarding effect upon the social and industrial evolution 
 of the human race.' 
 
 'How do you make that out, Tom?' asked the master. 
 
 'I have read history, and I know that it comes to us 
 strained through theological meshes. But, by a fearless 
 analysis of cause and effect in it, I can trace progression 
 in just the ratio that peoples and nations have practised 
 materialistic ideas in preference to the ghostly ones. 
 Science has grown in spite of the most iniquitous system 
 of persecution ever organized against the right develop 
 ment of knowledge of the physical forces in nature, the
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 55 
 
 only tangible things which we can deal with in our 
 struggles through life. Ignorant and narrow-minded 
 condemnation of true knowledge has ever prevailed in 
 the- churches, while assumed piety and pretended asceti 
 cism have been honored and their pretenders canonized.' 
 
 'Do you mean to say that all churchmen are ignor 
 amuses or dishonest?' 
 
 ' I think the ruling spirits of the churches have been 
 in a measure ignorant of the real nature of natural laws 
 and phenomena or have been dishonest in the fact that 
 they considered the knowledge to be thus acquired 
 would loosen their hold upon the masses of mankind. 
 Do not the Catholic rulers hold that it is better to keep 
 the world in ignorance rather than risk the loss of souls 
 or their damnation through the scepticism and resulting 
 impiety of those who obtain knowledge of natural laws? 
 For it seems to be a fact that scientific knowledge, which 
 is the acquirement of right ideas and conceptions of our 
 condition and surroundings in this world, always loosens 
 and in many cases cuts the bonds which theology has 
 bound humanity in.' 
 
 ' There is much truth in what you say, Tom, as 1 can 
 vouch in my own person. I am not orthodox, though I 
 fail to see, in the way you present them, the objections 
 to theology, or that, as a system, it has had a repressive 
 influence upon human intelligence. You must allow that 
 there have been other predominating influences in human 
 affairs which may be fairly made as chargeable for the 
 persecution and discouragement of scientific investigation, 
 and that the church has had an important influence in 
 the affairs of nations, and has done a really noble work.' 
 
 * This reminds me of what Theodore Parker said of the
 
 56 IN FETTERS: 
 
 Catholic church in a recent lecture. I have it here in 
 my notes. Shall I read some extracts to you?' 
 
 ' I would like very much to hear them. Suppose we 
 sit down while you read?' 
 
 'Very well,' said Tom, taking out his note-book. 'I 
 will read them to you. In estimating the merits of the 
 Catholic church, he said: 
 
 " The peculiar merit of the Catholic church consists in 
 its assertion of the truth, that God still inspires mankind 
 as much as ever; that he has not exhausted himself in 
 the creation of a Moses, or a Jesus, the law, or the Gos 
 pel, but is present and active in spirit as in space. Ad 
 mitting this truth, so deep, so vital to the race a truth 
 preserved in the religions of Egypt, Greece and Rome, 
 and above all in the Jewish faith clothing itself with 
 all the authority of ancient days ; the word of God in its 
 hands both tradition and Scripture ; believing it had 
 God's infallible and exclusive inspiration at its heart, for 
 such no doubt was the real belief, and actually, through 
 its Christian character, combining in itself the best 
 interests of mankind, no wonder it prevailed. Its coun 
 tenance became as lightning. It stood and measured the 
 earth. It drove asunder the nations. It went forth in 
 the mingling tides of civilized corruption and barbarian 
 ferocity, for the salvation of the people conquering 
 and to conquer ; its brightness as the light. 
 
 " It separated the spiritual from the temporal power, 
 which had been more or less united in the theocracies of 
 India, Egypt and Judea, and which can only be united 
 to the lasting detriment of mankind. The church, in 
 theory, stood on a basis purely moral ; it rose in spite of 
 the state, in the midst of its persecutions. At first it
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 57 
 
 shunned all temporal affairs, and never allowed a tem 
 poral power to be superior to itself. The department of 
 political action belonged to the state, that of intellectual 
 and religious action the stablest and strongest power 
 to the church. Hence its care of education; hence 
 the influence it exerted on literature." 
 
 ' He is a candid reader of history,' remarked Cluney. 
 
 ' Glad you think so,' said Tom, and resumed his notes. 
 
 "Ancient Rome was the city of organizations and 
 practical rules. Nowhere was the individual so thor 
 oughly subordinated to the state. War, science, and lust, 
 of old time, had here incarnated themselves. The same 
 practical spirit organized the church, with its dictator, its 
 senate, and its legions. The discipline of the clerical 
 class, their union, zeal, and commanding skill gave them 
 the solidity of the phalanx and the celerity of the legion. 
 The church prevailed as much by its organization as by 
 its doctrine. What could a band of loose-girt apostles^ 
 each warring on his own account, avail against the refuge 
 of lies, where strength and sin had entrenched themselves, 
 and sworn never to yield? An organized church was 
 demanded by the necessities of the time ; an association 
 of soldiers called for an army of saints." 
 
 'That is well and tersely presented,' observed Cluney. 
 
 <It is,' said Tom, and read on. 
 
 "A sensual people required forms, the church gave 
 them ; superstitious rites, divination, images, the church 
 obdurate as steel when the occasion demands, but 
 pliant as molten metal when yielding is required the 
 church allowed this. Its forms grew out of the wants of 
 the time and place. 
 
 " Was there no danger that the priesthood, thus able
 
 58 IN FETTERS: 
 
 and thus organized, should become ambitious of wealth 
 and power? The greatest danger was that fathers should 
 seek to perpetuate authority for their children. But 
 this class of men, cut off from posterity by the prohibi 
 tion of marriage, in the midst of feudal institutions where 
 all depended on birth; when descent from a successful 
 pirate, or some desperate free-booter, secured a man 
 elevation, political power, and wealth; the clergy were 
 cut off from all inducements to accumulate authority. In 
 that long period, from Alaric to Columbus, when the 
 church had ample revenues ; the most able and cultivated 
 men in her ranks, so thoroughly disciplined; the awful 
 power over souls of men, far more formidable than bayo 
 nets, skilfully plied; with an acknowledged claim to 
 miraculous inspiration and divine authority, were it not 
 for the celibacy of the clergy damnable institution, and 
 pregnant with mischief as it was we should have had 
 a sacredotal caste, the Levites of Christianity, whose 
 little linger would have been thicker than the loins of all 
 the former Levites, and the dawn of a better day must 
 have been deferred for thousands of years. The world 
 is managed wiser than some men fancy." 
 
 'He has the faculty of a giant in the use of language,' 
 interjected Cluney. 
 
 'True,' said Tom, and resumed: "The church, react 
 ing against the sensuality and excessive publicity of the 
 heathen world, in its establishment of convents and mon 
 asteries, opened asylums for delicate spirits that could 
 not bear the rage of savage life; afforded a hospital for 
 men sick of the fever of the world, worn-out and shat 
 tered in the storms of state, who craved a little rest for 
 sweet charity's sake, before they went where the wicked
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 59 
 
 ceased from troubling, and the weary are at rest. 
 Among the sensual the saint is always the anchorite; 
 religion gets as far as possible from the world. Rude 
 men require obvious forms and sensible shocks to their 
 roughness. The very place where the monks prayed 
 and the nuns sang was sacred from the ruthless robber. 
 As he drew near it the tiger was tame within him; the 
 mailed warrior kissed the ground, and religion awoke in 
 his heart. The fear of hell, and reverence for the spot, 
 chained up the devil for a time." 
 
 ' That description couldn't be bettered by any Catholic 
 writer,' said Cluney. ' It is wonderfully and tersely des 
 criptive, and true.' 
 
 'Perhaps it is,' said Tom, and went on reading: 
 "Then the church had a most diffusive spirit; it 
 would Christianize as fast as the state would conquer ; its 
 missionaries were found in the courts of barbarian mon- 
 archs, in the caves and dens of the savage, diffusing 
 their doctrine and singing their hymns. Creating an 
 organization the most perfect the world ever saw; with a 
 policy wiser than any monarch had dreamed of, and 
 which grew more perfect with the silent accretions of 
 time; with address to allure the ambitious to its high 
 places, and so turn all their energy into its deep wide 
 channel; with mysteries to charm the philosophic, and 
 fill the fancy of the rude; with practical doctrines for 
 earnest workers, and subtle questions, always skilfully 
 left open for men of acute discernment; with rites and 
 ceremonies addressed to every sense, rousing the mind 
 like a Grecian drama, and promising a participation with 
 God through the sacrament; with wisdom enough to 
 bring men really filled with religion into its ranks; with
 
 60 IN FETTERS: 
 
 good sense and good taste to employ all the talent of 
 the times in the music, the statues, the painting, the 
 architecture of the temple, thus consecrating all the 
 powers of man to man's noblest work; with so much of 
 Christian truth as the world in its wickedness could not 
 forget, no wonder the church spread wide her influ 
 ence; sat like a queen among nations, saying to one GO, 
 and it went, to another COME, and it came." 
 
 'Why this is admirable,' said Cluney. 'It is a string 
 of rhetorical pearls, and every pearl a truth.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' rejoined Tom, and resumed reading : 
 
 " Then, again, its character, in theory, was kindly and 
 humane. It softened the asperity of secular wars; forbid 
 them in sacred seasons ; established its Truce of God, and 
 gave a chance for rage to abate. Against the king, it 
 espoused the cause of the people. With somewhat in its 
 worst days of the spirit of him who gave his life a ran 
 som for many ; with much of it really active in its best 
 days and its theory at all times, the church stood up, for 
 long ages, the only bulwark of freedom. It came be 
 tween the haughty feudal baron and the captive, serf, 
 slave, and defenceless maiden, and stayed the insatiate 
 hand. Its curse blasted like lightning. Even in feudal 
 times, it knew no distinction of birth ; all were 'conceived 
 in sin,' ' shapen in iniquity,' alike the peasant and the 
 peer. The distinction of birth was apparent, not real. 
 Yet were all children of God, who judged the heart, and 
 knew no man's person ; all heirs of heaven, for whom 
 prophets and apostles had uplifted their voice ; yes, for 
 whom God had worn this weary, wasting weed of flesh, 
 and died a culprit's death.' 
 
 ' That's all true, Tom, true as holy writ ! '
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST ? 61 
 
 ' No doubt,' said Tom, dryly, and continued reading : 
 " The influence of the church is perhaps greater than 
 even its friends maintain. It laid its hands on the poor 
 and down-trodden ; they were raised, fed, and comforted. 
 It rejected, with loathing, from its coffers, wealth got by 
 extortion and crime. It touched the shackles of the 
 slave, and the serf arose disenthralled, the brother of the 
 peer. It annihilated slavery, which Protestant cupidity 
 would keep forever. It touched the diadem of a wicked 
 king, and it became a crown of thorns ; the monarch's 
 sceptre was a broken reed before the crozier of the church. 
 It limited the power of kings, and gave religious educa 
 tion to the people, which no ancient institution aimed to 
 impart. It had ceremonies for the sensual ; confessionals 
 for the pious needed and beautiful in their time 
 labors of love for the true-hearted ; pictures and images 
 to arouse devotion in the man of taste; temples whose 
 aspiring turrets and sombre vaults filled the kneeling 
 crowd with awe ; it had doctrines for the wise ; rebukes 
 for the wicked ; prayers for the reverent ; hopes for the 
 holy, and blessings for the true. It sanctified the babe, 
 newly born and welcome ; watched over marriage with a 
 jealous eye ; fostered good morals ; helped men, even by 
 its symbols, to pai-take the divine nature ; smoothed the 
 pillow of disease and death, giving the soul wings, as it 
 were, to welcome the death-angel, and gently, calmly, 
 pass away. It assured masculine piety of its reward in 
 heaven ; told the weak and wavering that divine beings 
 would help him, if faithful. In the honors of canoniza 
 tion, it promised the most lasting fame on earth ; genera 
 tions to come should call the good man a blessed saint, 
 and his name endure while theChristian year went round."
 
 62 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 'Why, Tom,' said Cluney, 'this man's eloquence con 
 founds me. He is a panegyrist, rather than a critic.' 
 
 ' Hold on,' said Tom, ' do not be too hasty in your con 
 clusions. Now hear what he says in criticism :' 
 
 "But the church had vices, vast and awful to the 
 thought. As its distinctive excellence was to proclaim 
 the continuance of inspiration, so its sacramental sin was 
 in limiting this inspiration to itself, thus setting bounds 
 to the spirit of God and the soul of man. The wondrous 
 mechanism of the church and much of its power came 
 from this false assumption, that it alone had the word of 
 God. So its organization was based on a lie, and re 
 quired new lies to uphold, and prophets of lies to defend 
 it. Its servants, the priests, became proud of spirit. 
 The only keepers of Scripture and tradition ; the only 
 recipients of inspiration they forbid free inquiry as of no 
 use ; stifled conscience as only leading men into troiible ; 
 and excommunicated Common Sense, who asked 'terrible 
 questions,' calling for the title deeds of the church. 
 They went further, and forbid the banns between Rea 
 son and Religion ; and when the parties insisted on the 
 union, turned them both out of doors with a curse. The 
 laity must not approach God, as the clergy; must only 
 commune with Him in one kind. 
 
 "The church forgot God grants inspiration to no one 
 except on condition he conforms to the divine law, living 
 pure and true, and grants it only in proportion to his 
 gifts and his use thereof; so relying upon the office and 
 'apostolic succession' for inspiration, the priests lived 
 shameless and wicked lives, rivalling Sardanapalus and 
 Domitian in their cruelty and sin. They became spirit 
 ual tyrants, forcing all men to utter the same creed,
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 63 
 
 submit to the same rite, reverence the same symbols, and 
 be holy in the same way." 
 
 'Without creed, rites and symbols, what would the 
 church have been?' interrupted Cluney, 'Its ties would 
 have been like ropes of sand.' 
 
 ' True,' said Tom. 'To bind men body and soul, as it 
 did, it needed stronger fetters, and accordingly it forged 
 and used them. But I will continue Mr. Parker's pane 
 gyric of the Catholic church. He says, following what 
 I have read you: 
 
 " In its zeal to separate the spiritual power from tem 
 poral hands the church took what was not its own 
 power over men's bodies ; and made laws for the state. 
 In its haste to give preeminence to spiritual things, it 
 made its offices a bribe, greater than the state could give. 
 The honor of sainthood what was the fame of king 
 and conqueror to that? It promised the rewards of high 
 clerical office, and even of canonization, to the most mer 
 cenary and cruel of men, whose touch was pollution. 
 Its list of saints is full of knaves and despots. The state 
 was taken into the church a refractory member. The 
 Flesh and the Devil were baptized; 'took holy orders;' 
 governed the church in some cases, but were still the 
 Flesh and the Devil, though called by a Christian name. 
 That divine man, whose name is ploughed into the 
 world, said : ' If a man smite thee on one cheek, turn 
 the other;' but if a man lifted his hand or voice against 
 the church it blasted him with damnation and hell." 
 
 'Here,' slily remarked Tom, 'is another of your strings 
 of rhetorical pearls what are they?' 
 
 'They have a black look,' said Cluney, 'for the 
 church.'
 
 64 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 "Christ said his kingdom was not of this world; so 
 said the church at first, and Christians refused to war, 
 to testify in courts, to appear in the theatres, and foul 
 their hands with the world's sin. But soon as there was 
 an organized priesthood, to defend themselves from the 
 tyranny of the state, to exercise authority over the souls 
 of men, power on the earth became needed. One lie 
 leads to many. What the church first took in self- 
 defence it afterwards clung to and increased, and was so 
 taken up with the earthly kingdom it quite forgot its 
 patrimony in heaven ; so it played a double game, 
 attempting to serve God, and keep on good terms witli 
 the devil. But it was once said, 'no man can serve two 
 masters.' Unnatural, spiritual power could not be held 
 without temporal authority to sustain it; so the church 
 1oo'c fleshly weapons for its carnal ends. Monks raised 
 armies; bishops led them; God was blasphemed by 
 prayers to aid bloodshed." 
 
 'That,' said Cluney, 'is a strong arraignment, with no 
 doubt some truth in it. But' 
 
 'Hold on,' said Tom, 'I will read a few more extracts, 
 and then we can talk it over as.we walk back.' 
 
 "The church was the exclusive vicar of God; she 
 must have 'the tonnage and the poundage of all free- 
 spoken truth.' To accomplish this end and establish 
 her dogmas, she slew men, beginning with Priscillian 
 and ' the six Gnostics,' in the fourth century, at Triers, 
 and ending no one knows where, or when, or with whom. 
 It had such zeal for the ' unity of the faith,' that it put 
 prophets in chains ; asked the sons of God if they were 
 'greater than Jacob.' It made Belief take the place of 
 Life. It absolved men of their sins, past, present, and
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 65 
 
 future. Emancipated the clergy from the secular law, 
 thus giving them license to sin. It sold heaven to 
 extortioners for a little gold, and built St. Peters with 
 the spoil. It wrung ill-gotten gains out of tyrants on 
 their death-bed ; devoured the houses of widows and the 
 weak ; built its cathedrals out of the spoils of orphans. 
 It was greedy of gold and power, and at one time had 
 wellnigh half the lands of England held in mortmain. 
 It absolved men from oaths; broke marriages; told lies; 
 forged charters and decretals ; burned the philosophers ; 
 corrupted the classics ; altered the words of the Fathers ; 
 changed the decisions of the Councils, and filled Europe 
 with its falsehood. It fought the most hideous of wars; 
 evangelized nations with the sword; laid kingdoms 
 under interdict to gratify its pride." 
 
 'Dear me,' interrupted Cluney, 'this is a terrible 
 arraignment.' 
 
 'It is,' said Tom, 'but let me give you a few more 
 extracts.' 
 
 "The church boasts of its uniform doctrine, but it 
 changes every age ; of its peaceful spirit, but who fought 
 the crusades, the wars of extermination in Switzerland, 
 France, the Low Countries? To whom must we set 
 down the ecclesiastical butchery that filled Europe with 
 funeral piles? It quarreled with the temporal power, 
 and built up institutions of tyranny to suppress truth; 
 kept the bible to itself; made the Greek testament a pro 
 hibited book ; brought dead men's bones into the tem 
 ples, for the living to worship, and worked lying wonders 
 to confirm false doctrine. It loved the night of the 
 Dark Ages, and clung to its old dogmas." 
 
 'Oh, oh!' groaned Cluney. 'Can he say anything
 
 66 IN FETTERS: 
 
 worse of the church anything that can equal it In 
 severity, or shall I call it malignity ? ' 
 
 ' I think he can,' said Tom. ' Listen to this : ' 
 
 "The church came at length to be the colossus of 
 crime, with a thin veil of hypocrisy drawn over its face, 
 and that only. The vow of purity its children took, 
 became a license for sin. The corruptest of. courts was 
 the court of the Pope. What reverence had the arch 
 bishops for the doctrines of the church? Cardinal 
 Bembo bade Sadolet not to read St. Paul, it would spoil 
 his taste. In early ages the Apostles were the devoutest 
 of men ; in later days their ' successors ' were steeped to 
 the lips in crime." 
 
 'There is more of this,' remarked Tom. ' Shall I read 
 it to you, or have I read enough?' 
 
 'Enough, Tom, enough! Though not a blind believer 
 in everything pertaining to the Catholic church, I .have 
 been a student of her history, and can say this of what 
 you have read: While there is much that is true in it, 
 the facts are so warped by an unfriendly critic that they 
 become the blackest of lies. Many of them are stale, 
 and have been frequently disproved. Hallam, I see, is 
 freely drawn from, as well as other writers of undoubted 
 unfairness and enmity to the church.' 
 
 'Then your panegyrist turns out to be a maligner. 
 Well, I suppose a man is largely estimated by us from 
 the fact that what he says agrees with or differs from 
 our knowledge or conception of things.' 
 
 'Largely so, I confess, Tom.' 
 
 And the friends retraced their steps. On the way into 
 the city Cluney asked: 
 
 'Did you take those notes for publication, Tom?'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 67 
 
 'I did. But you will laugh when I tell you that, as 
 both Theodore Parker and the Catholic church are not 
 in favor in Boston, now, where the leaven of Puritanism 
 is still active, I could not get the report published in any 
 of the dailies or weeklies. The fact is, the Irish are the 
 under dog in the fight here, and Irish and Roman Catho 
 lic are convertible terms at this time.' 
 
 'Well, Tom, this is no doubt natural enough in fact, 
 existing conditions are the natural outcome of pre-ex 
 isting ones, always. The Irish may be kept down, for a 
 time, but they are not easily repressed. The Catholic 
 church encourages procreation, and the people who have 
 the largest families will, in the long run, become the 
 rulers in a nation of democratic usages, where Jack has 
 as much to say in the choice of rulers as his master; and 
 why shouldn't they ? ' 
 
 ' I agree with you,' said Tom. ' American city fami 
 lies are small; Irish families are large. I foresee results.' 
 
 ' Will it be for the better, think you ? ' asked Cluney. 
 
 * It may be,' said Tom, reflectively, ' but I doubt it.' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MASTER CLUNEY VISITS A 'PROFESSIONAL* INFIDEL. 
 
 ' Well,' said Tom, after supper, ' what shall it be to 
 night a missionary meeting, or a visit to my particular 
 friend, the editor of the Investigator?' 
 
 ' I confess, Tom, that I prefer the Infidel. There will 
 be freshness there, at least, and perhaps some originality. 
 I think, also, after the Parker purgative of the afternoon,
 
 68 IN FETTERS: 
 
 that a dose of even radical infidelity might not be too 
 drastic. Besides, I have a curiosity to see a professional 
 Infidel, and hear him talk. I know I shall enjoy it.' 
 
 4 1 hope you will,' responded Tom. 
 
 The friends then took .their way to a building located 
 near the head of Washington street, just south of Corn- 
 hill, and ascended three flights of stairs, where Tom 
 opened a door which revealed a composing room and 
 men at work setting type. Going through this to an 
 inner room, Tom and his friend found seated at a desk, 
 a stout, well-built man, with large head, full eyes, a 
 square, honest face, and jaws of iron, indicating a tena 
 cious, unyielding and even aggressive nature. This face 
 appeared to wear an habitually stern look, but this 
 vanished at once into an expression of cordiality when 
 Tom was recognized, and his friend was introduced. 
 
 Rising from his seat and cordially grasping the hand 
 of the stranger, he said 
 
 ' Mr. Cluney, I am glad to welcome you to my humble 
 office the den where the faithful believe 1 am in the 
 habit of hob-nobbing with the devil and conspiring 
 against the churches, plotting their overthrow. I have 
 just given out my last piece of copy to the printers, and 
 feel like the man who has carried his burden to its 
 destination and taken it from his shoulders.' 
 
 This was Horace Seaver. He was a man between 
 thirty and forty years of age, with much of native vigor 
 derived from a strong physique, and a good fund of 
 animal spirits, the result of a good digestion. His fore 
 head was high and massive, and his eyes filled with the 
 reflective expression of the philosopher rather than the 
 searching look of the man of the world.
 
 THE MAN OU THE PIUEST? 69 
 
 'My friend,' said Tom, 'preferred a visit to you to 
 night rather than go to a lecture, concert, or a mis 
 sionary meeting, and that accounts for our presence 
 here.' 
 
 ' Well,' was Mr. Seaver's reply, ' I would feel flattered 
 if I thought your friend did not choose me as being 
 more of a curiosity than the others.' 
 
 'To tell the truth,' said Cluney, 'my choice was 
 prompted by curiosity, of that kind which expected to 
 find in you a man something out of the common one 
 who had, no doubt, left early friends and social relations, 
 and launched upon a troubled sea of doubt, and, shall I 
 say it, darkness?' 
 
 'Thank you for frankness, and in part you estimate 
 me correctly. I have broken with early associations 
 and many early friends, but though the future is not 
 bright, it is not one of doubt to me, or even darkness. I 
 have passed that period of my mental development in 
 which doubt was a factor. I doubt no longer, but am as 
 clear and positive in my mind in regard to the great 
 question of life man's proper relation to nature as a 
 man in his normal senses should be.' 
 
 'Your position, your contest against all the churches, 
 almost against society, as it would seem to a Christian, is 
 one which calls for rare fortitude and moral courage,' 
 remarked Cluney. 
 
 'Yes. The soldier in the excitement of the battle 
 may walk heroically up to the cannon's mouth, and feel 
 that if he dies, his country and kindred will honor his 
 courage and bless his memory. But with the devoted 
 men with whom I am associated, it requires a different 
 and more abiding courage to face the formidable array of
 
 70 IN FETTERS: 
 
 entrenched bigotry, superstition, intolerance, and honest 
 stupidity. Think of it for a moment: To oppose the 
 institution which your fathers loved in centuries gone 
 by; to sweep off the altars, forms, and usages that 
 ministered to your mother's piety, helped her bear the 
 bitter ills and cross of life, and gave her winged tran- 
 quility in the hour of death; to sunder your ties of 
 social sympathy; destroy the rites associated with the 
 aspiring dream of childhood, and its earliest prayer, and 
 the sunny days of youth to disturb these because they 
 weave chains, invisible but despotic,' which bind the arm 
 and fetter the foot, and confine the heart; to hew down 
 the hoary tree under whose shadow the nations played 
 their game of life, and found in death the clod of the 
 valley sweet to their weary bosom, to destroy all this 
 because it poisons the air and stifles the breath of the 
 world, it is a sad and bitter thing. It makes the heart 
 throb, and the face, that is hard as iron all over in public, 
 weeps in private, weak woman's tears. Such trials are 
 not for vulgar souls ; they feel not the riddle of the 
 world!' 
 
 The editor spoke sadly, as if the retrospect of his life 
 experience were passing in review before him, and then 
 he added ' But the die is cast. We have crossed the 
 river and burnt our boats behind us. Reason and 
 common sense are our pillar of cloud by day and of fire 
 by night, and we are heading for the land of intellectual 
 freedom and emancipation from the Egyptian supersti 
 tion which still dominates the world.' 
 
 'Do you expect to accomplish your mission in your 
 lifetime?' asked the schoolmaster. 
 
 'I am not sanguine of producing any great revolution
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 71 
 
 in the minds of church people in my day, replied Mr. 
 Seaver, 'but I hope to see the time when outspoken 
 truth will be heard even by believing Christians, and 
 when doubt will creep into the church, and disbelief in 
 the shocking doctrine of eternal punishment will so 
 assert itself as to humanize religion and make men think 
 without fear of damnation. Men ought to be moral 
 without the fear of punishment, or hope of special 
 reward.' 
 
 'Your position is not a popular one with the world, I 
 take it,' said Cluney. 
 
 'It is not,' replied Seaver, with a laugh. 'I do not 
 know of a single public office that I could be elected to 
 in the city of Boston, if it called for even one hundred 
 votes to elect.' 
 
 'Do you like the position you occupy?' asked Cluney. 
 
 'Yes, and no. It is not agreeable to go through the 
 streets and meet hundreds of people whom you know 
 would crucify you, if they dared. But I can walk the 
 street with the proud consciousness that I own myself, 
 and am disenthralled from the fetters of superstition.' 
 
 'Is that a compensation for what you have to 
 endure?' 
 
 'Yes; for in the struggle I am vindicating the man 
 hood that is in me. I am as a soldier, enlisted for the 
 war, which with me will be a struggle while life con 
 tinues. The army of free thinkers is as yet small, and 
 practically unorganized, while that of the churches 
 those champions of mental as well as corporal slavery 
 is overwhelming; and I may say that I feel a pride in 
 being one of the leaders in it. We have noble spirits in 
 pur band, who exemplify in their lives what men can do
 
 72 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 and endure for the sake of truth and freedom, and with 
 out hope of future reward or fear of future punishment. 
 
 'You do not then believe in a hereafter, in immor 
 tality of the soul?' 
 
 'We do not. Our reason convinces us that the idea 
 of after existence and immortality is preposterous a 
 relic of superstition, without a particle of proof, and im 
 possible of demonstration. With us this is not a thing 
 of doubt, but of conviction. We have got beyond the 
 line of wavering doubt and uncertainty where we think 
 we do not know where our brain is in a fog. We are 
 landed on the rock of human reason that most stable 
 position of intellectual existence and thereon we have 
 constructed our temple of Common Sense, of which that 
 grand pioneer of American Liberty, Thomas Paine, is the 
 greatest modern apostle, and good old Abner Kneeland, 
 the founder of the Investigator, his worthy successor. I 
 may be thought too sanguine the world would doubt 
 less say crazy but, orthodox and intolerant as Puritan 
 Boston now is, I expect to see a monument or memorial 
 raised to these men in this city. The apostles of liberty 
 will yet be estimated at their true worth.' 
 
 ' The outlook for such a consummation does not seem 
 particularly bright at present,' interjected Tom. 
 
 ' I can understand,' pursued Cluney, addressing Seaver, 
 1 that, in cutting adrift from all the creeds and dogmas of 
 Christianity, there may be a sense of freedom, an exhila 
 ration like that of the schoolboy bowling at skittles, only 
 you bowl at altars and pulpits. In that sense it might 
 be fun for the bowlers.' 
 
 ' You may give it that title, my friend ; but I assure 
 you that with us it is earnest fun. Though, I will admit,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 73 
 
 there is a feeling of peculiar satisfaction in the work of 
 unmasking the hypocrisy and inconsistency of theological 
 religion. We have abundance of high and hoary things 
 to aim at, and we never- hesitate, like the Irishman at a 
 fair, to hit a head when we see it.' 
 
 'Your constituency is not large, I take it?' 
 
 'No. Only those who can use their brains, and have 
 the moral courage to listen and think only such will 
 hear us. On the other hand the ministers have the 
 multitude, whom they hold on account of their continu 
 ous appeals to their selfishness, and to their fear.' 
 
 'Do you regard theology as of no account?' asked 
 Cluney. 
 
 'Theology is called the science of religion, which it is 
 not, and pretends to treat of man, God, and the relation 
 between man and God, with the duties which grow out 
 of the relation. But as a matter of fact theology is no 
 science at all, but a system of incoherent notions, woven 
 together by a scholastic logic, and resting on baseless 
 assumptions. It is not studied as true science is, with 
 no concern except for the truth of the conclusion. Only 
 what is desired is sought for. This Christian theology of 
 today has two great idols the Bible and Christ and 
 these it worships. This theology relies on assumptions, 
 not ultimate facts, which it has not, and so comes to no 
 certain conclusions. It weaves cobwebs, not cloth. It 
 catches the flies of humanity in its web, and its profes 
 sional spiders, the priests and ministers, feed and fatten 
 on them.' 
 
 'Do you think theologians that is, the priests and 
 ministers are conscious of the untenableness of their 
 position?' asked Cluney, with just a tinge of sarcasm.
 
 74 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'As a rule, I doubt if they are. They do not take the 
 trouble to think of the matter, or dare not investigate 
 it in any but a believing spirit, so strong is authority 
 in the minds of such men. But I am treating of the 
 thinkers among them the weavers of the theological 
 meshes in which the human mind is ensnared. Theo 
 logians have assumed their facts, and then reasoned as if 
 the facts were established; but the conclusion was an 
 inference from a baseless assumption. Thus it accounts 
 for nothing. "We only become certain of the immor 
 tality of the soul from the fact of Christ's resurrection," 
 says theology. Here are two assumptions ; first, the fact 
 of that resurrection, and, second, that it proves our 
 immortality. If we ask proof of the first point, it is not 
 in existence in a rational, reliable form ; of the second, it 
 can not be shown. The theological method is as false 
 as the theory on which it is based; for it does not prove 
 the facts historically, or verify its conclusions philosophi 
 cally.' 
 
 'I admit that it requires some faith for the acceptance 
 of the fact of the resurrection,' said Cluney. 'But are 
 there not things that transcend our knowledge happen 
 ing all the time?' 
 
 ' Yes ; there are many things, such as the force which 
 impels the planets in their orbits, systems in their courses, 
 and the laws governing such vast movements, that we 
 probably never can know, or can only guess at in the 
 vaguest way. But there are things which can be inves 
 tigated, and the truth in regard to them ascertained. We 
 have applied our common sense to the things of life with 
 more or less of success, and make improvements in sci 
 ence and art every year. We investigate and study the
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 75 
 
 phenomena of nature to learn facts, and we do gain them. 
 Science, being a collection and arrangement of ascer 
 tained facts, will not permit the acceptance of conclusions 
 based on false assumptions, as theology would have us 
 do.' 
 
 'You reject the idea of God, then a supreme power?' 
 suggested Cluney. 
 
 'We reject the idea of a personal God certainly,' 
 replied Seaver. 'But not the idea of a Supreme Power. 
 This, no one having any conception of the forces of 
 nature, and their operation, could for a moment deny. 
 The Christian, and in fact every other, God, is a being, 
 an entity, an organism. As such, he must have a loca 
 tion, an environment, and can be in one place only at a 
 time, but we are told that he is everywhere, sees and 
 knows all things, not only in the present and past, but 
 things to come. The absurdity of this is so transparent 
 to my mind that I have little patience with it. Now 
 what is the popular idea of God? Most people conceive 
 God to be a huge man in shape. I do not recall who it 
 was who said it, but it illustrates my point. He said 
 the avorage Englishman's idea of God was a big, majestic 
 episcopal bishop ! Xenophanes, the Greek, shows how old 
 this idea of god is, for he says of lions, horses, and oxen, 
 that "if they had hands wherewith to grave images, they 
 would fashion gods after their own shapes and make 
 them bodies like their own" would in fact, impose 
 their limitations on the Supreme Power of the universe, 
 just as man has done.' 
 
 ' Do you not believe in what is called religion ?' asked 
 the persevering school-master, who seemed bent on cate 
 chising.
 
 76 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 The improved theology of today says religion is love 
 of God and man. Strike out the word God, and I accept 
 it. Nay, 1 would go farther, and say: Humanity is my 
 God, and to do all I can to help it my religion. This is, 
 you may know, paraphrasing Thomas Paine's declaration : 
 "The world is my country, and to do good my religion." 
 As to the great formative energy of the universe, which 
 appears to be self-regulating, I, as a result of one of its 
 processes, do not see wherein my relation to it can be so 
 well expressed and carried out as by dealing with and 
 helping my fellow creatures. I have nothing to fear 
 from this magnificent All-power in the future any more 
 than in the past. My existence to me is everything to 
 the vast storehouse of energy out of which it came, 
 scarcely an incident of more significance than the breath 
 of a spring morning, or the life of a May-fly. Then why 
 should I look for immortality a life beyond this one? 
 I see nothing to justify such an expectation, beyond the 
 unreasoning and unreasonable hopes of foolish and selfish 
 people. People will say: Why should we die and be 
 ended so much of goodness, wisdom, virtue? But why 
 should these attributes be perpetuated in the few, and 
 the vice, the villainy, the infernal devilishness of charac 
 ter in the many not also be perpetuated? The beauty 
 of the good and the virtuous fades as the flowers of 
 summer, in its time. That glorious piece of mechanism, 
 the human form, becomes old, decrepid, diseased why 
 should this be ? It is the course of nature, we say. Yes, 
 and 'tis the course of nature to die and be ended. Why 
 not? Do we know to the contrary? All we can know 
 is found on this side of death, and our reason tells us 
 death ends all,'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 77 
 
 'Then heaven and hell are myths, as well as immor 
 tality?' asked Cluney. 
 
 'Heaven and hell,' replied Seaver, 'are said to be up 
 and down, respectively. Up where? Down where? Up 
 is above the earth; down, in the earth. If heaven is 
 above, it is in the clouds, or beyond, and hell in the hot 
 bowels of the earth. At the equator our earth turns 
 around on its axis at the rate of one thousand miles an 
 hour that is pretty fast traveling. But it is as nothing 
 to the orbital velocity of the earth itself, which, accord 
 ing to the best astronomical authority, is nearly nineteen 
 miles a second. 
 
 ' Our earth has still another motion ; it follows the sun 
 in its course, as the moon follows our's. This motion of 
 the sun, which we share, is, I am told, some 20,000 miles 
 an hour; and in how many other ways our gyrating 
 course through space is effected it would be difficult to 
 say; but we are evidently describing a series of circles, 
 which make our movements very complex indeed. 
 
 'Here we are, then, on a globe or sphere, eight thousand 
 miles in diameter, which we call the earth, swinging and 
 whirling and gyrating though space at a velocity twenty 
 times greater than that of our swiftest projectile, with 
 our up or heavenward direction changing at the rate of 
 a mile in about every four seconds, and yet we point, up 
 and up to space beyond as our heaven ! Well, the thing 
 is no more preposterous than the idea of heaven itself, 
 with immortality of what is called the soul included. We 
 Infidels claim to have the brains to see this condition of 
 things and the courage to accept its consequences.' 
 
 'It is curious and strange,' said Cluney, reflectively. 
 'Here you are, with apparently all the spirit that would
 
 78 IN FETTERS! 
 
 do and suffer, attacking established religion tearing its 
 most sacred traditions to shreds to establish and per 
 petuate which thousands have willingly suffered martyr 
 dom, and for which thousands are still ready to offer 
 their lives! Is it not strange indeed?' 
 
 ' They were noble fellows, those martyrs, for they were 
 no doubt honest and sincere in their belief, and of course 
 that same heroic spirit still survives. I could honor 
 their courage, but not their hallucination. I could 
 commend their fortitude, but that is no reason why I 
 should not condemn the colossal lie which they believe 
 in. I pity the mistaken immolation of the worshippers 
 of Hindoo Juggernauth, who prostrate themselves before 
 the wheels of that car of Vishnu, and achieve what they 
 believe to be a glorious death and immortality ; but this 
 would all the more make me denounce the monstrous 
 thing which they believe in too faithfully and to their 
 destruction.' 
 
 After some further conversation, in which Tom bore a 
 part, the friends took their leave of Mr. Seaver, with 
 thanks for his courtesy. 
 
 On the way homeward, Tom asked Cluney: 
 
 'How were you impressed with my friend Seaver?' 
 
 ' In some respects I should call him a remarkable man, 
 but I think he has chosen a peculiar calling to make a 
 living by.' 
 
 'What do you mean by that remark?' asked Tom. 
 
 ' Simply this. While you may regard him as a kind 
 of apostle of free thought, I am not at all sure but he is 
 what he is, partly from a naturally combative disposition 
 and in part to make a living. In other words, I regard 
 him as a "professional Infidel." He is able, bright, and
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 79 
 
 no doubt as sincere as a soldier of fortune would be who 
 would tight in any cause the first that presented.' 
 
 'But his present position is one of choice, as I under 
 stand,' said Tom, 'and not because of lack of opportunity 
 for remunerative employment in other lines of effort.' 
 
 'Tom,' said Cluney, stopping suddenly, and facing his 
 companion, 'why don't you become a professional Infidel? 
 You seem to be in full sympathy with these people.' 
 
 'I have several reasons,' was the reply, 'most of which 
 I need not tell you; they are selfish ones. But my main 
 reason is that I so love to be my own master, to own 
 myself, to keep my individuality intact, that I would join 
 no organization where my actions would be governed or 
 hampered by others, or identify myself with a movement 
 that I did not wholly believe in.' 
 
 'Then you do not subscribe to the doctrine of Infi 
 delity?' 
 
 'I subscribe to no doctrine but my own, and that is all 
 the time changing in its details,' said Tom, laughing. 
 'But I am willing to give a helping hand to all whom I 
 believe to be honestly contending for the truth. I want 
 to be a "free lance.'" 
 
 'Truth!' said Cluney reflectively. 'That is a much 
 misunderstood word, or the majority of people are fools. 
 It would seem to be simple enough in itself, but when we 
 see people contending about it not that one should get 
 it from the other, as in the contention of dogs over a 
 bone, but that one should compel the other to accept his 
 version of it that is strange indeed! Do you think 
 there is only one kind of truth in the world, or that it 
 can be found only in certain places, like piety? Truth, 
 with men generally, has as many complexions as their
 
 80 IN FETTERS: 
 
 minds have, and is crude, half-devoloped, or compara 
 tively rational according as their conception of it is 
 developed.' 
 
 'That may be so,' replied Tom, 'but what I mean is, 
 that where I find a vast system of what is called religion, 
 founded on manifest ignorance of natural laws, the truth 
 with regard to which laws we know enough of to con 
 trovert their assumptions of infallibility and immortality, 
 and I find men with the courage to deny these assump 
 tions and speak the truth regarding them, I feel like 
 giving them aid and comfort. I think it is my duty as a 
 man to do it.' a 
 
 'How are you going to do it, Tom? You cannot con 
 vince people, by argument, who will not listen to you.' 
 
 ' I know it, and that is one reason why I would not 
 become a professional Infidel, as you term it. As such, 
 I would not be listened to. As a simple individual, I 
 can do more good for humanity. I am well aware of 
 the fact that the church has control of the people, and 
 the moulding of them from the cradle onward. It works 
 not only through its ministers, but more potently 
 through the believing mothers. Indeed, I have no doubt 
 that with mothers the controlling influence exists before 
 the birth of their offspring, and when they are in a con 
 dition of the most peculiar susceptibility to all abnormal 
 impressions and influences. Then, after birth, when the 
 child begins to learn and understand, the mother gives 
 him his first lessons in superstition, fully believing that 
 she is doing him a grand service ; telling him, for example 
 that "the fear of the Lord is beginning of all wisdom." 
 Why fear? Why not love? Well, because God is sup 
 posed to be grand and terrible ; and is clothed in the
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 81 
 
 thunder of the elements, with forked lightning in his 
 hands and a frown on his face, ready to blast and to 
 destroy all who do not practice the most abject form of 
 submission and supplication towards him, the real sub 
 mission being practically to priestcraft. 
 
 'From the cradle to the grave the church takes control 
 of the man ; and even beyond the grave it claims to in 
 fluence his fate an absurd and wicked pretension ! Do 
 you imagine that I do not appreciate the bonds and 
 fetters which the church has woven around the lives of 
 men bonds for the restraint of free inquiry; fetters for 
 their minds? A man may burst the manacles of steel 
 which the law puts on him, if he has the physical 
 strength to do it, but the manacles of the church can not 
 be broken except by the strength of will which few men 
 possess. There is an awful penalty attached by the Catho 
 lic church to unbelief, and most men are fearful of it.' 
 
 'Then,' said Cluney, 'why resist so potent an influ 
 ence? The Catholic church is the repository of all the 
 ethical religion to be found in all the dissenting creeds, 
 with excellent practices which they have not usages 
 which tone the moral system and keep men up to a point 
 of high moral conduct, if their nature is capable of it. It 
 will condone transgression only on the true repentance 
 of the transgressor. It will not, like many Protestant 
 churches, shut the gates of mercy on the repentant 
 sinner. At the same time, you may understand, the 
 Catholic church is more tolerant than any other. You 
 may think as you please, and doubt as much as you will, 
 if you do not seek to openly propagate your views and 
 oppose the teachings of the church, you can still remain 
 in the fold, and settle with the Great Reckoner. I may
 
 82 IN FETTERS: 
 
 confess to you that I am, in my own person, an example 
 of this. I think quite as freely now as you do, and there 
 was a time when I thought as strongly. But time has 
 sobered me, and, seeing the futility of making a struggle, 
 I have accepted the situation ; and my pathway is smooth 
 and peaceful.' 
 
 '1 could not do that,' said Tom. 'It would be against 
 my nature. I could not be one thing and seem to be 
 another. I must be free, and I will be, the church to the 
 contrary notwithstanding.' 
 
 4 Believe me, Tom, the church can get along without 
 you, and will not interfere with your humor in the matter. 
 But can you get along without the social amenities of 
 religion ? You will find it a difficult thing to do.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Tom, ' I will make the trial.' 
 
 'I have no doubt of it,' rejoined Cluney, and the 
 friends proceeded homeward. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A NEW ARRIVAL RICHARD GASTON GOES TO ROME. 
 
 It is possible that the reader may desire more of inci 
 dent and less of opinion, and, presuming that to be the 
 case, we will gloss over the things heard by Tom Gaston 
 and his guest at the Sunday services which they at 
 tended on the day succeeding the events recorded in the 
 last chapter. 
 
 In the forenoon they heard Theodore Parker, in the 
 lower hall of Music Hall the Melodeon. His theme
 
 THE MAN OK THE PEIEST? 83 
 
 was human slavery, the great national sin of America. 
 His denunciation of slavery was grand, earnest, and even 
 fierce; and the applause that frequently greeted his utter 
 ances was a thing so strange and so unexpected to 
 Cluney that he turned to his friend and remarked: 
 
 ' Tom, do they applaud him when he prays ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Tom, 'when he makes a good hit.' 
 
 'At what?' 
 
 'At anything the devil, or the Catholic church, for 
 example,' returned Tom, with a chuckle. 
 
 At the close of the sermon, and on the way to dinner, 
 Cluney remarked: 
 
 'Your Theodore Parker is a wonderfully effective 
 speaker, with all the art of an orator, to which he adds 
 an intense earnestness and feeling. He is a born leader, 
 but his head is too large and vigorous for his body, and 
 will wear it out. His denunciation of slavery was one 
 of the grandest I have ever heard. It was a noble pro 
 test against an execrable institution a strong and manly 
 denunciation of a thing that is a most glaring and 
 shameful anomaly in a country that has for its central 
 principle of government human freedom.' 
 
 In the evening the friends visited Father Taylor's 
 Bethel, in North square. The attendance was not large, 
 and the venerable and eccentric minister was not in the 
 best of humor, perhaps for that reason. His talk was, of 
 course, mainly directed to seamen, to warn them of the 
 dangers from 'land sharks' and loose women, and also 
 showing them that the only safe harbor of refuge was 
 with Jesus. He was a man of medium size, somewhat 
 fleshy, with a strong, earnest face, and long white hair. 
 His speech was bluff even to affectation, but vigorous
 
 84 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 and full of homely aphorisms appropriate to his purpose. 
 
 An incident occurred which amused the friends great 
 ly. One of those well-meaning but sententious men a 
 merchant of the West End of the city who thought he 
 felt an interest in the seamen, rose in response to an in 
 vitation to the hearers from Father Taylor, after his dis 
 course, to testify in behalf of good works, and proceeded 
 to tell how much the merchants had done for the sailors, 
 and how thankful the latter should be for what was done 
 in their behalf. 
 
 Father Taylor listened to this man with evident impa 
 tience, and finally said: 'Belay, there, brother; you have 
 let out enough of that slack.' Then, when the merchant 
 sat down, he called out: 'Is there any other old sinner 
 present who desires to say anything?' The effect of 
 the rebuke was electrical, and brought smiles to the 
 faces of all present, save that of the speaker who called 
 it down. 
 
 ' Well,'said Cluney, as the friends wended their way 
 through carousing Ann street, homeward : ' Father Tay 
 lor is a character indeed. He is one of those earnest, 
 sincere men who despise hypocrisy, and no doubt accom 
 plishes a vast amount of good in his way. He is a fine 
 rugged character, and under different conditions might 
 become a despot or revolutionist, an anchorite or a man 
 of the world.' 
 
 ' He is a good, honest man, no doubt,' replied Tom ; 
 'but it tires me to listen to this old song of 'come to 
 Jesus,' instead of appealing to the manly principle in 
 human nature the pride rather than the fear; but of 
 course this is the stock in trade of exhorters.' 
 
 On the day following, that is, Monday, Tom received
 
 85 
 
 a letter from his brother in Montreal. Richard was 
 on the eve of starting for Rome, and on the way would 
 call on his dear brother in Boston. 
 
 'This is news, indeed,' said Tom to Cluney, 'and good 
 news. We should have Dick here now at any time, per 
 haps today, for this letter was evidently received here 
 on Saturday, and not delivered till to 'day. The fact is, 
 I forgot to call on Saturday for my mail.' 
 
 And, sure enough, that very afternoon Richard arrived 
 in Boston, and at once repaired to his brother's boarding 
 place. He had changed somewhat during his sojourn in 
 college, was paler, and had taken on the indescribable 
 habit of countenance peculiar to the theological student. 
 With a full-fledged cleric priest or minister the term 
 sanctimonious expresses it, but with the novice it is less 
 pronounced. Whether it be a reflection of the inward 
 mind, or whether, chameleon-like, it is the result of an 
 imitation growing out of association, it is hard to say ; 
 but whatever its cause, it is pronounced and distinctive, 
 and easily recognized by men of experience, especially 
 those who have traveled in Catholic countries. 
 
 The meeting between the brothers was very warm and 
 affectionate, and Master Cluney beheld it with tears in 
 his eyes, and somewhat the feeling of a father in his 
 heart, for both had been pupils of his, and he knew them 
 to be bright, honest boys, though curiously different in 
 many respects, mentally as well as physically. 
 
 The reader has all along been compelled to picture to 
 himself one of the most interesting characters of this 
 narrative, Thomas Gaston. I think it not a bad idea, 
 however, to give the reader an opportunity to imagine the 
 kind of man a character is by the way he talks and acts.
 
 86 IN FETTERS: 
 
 In the present case, it would perhaps be more striking to 
 describe him by contrast, for the reason that in the two 
 brothers were strongly exemplified two distinctive types 
 of the races of Europe northern and southern which, 
 one would suppose, should have been blended in them. 
 
 While there was a resemblance between the brothers, 
 when seen together, it would be difficult to say in what 
 it consisted. Richard was tall, large-boned, with light- 
 blue eyes, light brown hair, and stright nose, with wide 
 nostrils an almost typical Saxon in appearance, such 
 as is often found among the Irish people, indicating the 
 mixture of races in Ireland similar to that found in Great 
 Britain. Richard had regular features, fair skin, a round 
 face, and was really a handsome fellow. 
 
 Thomas was of medium height and build, with a well- 
 knit frame, whose every movement indicated a vigor that 
 seemed to be constantly held in check. His forehead 
 was high and broad, with dark-shaded brows, hanging 
 like beetling cliffs of observation well out above his eyes, 
 which were full and of a changing black eyes that, on 
 occasion, would glow like opals or darken into fiery jets; 
 an aquiline nose, finely shaped, with flaring nostrils; a 
 firm, well-shaped mouth, strong chin, and jaws indicating 
 a persistent and unyielding disposition. His hair was 
 black and inclined to curl, and his complexion was a 
 clear olive. He was French, with an English expres 
 sion of solidity and earnestness ; with the fiery courage of 
 the one, backed by the cool determination of the other. 
 
 While there were characteristics apparent in both 
 brothers that would command attention, they were of a 
 nature peculiar to each. Richard had not the strong 
 facial characteristics of his brother, and, though evidently
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 87 
 
 not lacking in firmness, was yet of that easy, good-natured 
 disposition that could be changed in purpose, that 
 would not as steadily pursue a purpose as his brother. 
 Thomas, on the other hand, gave the impression that he 
 was a man great of firmness and decision of character, 
 and of unbending will and purpose. His eyes were 
 searching and speculative, and strongly indicated that he 
 was not a man to be trifled with. Richard had a mild 
 and pleasant expression of eye, and appeared to be one 
 of those men from whom only kindness and good nature 
 was to be expected. 
 
 In the pleasure of meeting, however, the brothers 
 seemed transfigured in so far that each appeared to be a 
 composite of both, in the light and sparkle of the eye, 
 and the gentle glow of brotherly affection which spread 
 over the faces of both, harmonizing and blending their 
 peculiar characteristics. It was a case where the gentler 
 and more stern attributes of manhood, under the warmth 
 of consanguinal affection, were melted into homogeneous 
 identity. 
 
 ' And now, Dick,' said Thomas, ' tell us what favoring 
 turn in the wheel of good luck has caused you to fold 
 your tent on the banks of the majestic St. Lawrence and 
 come to Boston just at the time when my Mentor our 
 mutual friend, our good Master Cluney was on a visit 
 of exploration among the caves of piety and dens of un 
 belief which abound in this wicked Yankee metropolis?' 
 
 'I'll tell you, in a few words,' replied Richard. 'I had 
 heard of the eclat, the distinction, it gave to a priest in 
 Canada to have been ordained at Rome, and, as I did not 
 intend to become a member of the Society of Jesus, and 
 desired to visit Europe, and especially the holy city of
 
 88 IN FETTERS: 
 
 Rome, I made up my mind to take this course, and here 
 I am in pursuance of it.' 
 
 'Will you go home before crossing the water?' asked 
 Cluney. 
 
 'No,' replied Richard. 'For obvious reasons, it would 
 be best not to go there now, though I should like to see 
 my dear mother and father. Tom, you ought to go 
 down and see them.' 
 
 ' I shall,' said Tom, ' after I obtain my degree. In a 
 year from now I hope to go there, and spend a week or 
 two amid the old familiar scenes. But, Dick, my dear 
 boy, are you still determined to be a priest? Can't you 
 go to Europe and see all you want to, and return and do 
 something else? You are an expert accountant, and 
 could easily get a good position in some counting room 
 in Boston.' 
 
 'It cannot be. I could not endure the disappointment 
 it would be to mother ; and, then, think of the talk it 
 would make if I returned home a layman instead of a 
 priest. Then But, what's the use of talking? The 
 die is cast I must go, even if I did have some mis 
 giving about the matter.' 
 
 'How long before you leave?' asked Cluney, with the 
 purpose of diverting the direction of the conversation, 
 which seemed to pain Richard. 
 
 ' I understand the steamer leaves on Wednesday next 
 day after tomorrow- and as I have some purchases 
 to make, many letters to write, and a good deal to see 
 in Boston, as well as much to talk of with both of you, 
 about home and personal matters, I do not think I will 
 have much idle time on hand. I have a letter to Bishop 
 Fitzpatrick, and will call on him tomorrow, and I have
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 89 
 
 several commissions for the students of the college at 
 Montreal to execute. I expect a letter of introduction 
 from the Bishop that will aid me at Rome.' 
 
 ' I will do what I can to aid you in your business,' said 
 Tom, ' but in regard to the visit to the Bishop ' 
 
 'In regard to that,' interrupted Cluney, 'you will of 
 course be too busy, and as I will have ample leisure, I can 
 devote it to going around with your brother, so you need 
 not trouble about that.' 
 
 Cluney then briefly explained what Tom was engaged 
 in, and the necessity of his being on hand at the news 
 paper office every day to do the work allotted to him. 
 Several times during this first meeting of the brothers 
 the conversation led to the subject of religion, when 
 Cluney, in a diplomatic way, contrived to avert an issue 
 between them on this matter, and when the first oppor 
 tunity occurred, Richard being absent for a few minutes, 
 Cluney said to his brother : 
 
 ' Tom, I beg of you not to bring up religious matters 
 for discussion with Richard. It will only lead to contro 
 versy, and such things are not productive of good. You 
 cannot influence him in regard to the profession he has 
 chosen, and a disagreement between you at this time on 
 a matter so vital to him might have consequences that 
 would give your brother pain and would leave you only 
 regret.' 
 
 'I thank you, my dear Cluney, for this kind advice, and 
 will follow it, though I shall dislike more than ever the 
 church that separates my only brother from me, for I feel 
 that we can never come together again with that old 
 time cordiality that we could if he had not become a 
 priest.'
 
 90 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' And why not ? asked Cluney. ' He will still be 
 your brother, and will still love you as a brother. He is 
 of an affectionate nature, and in the office he is going 
 to assume, with the peculiar work it calls for, he will 
 be all the better, and can bear his cross all the more 
 bravely, if he can feel that he has the affection of blood 
 and kindred to sustain him in his relation to the world.' 
 
 'I shall never cease to love him, even if he becomes 
 one of that class who regard all men as sinners and all 
 in need of "saving grace," especially one like myself, 
 who will be cut off from the church by censure for 
 daring to think for myself and express my views. But 
 will he, under the circumstances, love me the outcast ? 
 That is what troubles me,' said Tom. 
 
 ' I stake my life that he will,' said Cluney. ' He has 
 too much of the genuine good nature and affection of his 
 mother to ever go back on you, even if you have gone 
 back on the church of which he is a priest. No I 
 would sooner count on his forbearance in such a position 
 than on yours, if you were in his place, Tom.' 
 
 Would you? ' asked Tom, laughing. ' Why?' 
 
 'Tom,' said Cluney, 'with your positive nature, you 
 would be inclined to intolerance ; Richard, on the con 
 trary, would be inclined to forbearance. If you were a 
 sincerely-believing priest and I know you would never 
 be one if you were not sincere you would illustrate 
 Butler's distich in his Hudibras : 
 
 " The pulpit-drum ecclesiastic, 
 Was beat with fist instead of a stick." 
 
 'You would be inclined to polemics, while Richard 
 would take to works of benevolence and charity. 
 
 ' I guess you are about right,' said Tom. ' Poor Dick
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 91 
 
 I feel sorry for him, and it makes me mad when I think 
 of the peculiar fate which has driven him to this alterna 
 tive, him who would have made such a model family 
 man, while I, who care not a fig for women or domestic 
 life, have nothing to thwart me, and drive me from the 
 course I would pursue. Well, it is a queer world, and I 
 suspect, we are all parts of a vast mass of contrarieties.' 
 
 The evening was pleasantly spent in Thomas Gaston's 
 room, Cluney being present. The brothers talked of 
 their earlier days, their parents, home and friends. Tom 
 did not venture to touch on Richard's love affair, or 
 speak of the Wardens, except casually. He did ask, 
 however, if Richard would, when ordained, settle in the 
 home Province, or come to the States. 
 
 ' That is a matter,' said Richard, ' which I have not 
 yet decided. My preference would be to return to my 
 native place and take up my life work among the people 
 there I know them and many of their peculiarites, and 
 think I would like them better than the Yankees to live 
 amongst.' 
 
 'Probably you would,' remarked Tom, 'but my choice 
 would be with the Yankees, who are a wide-awake people 
 and fairly civilized. Will you go directly home after 
 ordination ?' 
 
 ' I cannot say,' replied Richard. ' My purpose is, how 
 ever, to visit some of the countries of Europe, which I 
 will be enabled to do to some satisfaction, for I have 
 become somewhat proficient in the French language 
 not the patois of the Provinces, but the tongue of modern 
 France. A knowledge of this language will enable a 
 person to travel anywhere on the Continent of Europe, 
 without having to carry an interpreter with him.'
 
 92 IN FETTERS: 
 
 I would like to be a companion for you,' said Tom. 
 ' We could take a Bohemian tramp through Bohemia.' 
 
 ' And I would like to form the third one of a party of 
 which you two would be the parties of the other part,' 
 said Cluney. 
 
 'A good Mentor you would be, I am sure,' said 
 Richard, ' and 1 would like to go with you and Tom, in 
 a most unconventional way, but not like Goldsmith, when 
 he gathered materials for his " Traveller." We could 
 have a famous good time going through Italy, Spain and 
 France, tracing the course of empire westward, from the 
 old Roman civilization.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Tom, ' it would be rare pastime to travel 
 over the ground which the nations of Europe have culti 
 vated, fought over, conquered from one another, and 
 where death has conquered them that is, all the old 
 ones. What a study the ruins of vast amphitheatres, 
 like the Coliseum at Rome, where the half savage consuls 
 and emperors sat and made men kill one another for 
 their amusement ; the ruins of the great castles where 
 feudal chiefs of old levied tribute like true highwaymen 
 on all who passed over their domains ; and the remains 
 of churches and cathedrals, mossy and ivy-grown ; what 
 a study these skeleton remains of an old civilization, a 
 condition of society which has passed away very largely, 
 would be. I often, in dreams, find myself amid such 
 ruins, viewing them and philosophizing in regard to 
 them. It always seems a fixed reality, and what is also 
 strange, I seem to view all such things in a moonlit 
 atmosphere.' 
 
 'Perhaps,' remarked Cluney, 'Scott's description of 
 Melrose Abbey, in "The Lay of the Last Minstrel," may
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 93 
 
 have influenced your mind to wander by moonlight, in 
 dreams. You, of course, remember how it begins ? ' 
 "If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight." ' 
 
 ' That may be so,' returned Tom, ' though, as a matter 
 of fact, I recall the circumstance that all incidents of my 
 dreams occur in a mellow kind of moonlight, as if a haze 
 were in the atmosphere.' 
 
 ' I can recognize the same peculiarity in my dreams,' 
 remarked Richard. 
 
 'And I acknowledge to the same experience. It is 
 curious that I never noted it before,' said Cluney. 
 
 ' It appears to be a clear case of lunacy all around,' 
 said Tom. ' But to return to Dick's purposes for the 
 future : When do you aim to retum to America, Dick ? ' 
 
 ' I hope to be able to return some time in May or June 
 next,' was the reply. 
 
 'Well, if all things are propitious, I will go down 
 home about the middle of July, next year. I do not 
 expect to secure anything like a regular practice in my 
 profession as early as that, though I shall have my sign 
 out this coming winter. I shall be glad to go down at 
 the time when you have returned home as a dignitary of 
 the church a priest.' 
 
 ' It will be a pleasure to me to have you come home 
 while I am there. I know that both mother and father 
 would be delighted to have both of us at home together, 
 even if you could not stay permanently.' 
 
 'And I should be delighted to see you both there,' 
 said Cluney. ' It would be a delight all around.' 
 
 The following day Cluney accompanied Richard on his 
 visit to the Bishop, and to fill the business errands
 
 94 IK FETTERS: 
 
 intrusted to him. Tom was busy at the office. During 
 their companionship, Richard inquired in regard to his 
 brother's religious views, and Cluney told him frankly 
 the state of Tom's mind. 
 
 * It is a painful thing for me to know,' said Richard. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Cluney, ' but you can do nothing to 
 help it. Tom is just as honest and sincere in his con 
 victions as you are, and the only thing to do is to wait 
 and trust to time, and his own good sense.' 
 
 'Do you think he is likely to embrace Protestantism?' 
 asked Richard. 
 
 'Dick,' said Cluney, 'there appears to be no middle 
 course for an honest Catholic doubter between Catholi 
 cism and Infidelity. Many stop off at the half-way house 
 of Protestantism why, I could never see. After a 
 taste of our church and its rituals ; its sculpture, painting 
 and architecture, and its poetry and music; and the mind 
 is not thoroughly weaned from religion ; Protestantism 
 furnishes but a sorry substitute; and, when weaned, it 
 cares for neither. Say nothing to him about religion, at 
 least at present.' 
 
 * I will not,' said Richard, ' but I shall pray for a 
 change of heart for him. But no matter what may 
 come, I will never turn against him.' 
 
 ' That is right. No matter how your opinions and 
 tastes may differ, never forget the ties of blood. They 
 are sacred.' 
 
 The evening was spent at the theatre, the brothers 
 and their friend enjoying themselves greatly. 
 
 The hour of departure came on the f olowing afternoon, 
 Tom and Cluney going over to East Boston to see 
 Richard on board the steamer and wish him safe voyage.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 95 
 
 The parting between the brothers was most affecting, 
 both shedding tears, and it is safe to say that while the 
 steamer was in sight the eyes of neither one were free 
 from the moisture of affection. 
 
 'Well,' remarked Cluney, 'Dick has chosen his life 
 vocation. I am not sure, had I been consulted, that I 
 should have selected him for a priest. He is good and 
 gentle, honest and sincere, but I doubt if he likes the 
 profession he has chosen. And I may say I do not 
 think any man who has been disappointed in love affairs 
 should assume holy orders. The church may do well as 
 a refuge for a disappointed man well along in years. 
 But well, let us hope for the best.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it is as well,' replied Tom, who appeared 
 more than usually thoughtful, and the friends returned 
 to Boston, and prepared to resume the amusements if 
 such they may be called which were interrupted by 
 the advent of Richard. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CHEBUCTO HAPPENINGS RECONCILIATION OF WARDEN 
 
 AND GASTON RICHARD TO BE RECALLED. 
 
 The Warden family assembled, as usual, on an August 
 evening, around the tea table. It was of a Wednesday 
 evening, and, by an odd coincidence, was the identical 
 one on which Richard Gaston sailed from Boston. 
 
 Mrs. Warden was a comely matron, about forty-five 
 years of age, with a French face and style of beauty,
 
 96 IN FETTERS: 
 
 made quite notable by a magnificent growth of black, 
 silken hair, which crowned her head like a diadem, and 
 which was made all the more striking by the scintillating 
 streaks of silvery threads running through it. Her eyes 
 were of a deep blue color, with long black lashes, and 
 eyebrows of the same color. Her face was oval, and her 
 complexion a clear white. Her face had a soft, pleasing 
 womanly expression, but did not indicate strength or 
 decision of character. 
 
 James Warden was a man about fifty years of age 
 of about medium size, stout and strongly built, with a 
 round head, a thick neck, and was altogether of a sturdy 
 appearance. His face was full, eyes light gray, com 
 plexion florid, with nose inclining to the pug form, and 
 heavy, strong jaws. His hair had been of a reddish 
 color, but was now a rusty iron gray. 
 
 Agnes Warden was taller than either parent, and 
 was an almost exact counterpart of what her mother 
 undoubtedly was at her age. She had the same deep 
 blue eyes, which, however, took on a different expression 
 under long golden lashes, while the same magnificent 
 wealth of hair possessed by her mother crowned her own 
 head, only it was of a golden tint. It was such hair, in 
 fact, as the old Italian painters delighted to represent on 
 canvas. 
 
 Agnes had a more earnest face, with much more char 
 acter in it. That is, it was expressive. It showed a 
 strong nature, that would suffer and endure, but would 
 not succumb. On the evening in question, Agnes was 
 more pensive than usual. 
 
 Mr. Warden's usually stolid face on this particular 
 evening showed more than ordinary worry and trouble,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 97 
 
 and it was known to his wife and daughter that he had 
 met with a reverse in the loss of one of his ships, on 
 which there was no insurance. 
 
 'Have you heard any more unpleasant news today, 
 James ? ' asked Mrs. Warden, as she passed him the tea. 
 
 'Yes,' he replied, 'the brig Midas, I learn, is ashore 
 in the Gut of Canso, and they say she is " hogged." She 
 left here just a week ago to-day with a load of lumber, 
 and struck on a sand bar at half tide. The wind was 
 fresh, and what with the pounding and lowering of the 
 tide, combined with the weight of lumber, she quickly 
 became "hogged," as it is called and I doubt if she 
 will ever amount to much. If she had been a total loss, 
 I would recover the insurance ; for I had her well 
 insured before sailing. But if they can float her, and 
 she crosses the water, her sale is lost, and I will not get 
 my insurance. It will put me in a tight place, I fear, 
 following the loss of the ship.' 
 
 'What,' said Mrs. Warden, 'is the situation really 
 serious ? ' 
 
 'It is, Mary.' 
 
 'I hope you do not fear bankruptcy, James,' said Mrs. 
 Warden, turning a shade paler than usual. 
 
 ' That is just what I do fear. My business has been 
 falling off .of late. The vessels I built have not brought 
 good prices in the home market. My traders have 
 hardly paid expenses in the last two years. My best 
 ship is a total loss, with her cargo, a third of which was 
 mine. It was last year's oats, and would have com 
 manded good prices at home at this season of the year. 
 Well, the luck seems to be against me.' 
 
 Agnes listened to this conversation without making
 
 98 IN FETTERS! 
 
 any comment or betraying any interest in it. Her mind 
 seemed preoccupied. Her mother noticed this curious 
 lack of interest concerning the vital matters talked of, 
 and appeared to feel irritated at it. 
 
 ' It does not seem to affect Agnes any,' she said, half 
 speaking to her. ' She seems not to care whether we are 
 ruined or not.' 
 
 'Ruined,' said Agnes, repeating the word; 'who is 
 ruined?' 
 
 ' We are that is, your father is,' was the reply. 
 
 * I hope not,' said Agnes. ' What is it, father ? ' 
 
 He explained the situation to her. ' It looks gloomy,' 
 he said, 'but it is not as desperate as your mother thinks. 
 Even if it comes to worst, and I should fail, I will have 
 enough to satisfy all demands and something besides. 
 As it is, if I had a thousand pounds I could soon put 
 matters to rights, for I could finish the two vessels now 
 on the stocks and meet all demands.' 
 
 ' A thousand pounds,' said Agnes, ' and are you sure 
 that amount would get you over your trouble?' 
 
 'Yes, indeed. I shall receive five thousand pounds in 
 about two months for the barque Medusa, which will be 
 turned over to the purchaser in Liverpool when she 
 returns from her Mediterranean voyage. With that 
 money in hand, I could meet every obligation, but in 
 the mean time I shall need, in addition to collections 
 and they come in slowly about a thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' Can you not borrow it?' asked Agnes. 
 
 ' I have made the effort have tried every one I know 
 or would ask without success. They all say they are 
 in want of money themselves. There is only one man 
 I have not been to, and I would not ask a favor of him,
 
 TBE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 99 
 
 not even a simple one, with any expectation of obtaining 
 it. Why, then, should I ask him for one like this ? ' 
 
 ' And that man is 
 
 ' Richard Gaston,' he said, bitterly. 
 
 ' Of course you could give good security for a loan,' 
 suggested Agnes. 
 
 ' The best in Chebucto,' he replied. 
 
 Agnes said no more, and the supper was finished in 
 silence. 
 
 Now let us look into the Gaston household. Richard 
 Gaston sat beside a table in his parlor, and his wife was 
 seated opposite. Mrs. Gaston was a woman in the 
 neighborhood of fifty; tall, for a woman, rather stout, 
 and thoroughly good-natured and motherly in appear 
 ance. Her light-brown hair had begun to turn white at 
 the roots, which rather added to her matronly appear 
 ance. Looking at her, one could easily trace whence 
 her son Richard derived his characteristics. In Richard 
 Gaston, on the other hand, could be traced the original 
 of Tom Gaston, whom we have just left in Boston, in 
 company with his Mentor. Mr. Gaston was some years 
 the senior of his wife, and his hair was plentifully 
 sprinkled with gray. His black eyes had not lost their 
 brightness, but there was in them a look of kindness a 
 mellowness, as in old wine. The fires of passion in them 
 had been subdued, and a kindly light alone remained. 
 While his general expression was one of kindliness, 
 Richard Gaston would impress one as being a man of 
 energy and decision, from whom justice would be accor 
 ded and by whom it would be demanded. His honorable, 
 upright character shone in his face. From his appear 
 ance, in fact, he would be the last man that one would
 
 100 IN FETTERS: 
 
 suspect of a mean action. Mrs. Gaston had two open 
 letters before her. 
 
 ' Well, Richard, our boy is going to Rome. It will be 
 a grand event in his life ; and he will see the Pope, and 
 St. Peter's church, and the cardinals. And then to think 
 of his being made a priest in Rome! It will be a great 
 event for us.' 
 
 ' I'm half inclined to disagree with you,' said Mr. Gas- 
 ton. 'I do not think it is a great event for either him 
 or us. But I suppose we must accept it as the inevitable, 
 though I could wish the boy a better fate.' 
 
 'What better could you wish him?' asked the 
 mother. 
 
 ' It would be better for him to remain at home and 
 succeed me in my business, which has prospered greatly 
 in the past two years.' 
 
 'I have no doubt there is one other in Chebucto who 
 thinks as you do, though she says never a word of it. 
 Agnes Warden is an angel, and, though she tries not to 
 betray it, I can see that she still loves Richard. I some 
 times feel sad when I look at her, and see how her life 
 has been clouded by the obstinacy of her father ; it 
 makes me almost regret that Richard was so precipitate 
 in deciding as he did. Poor girl ! I doubt if she will 
 ever marry. She's had several good offers of marriage in 
 the past two years, but refused all. They say her father 
 has met with some bad losses of late. If she had only 
 accepted young Dawson, who is quite well off, she might 
 be in a position to help her father.' 
 
 ' Yes. I think Warden is hard pushed for means. I 
 hear he has been trying to borrow money for the past 
 week, without success. And yet he has ample security
 
 THE MAN OB THE PEIEST? 101 
 
 to offer. The fact is, he seems to have but few friends 
 in town.' 
 
 ' Richard, would you not be willing to help him out 
 by a loan?' asked the wife. 'It would be terrible to see 
 that girl reduced to poverty now; she who has been so 
 well and tenderly reared.' 
 
 'I would help him out, I think, if he asked me,' 
 replied Mr. Gaston. 'But I know his stubborn nature 
 too well to think he would do it.' 
 
 ' But, Richard dear, would you not go so far as to 
 make him an offer of assistance? It would be a Chris 
 tian act on your part.' 
 
 'I would do so,' was the reply; 'but I know he would 
 refuse it, perhaps insolently, and I should be loath to 
 invite such treatment from him.' 
 
 Taking up the other letter Mrs. Gaston said, with a 
 sigh: 
 
 ' Tom tells us in this letter that he is expecting Master 
 Cluney by the next boat, and will write more when he 
 arrives. He always seems in a hurry when he writes us. 
 Says he will graduate at next term, when he will begin 
 the practice of a doctor in Boston. I wish he would 
 come home and settle down with us. He could soon 
 have a good practice here.' 
 
 'Tom,' said Mr. Gaston, 'is ambitious, and feels that 
 the field is too narrow for him here. I wonder how he 
 gets along in Boston, and what he does to get a living. 
 I would like to learn of his habits there.' 
 
 ' I am hopeful, and yet I fear for him,' said the mother. 
 ' His free thinking disposition is something that alarms 
 me. I hope he is engaged in nothing bad. He is natur- ' 
 ally truthful, honest, and'-
 
 102 IN FETTERS: 
 
 1 Fear nothing for Tom, wife. He is too frank and 
 courageous to. engage in any bad course of life, and too 
 honorable to be dishonest. As to his free thinking, it 
 will not hurt him. I had my share of it when I was a 
 young man, and it has not hurt me, though I am not per 
 haps so devout a Catholic as some. But I make it all 
 right with Father Tom. Ducats in exchange for the 
 consolations of religion ! Well, we are none the worse 
 for the exchange, anyhow; especially the priest. I 
 suppose Master Cluney will enlighten us regarding the 
 radical, when he returns?' 
 
 'Yes. I made him promise to find out what Tom was 
 doing, and use his influence to turn him from the error 
 of his ways,' said Mrs. Gaston. 
 
 ' He will have a tough subject in Tom, I can assure 
 you. You remember what Father Tom told us about his 
 controversy with him when last home about God and 
 the devil. Tom is a positive fellow' 
 
 ' Yes, just like you were, years ago.' 
 
 1 Only much more so. Well, we must be patient with 
 him, and allow him to work out the problem in his own 
 way.' 
 
 At this point of the conversation a servant announced a 
 visitor Agnes Warden. She had been a regular caller 
 on Mrs. Gaston in the daytimes, but rarely came in the 
 evening. She was greeted most affectionately by Mrs. 
 Gaston, and received a cordial welcome from Mr. 
 Gaston. 
 
 ' Agnes,' he said, 'we were just talking about the boys, 
 having had letters from both to-day. Tom's letter is 
 short, as usual. Dick writes a long one. He is about to 
 start for ' he paused, and his wife finished the sentence.
 
 THE MAX OR THE PKIEST? 103 
 
 ' For Rome,' she said, ' to be ordained.' 
 
 Agnes turned her head away from the light for a 
 moment, and then inquired if he was quite well. She 
 was many shades paler than before, and both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gaston had noted her unusual paleness on entering, 
 but of course made no remark about it. 
 
 After talking about Richard and Tom for some time, 
 Agnes turned to Mr. Gaston, and asked him if he had 
 heard of her father's embarrassment. He replied that 
 he had ; was truly sorry for it, and would be glad to help 
 him out of his difficulties. 
 
 ' I asked Richard not more than ten minutes ago,' said 
 Mrs. Gaston, 'if he would be willing to help your father, 
 and he said he would, if asked by him. He, however, 
 judged your father would not ask for aid, and I sug 
 gested that he proffer it to him. He said he would even 
 do that, but he did not like to risk a refusal.' 
 
 'How much money does your father want?' asked Mr. 
 Gaston. 
 
 'A thousand pounds,' replied Agnes. 'He says that 
 will tide him over his trouble, and he can give ample 
 security for it.' 
 
 ' I know he can,' said Mr. Gaston. 
 
 ' He has not commissioned me to ask you for it,' said 
 Agnes, 'but I have come of my own impulse. I wanted 
 to learn if you would be favorable to helping him out.' 
 
 ' I will do it, gladly,' responded Mr. Gaston. 
 
 ' God in Heaven bless you,' exclaimed Agnes, rising 
 from her seat, and bringing her hands together above 
 her head, in the devotional manner of the church. 
 
 ' I can let you have the money to-night now,' said 
 the generous man.
 
 104 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' But, the security?' she asked. ' What of it?' 
 
 ' I want no security beyond your father's acknowledg 
 ment. In fact, I will not even ask that. Let it be a 
 debt of honor.' 
 
 ' O this is generous ! ' said Agnes, with tears streaming 
 down her cheeks. ' It is magnanimous, princely ! But 
 I will not take it to-night. I will see my father, and tell 
 him what you will do. He cannot refuse aid so 
 generously offered. Mr. Gaston, you are a true Christian, 
 and you,' she said, wringing the good wife's hands, ' you 
 are an angel ! ' 
 
 'Just what I said of you less than half an hour ago,' 
 said the benevolent woman. 'And now go and tell 
 your father that your friends are his fpiends!' and kiss 
 ing her an affectionate adieu, she accompanied the 
 grateful girl to the door. 
 
 'Richard,' she said, on her return to the parlor, 'you 
 have acted nobly, though I fear you are heaping coals of 
 fire on Warden's head-' 
 
 ' I cannot help it,' he replied. ' I do not desire to 
 humiliate him, however.' 
 
 Agnes hastened home. Her father and mother were 
 in the sitting room discussing some matter when she 
 entered, but stopped abruptly on her appearance. 
 
 ' We were talking of the gloomy outlook,' remarked 
 Mrs. Warden. 'What would you propose, Agnes?' 
 
 ' P"ather, as I understand it, wants a thousand pounds, 
 doesn't he?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Well, I propose that he get it.' 
 
 But how, child?' 
 
 ' By asking it of those who would lend it,' said Agnes.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 105 
 
 4 Who will lend it ? ' asked Mr. Warden. 
 
 'Richard Gaston,' replied Agnes. 'I have asked him 
 for it, on my own behalf, and he is ready to let you 
 have it.' 
 
 ' When on what security ? ' asked Mr. Warden. 
 
 'Now to-night, if you want it, and he asks no 
 security not even an acknowledgment. He is willing 
 to make it a debt of honor.' 
 
 ' Is it possible ? ' said Warden, and hid his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 Agnes thought it best to withdraw, and leave him 
 with her mother. 
 
 When she met her parents at breakfast next morning 
 she noted an air of subdued and reflective thought about 
 her father a something indicating the result of a 
 struggle, which had allowed him little rest during the 
 night. He looked at her kindly. 
 
 ' Agnes,' he said, ' I have thought it all over during 
 the night. It was hard at first, but you have conquered. 
 I will go, for your sake, and see Richard Gaston, and, 
 more than that, I will tell him of my sorrow for the 
 rejection of Dick's suit, which I will recall. Is not that 
 all I can do, and what I should do to atone for the past'?' 
 
 'Alas, father, so far as recalling the past is concerned I 
 fear it will be of little avail. By this time Richard 
 has started for Rome, where he is to be ordained. They 
 had a letter from him to that effect last night.' 
 
 ' Let us hope it will not be too late to recall him,' said 
 Mrs. Warden. ' Go, James go at once, and carry out 
 your purpose with Mr. Gaston.' 
 
 The clerks in Mr. Gaston's store were surprised to see 
 James Warden enter it on the morning in question. He
 
 10(5 IN FETTERS: 
 
 went directly to the private office, and when the door 
 was closed behind him, much speculation as to the pur 
 pose of his visit was indulged in by them. 
 
 On entering the office Mr. Warden was met by Mr. 
 Gaston, who rose from his seat and came to him with 
 extended hands, and the friendly grasp of old-time 
 friendship. He was embarrassed by this cordiality, and 
 began what was intended for an apology, which Mr. 
 Gaston cut short, after motioning him to be seated, 
 by saying: 
 
 ' Friend Warden, let bygones be bygones. I cherish 
 no hard feeling for what has passed. Let us both look 
 to the present. Your daughter Agnes has told me of 
 your embarrassment, and I assured her it would be a 
 pleasure to me to afford you any assistance in my power. 
 She told me that one thousand would help you out of 
 the rut, and I said to her I would let you have it. I say 
 the same to you now, and will add that if you need 
 another thousand you can have it, also.' 
 
 James Warden's face, during this colloquy, was a 
 study. A sense of shame blended with humility shone 
 on it, and even tears came to his eyes. It was a few 
 moments before he could master his emotion sufficiently 
 to express himself. 
 
 'Richard,' he said, 'you are a splendid, magnanimous 
 fellow, and what I have not been a good Christian. 
 I accept your kind offer a thousand is all I need and 
 ask forgiveness for the wrong which I have done to you 
 and yours.' 
 
 ' It is freely granted, James,' replied Mr. Gaston. 
 
 ' More than that, I withdraw all objection to your son 
 being a suitor for Agnes' hand. It was a wicked thing
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 107 
 
 in me to thwart them in their hopes. I have long deeply . 
 regretted it, but was too cursed obstinate to retract.' 
 
 ' I fear,' said Mr. Gaston, ' that it may be too late to 
 recall the boy. He has started for Rome, to be ordained.' 
 
 * Can't he be recalled ? Can't you get Tom to inter 
 cept him in Boston ?' eagerly asked Warden. 
 
 ' It is barely possible. I will try. In fact I will start 
 for Boston myself this afternoon, and see Tom ; and if 
 the boy has sailed, send Tom after him in the next 
 steamer. Here is the money, Mr. Warden, and I hope 
 it will aid you in tiding over your trouble. No note, no 
 security nothing, nothing, positively it is a debt of 
 honor.' 
 
 When Mr. Warden departed, Mr. Gaston summoned 
 his head clerk, and told him of his sudden departure for 
 Boston, to be gone perhaps for two or three weeks, and 
 instructed him about the business during his absence. 
 Then he went home and acquainted his wife with the 
 position of affairs, and of his determination to recover 
 his son, if possible, from the bosom of the church. 
 
 Mrs. Gaston was not prepared for the turn events had 
 taken, and for a time she was bewildered. She did 
 want her son to be a priest, but she knew it would be 
 more to his taste to marry ; and, as she loved Agnes like 
 a daughter, she after a time became reconciled, and even 
 heartily in favor of recalling Richard. 
 
 When the steamer left the wharf on that Thursday 
 afternoon, to connect with other steamers and with land 
 conveyances on the route to Boston, Richard Gaston the 
 elder was among her passengers.
 
 108 IN FETTERS: 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOST LOVE NOTES THEODORE PARKER ON PROTESTANT 
 ISM A FAMOUS MESMERIST. 
 
 ' So Richard is on his way to be sacrificed,' said Tom, 
 to his friend, Cluney, on the evening of the day of the 
 steamer's departure. ' The more I think of it, the more 
 I am dissatisfied with the whole business. It looks to 
 me as if his life is to be wasted for what? ' 
 
 ' Do you know,' remarked Cluney, c that Richard is in 
 a measure responsible for the present condition of affairs. 
 He was too impatient, too precipitate in action. What 
 he should have done was to wait. Time would perhaps 
 have changed the whole tenor of affairs, and given him 
 his heart's desire. Agnes would have waited for him ; 
 why not he for her?' 
 
 ' That is true,' said Tom, ' and the poor fellow still 
 loves her to distraction. Here is something which 
 proves it. I found it where he dropped it on the floor, 
 and laid it on the table intending to take it with me and 
 deliver it to him before parting at the steamship in East 
 Boston, but forgot it. It is rhyme poetry, possibly 
 and though I have only read the opening stanza, it 
 strikes me as indicative of a peculiar case of brooding 
 over the past when hope has been left behind. Shall I 
 read it to you?' 
 
 ' It would perhaps be unfair to read such an effusion 
 evidently intended only for his own eye, under ordinary 
 circumstances ; but if it will reveal the true state of his 
 mind, it may be proper to read it,' replied Cluney.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 109 
 
 ' Here it is, then,' said Tom. ' It is addressed 
 
 'TO AGNES. 
 
 ' "Pis some time since, to thee, my heart's delight, 
 I waked the slumbering muse to sing my sighs 
 
 ' Sing his sighs is not bad,' remarked Cluney, drily. 
 
 ' To tell how hopes, fantastically bright, 
 
 And beautiful as summer butterflies, 
 Had scorched their wings in the inflaming light 
 
 Of thy bright beaming beauty, which defies 
 Philosophy's far-reaching medicine, the mind's best 
 
 friend, 
 And like a fire consumes all thoughts that upward tend.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Cluney, ' that is not a bad stanza to set 
 out with, but it shows, and no doubt truly, the state of 
 the poor fellow's heart. But, go on.' 
 
 ' But now, ere pale forgetfulness befriends 
 The wandering lover, and beguiles the sense ; 
 
 While a dark future o'er his path impends, 
 And nought of labor past yields recompense; 
 
 'Tis now the thought of love, ill-given, contends 
 
 With thoughts opposed; and yet oh vain pretense 
 
 I seem to love not, while my heart is filled with fire, 
 
 The same that burns in every breast and never can 
 expire. 
 
 ' He must have a warm heart,' interjected Cluney. 
 Tom read on : 
 
 'And I have loved thee with a manly love 
 A warm affection, glowing and sincere 
 
 But, ah, 'twas hopeless, and I inly strove 
 To check its blind, its futile, mad career. 
 
 But passion will a conqueror oft prove 
 
 As it has proved stern, poignant, and severe. 
 
 Oh would that cup of bitterness were far removed, 
 
 And I had never tasted it never had loved.
 
 110 N FETTERS i 
 
 ' Poor fellow,' said Cluney. ' He takes it hard.' 
 
 * He does,' replied Tom, and read on : 
 
 ' Had loved ! And hath not God himself ordained 
 That man should have a helpmate, to enjoy, 
 
 With him, all happiness in life contained? 
 And all should taste the bliss, without alloy, 
 
 Of loving and being loved. What else remained, 
 Without this boon, the affections to employ? 
 
 Nothing but low and sensual appetites, 
 
 The baser passions' pals and parasites.' 
 
 1 Clearly he is not cut out for a priest,' said Cluney. 
 A man with such sentiments would not take kindly to 
 bachelor existence.' 
 
 * I knew that all along,' said Tom. He resumed : 
 
 'Yes; disappointment in my heart's enshrined, 
 And hope has sunk below horizon's verge. 
 
 Hope is the guiding star to every mind 
 The polar point to which all joys converge; 
 
 Which, once lost sight of, or but ill-defined, 
 Can never from obscurity emerge. 
 
 No for the mind, once disappointed, ne'er regains 
 
 Its former trust, and faith and love disdains.' 
 
 ' This shows a misanthropy which I think is foreign to 
 Dick's nature,' remarked Cluney. ' But he'll get over it.' 
 
 ' I am not sure of that,' said Tom. ' It is a bad con 
 dition of mind to be in, I should say. There is but one 
 more stanza. Here it is : ' 
 ' Time hath worn wrinkles on unnumbered brows ; 
 
 Hath borne great millions to a final doom; 
 But still affection will the heart arouse; 
 
 Love still, like flowers on a grave, will bloom. 
 No moment passes that hath not its vows, 
 
 And all the moments loving vows entomb. 
 Then why should I not live and love my day ? 
 Soon death shall sweep my castled hopes away.'
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? Ill 
 
 'Why,' said Cluney, ' that is good poetry that stanza, 
 in a poetic sense, is worth all the rest. Like the pearl 
 oyster, Dick's agony wrings jeweled tears from him. 
 He has the poetic faculty, and if he cultivated it, might 
 become a second Byron.' 
 
 ' I'd sooner have him a poet than a priest,' said Tom ; 
 at which naive remark Cluney laughed heartily, and Tom, 
 catching the comicality of the idea, joined him. 
 
 'Well,' he said, 'would it not be better to write senti 
 ment in rhyme than to talk nonsense in prose, and dub 
 it, "thus saith the Lord"? It would not be productive of 
 so much harm, to my way of thinking.' 
 
 'That may be, if your way of thinking were a correct 
 one,' said Cluney. ' I suppose it is natural for man to 
 love. No doubt when Adam and Eve first beheld one 
 another, in the garden of Eden, it was a case of mutual 
 love at first sight.' 
 
 ' I hope you do not include that nonsense in your 
 faith,' said Tom. 'It is of a piece with most of the 
 absurdity connected with the genesis of man and things 
 in the Bible.' 
 
 ' For want of a better, it has served a purpose to the 
 present time creation, the fall of man, and concomitant 
 circumstances. Do you know of any better?' asked 
 Cluney, with a slight accent of sarcasm in his voice. 
 
 ' I have a higher conception of man's origin than that. 
 That is to say, a better one. Now, just for a moment 
 consider the inconsistency of this Jewish or Egyptian 
 fable, so far as it relates to man : God, an absolutely 
 wise and almighty creator, made man in his own likeness. 
 (The truth is, however, that man made God in his own 
 likeness.) Then for, according to the a*ccount, his
 
 112 IN FETTERS: 
 
 work was of an "experimental nature, he saw that it 
 was not good for man to be alone, and he put him into a 
 deep sleep ; took a rib from his side and made it into a 
 woman ! What utter nonsense ! ' 
 
 'Do you think such a feat is impossible to the 
 Creator?' asked Cluney. 
 
 ' Of course I do,' replied Tom. ' That is, I believe it 
 impossible to have been done in a way contrary to the 
 ordinary laws of production and reproduction. Adam 
 was never created as is asserted in the fable. lie came 
 in the ordinary way. That is, man came in a form or as 
 a result of slow development from lower conditions of 
 existence. But this is not my point here. 
 
 'What I want to point out to you is the manifest 
 absurdity of this very claim of miraculous creation, and 
 the history of this precious pair from whom we are said ( 
 to be descended. Now, according to the account, God 
 created the first man and woman perfect, that is, without 
 sin. Now, what did this perfect pair do, to begin with ? 
 They disobeyed God became thieves and prevaricators! 
 
 'Evidently, the job was a bad one from the beginning. 
 Well, to mend his bungling work, this all- wise God turned 
 this precious pair out of Eden, cursed the ground for 
 Adam's sake, or, rather his own (God's) mistake in man- 
 making, and condemned Adam to eat his bread in the 
 sweat of his face. This was the curse a curious one, 
 indeed! It might rather be called a blessing, for in the 
 necessity to work resides the germ of all true progress 
 among men. 
 
 ' Well, after they left the Garden of Eden, this couple 
 had two sons, in whom were intensified the depravity of 
 their parents. One of them added the crime of murder
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 113 
 
 to the original sin of Adam and Eve, which consisted 
 in disobeying the command of God by eating an apple ! 
 This fruit, we are told, grew on a tree in the midst of the 
 garden. Was it placed there to afford an opportunity to 
 tempt that badly-constructed pair? Then, to surely com 
 pass their destruction, God endowed a serpent with the 
 power of persuasive speech, and allowed him to tell Eve 
 that if she and Adam ate of the fruit they would be as 
 gods, would know good and evil, and would not die ! 
 
 ' Just imagine what a treasure a talking serpent would 
 be to Barnum in his New York museum. I would like 
 to hear a serpent speak articulate with his peculiar 
 mouth and forked tongue. But no doubt in the age of 
 fable everything talked, even asses. Baalam's ' - 
 
 ' For that matter asses may talk today,' drily remarked 
 Cluney. Tom continued after acknowledging the hit, 
 which in no way disconcerted him 
 
 'Then the ages rolled onward. The earth was peopled. 
 It became more and more wicked in every way, until 
 God decided to blot out his failure by drowning the 
 whole brood of men and animals. But he relented so 
 far as to save one little family colony of all of them. 
 
 ' Then more ages passed, and men again multiplied on 
 the earth and became very wicked. And then this 
 experimental God sent his only son among this wicked 
 race to be killed as an atonement for what? For his 
 own bungling work! Pshaw! If I couldn't invent a 
 better God than Moses gave the world, I would well, 
 I'd go to work at writing poor poetry! ' 
 
 Cluney laughed heartily at Tom's conclusion. 'Tom,' 
 he said, 'you are an iconoclast of "purest ray serene." ' 
 
 'Am I?' responded Tom. ' Then I am not ashamed of
 
 114 IN FETTERS: 
 
 my work in pulling down such a badly-constructed 
 temple of superstition as that is. No, no. Nature is 
 more logical in its operations. It makes no such blun 
 ders as this one. The true creative principle of the 
 universe makes no such mistakes as creating perfect 
 beings and then finding them imperfect lacking in 
 some of the most essential qualities needed by them. 
 The fact is that, in the active processes of the universe, 
 conditions are progressive, and therefore changing all the 
 time.' 
 
 ' How do you know this, Tom ? ' 
 
 'By the inductive process. You taught me in your 
 school that analogy was the basis of inductive reasoning, 
 and by that method I obtain my conclusions. I feel they 
 are sound and logical.' 
 
 'Well, examined in the light of reason, the things 
 related in Genesis can not be accepted on any hypothesis. 
 The best we can do is to accept them figuratively.' 
 
 'Do you accept them in that way?' asked Tom. 
 
 'No, I do not,' was the reply, and the subject was 
 dropped. 
 
 The friends continued to enjoy themselves by short 
 excursions into the country, down to Chelsea beach, and 
 elsewhere. Nahant and Hull were visited, Bunker Hill 
 Monument and the State House cupola climbed up into, 
 and fine views of Boston and its surroundings enjoyed; 
 and in these and other ways the time for the remainder 
 of the week was passed. 
 
 On Sunday, the forenoon preaching by Theodore 
 Parker was attended. His theme was Protestantism, in 
 which he discussed the merits of the Protestant party in 
 the religion of the world.
 
 THE MAN OU THE PKLEST ? 115 
 
 "The merit of Protestantism," he said, "was both 
 negative and positive. It was right in declaring the 
 lioman church with its clergy, cardinals, councils, popes, 
 no more inspired than other men, and therefore no more 
 fit than others to keep Tradition, expound Scripture, and 
 hold the key of Heaven. It was right in denying the 
 authority of the church in temporal matters ; in declaring 
 that its tradition was no better than any other tradition, 
 nay, was even less valuable, for the church had told lies 
 in the premises, and the fact was undeniable. 
 
 " The capital vice of Protestantism was to limit the 
 power of private inspiration, and, since there must be 
 somewhere a standard external or within us, to make the 
 Bible master the soul. Theoretically, it narrowed the 
 sources of our religious truth, and instead of three, as the 
 Catholics, it gave us but one; though, practically, it did 
 more than the Catholics, for it brought men directly to 
 one fountain of truth. But the sacramental error of 
 Protestantism in restricting private judgment of the 
 doctrines of the Bible was in part neutralized by 
 admitting freedom of individual conscience, and there 
 fore the right and the duty to interpret the Bible. 
 
 " If Protestantism have great merits, it has great faults, 
 which come from its peculiar doctrine, while its merits 
 have a deeper source. It makes God dark and awful ; a 
 judge, not a protector ; jealous, selfish and vindictive. 
 All the lovely traits of divine character it bestows upon 
 the Son; he is mild and beautiful as God is awful and 
 morose. Men rush from the Father ; they flee to the Son. 
 Its religion is fear of God, not love of him, for man can 
 not love what is not lovely. 
 
 " This system degrades man. He is born totally
 
 116 IN FETTERS: 
 
 depraved, and laden, besides, with the sins of Adam. 
 He can do nothing to recover from these sins; the 
 righteousness of Christ is the only ground of the sinner's 
 justification; this righteousness is received through 
 'faith,' which is 'the gift of God,' and so 'salvation is 
 wholly of grace.' The salvation of man is wrought for 
 him, not by him. It logically annihilates the difference 
 between good and evil, denying the ultimate value of a 
 manly life. 
 
 "It does not tell of God now, near at hand, but a long 
 while ago. It makes the Bible a tyrant of the soul. It 
 is our master in all departments of thought. Science 
 must lay its kingly head in the dust; reason veil her 
 majestic countenance; conscience bow him to the earth; 
 affection keep silence when the priest uplifts the Bible. 
 It takes the Bible for God's statute-book ; combines old 
 Hebrew notions into a code of ethics ; takes figures for 
 fact ; settles questions in morals and religion by texts of 
 Scripture ! It can justify anything out of the Bible. It 
 wars to the knife against gaiety of heart; condemns 
 amusement as sinful ; sneers at common sense ; spits upon 
 reason, calling it 'carnal;' appeals to low and selfish 
 aims to fear, the most selfish and base of all passions. 
 
 "It makes religion unnatural to men, and of course 
 hostile ; Christianity alien to the soul. It paves hell 
 with children's bones ; has a personal Devil in the world, 
 to harry the land, and lure or compel men to eternal 
 woe. Its God is diabolical. It puts an intercessor 
 between God and man; relies on the advocate. Cannot 
 the Infinite love his frail children without teasing? Can 
 men approach the Everywhere-present only by attor 
 ney, as a beggar comes to a Turkish king? Away with
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 117 
 
 such folly ! Jesus of Nazareth bears his own sins, not 
 another's. How can his righteousness be 'imputed' to 
 me? Goodness out of me is not mine; helps me no more 
 than' another's food feeds or his sleep refreshes me. 
 Adam's sin, it was Adam's affair, not mine. 
 
 " This system applies to God the language of kings' 
 courts, trial, sentence, judgment, pardon, satisfaction, 
 allegiance, day of judgment. Like a courtier, it lays 
 stress on forms baptism, which in itself is nothing but 
 a dispensation of water ; the Lord's supper, which of 
 itself is nothing but a dispensation of wine and bread. 
 It makes men stiff, unbending, cold, formal, austere, 
 seldom lovely. They have the strength of the law, not 
 of the gospel ; the cunning of the Pharisee, not the sim 
 plicity of the Christian. 
 
 "You know its followers soon as you see them; the 
 rose is faded out of their cheeks ; their mouth drooping 
 and sad; their appearance says, Alas, my fellow- worm! 
 It is a faith of stern, morose men, well befitting the 
 decendants of Odin, and his iron peers; its religion is a 
 principle, not a sentiment; a foreign matter imported 
 into the soul, by forethought and resolution ; not a native 
 fountain of joy and gladness, leaping up in winter's frost, 
 and summer's gladness, playing with the sober autumn, 
 or the sunshine of spring. 
 
 " The Heaven of this system is a grand pay-day, where 
 Humility is to have its coach and six, forsooth, because 
 she has been humble ; the saints and martyrs, who bore 
 trials in the world, are to take their vengeance by shout 
 ing 'Hallelujah, glory to God!' when they see the 
 anguish of their old persecutors, and the ' smoke of their 
 torment ascending up forever and ever.'
 
 118 IN FETTERS: 
 
 "Do the joys of paradise pall on the pleasure- jaded 
 senses of the 'elect?' They look off in the distance to 
 the tortures of the damned, where destruction is naked 
 before them, and hell hath no covering; where the devil 
 with his angels stirreth up the embers of the fire which 
 is never quenched; where the doubters, whom the church 
 could neither answer nor put to silence ; where the great 
 men of antiquit}^ Confucius, Budha, Zoroaster, Pytha 
 goras, Anaxagoras, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle; where the 
 men, great, and gifted, and glorious, who mocked at 
 difficulty, softened the mountains of despair, and hewed 
 a path amid the trackless waste, that mortal feet might 
 tread the way of peace ; where the great men of modern 
 times, who would not insult the Deity by bowing to the 
 foolish word of a hireling priest where .all these writhe 
 in their tortures, turn and turn and find no ray, but yell 
 in fathomless despair; and when the elect behold all this 
 they say, striking on their harps of gold, 'Aha! We 
 are comforted and thou art tormented, for the Lord God 
 Omnipotent reigneth, and our garments are washed 
 white in the blood of the Lamb!" : 
 
 The applause on this occasion, though not so strong 
 as on the previous Sunday, was still hearty enough. 
 It was not so striking to Cluney as on the former 
 occasion, but was enough so to cause him to again 
 remark the strangeness of it. 
 
 ' I can hardly reconcile it,' he said, ' with my idea of 
 divine worship. I could imagine that, at the Day of 
 Judgment, when the Lord would sentence some par 
 ticularly obnoxious tyrant to perdition, this kind of 
 people would burst out into applause.' 
 
 'But this was not a divine worship, in your sense of
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST ? 119 
 
 the term, but a meeting of human beings, to be guided 
 and instructed in rational views of things which concern 
 the world of ordinary humanity ; and I can see nothing 
 improper in thus giving evidence of approval of the 
 views expressed.' 
 
 'Perhaps not; it is of course a good deal as to how 
 one views it,' replied Cluney. 
 
 'Yes, and as to what one is accustomed to,' said 
 Tom. 
 
 After dinner the conversation turned on where the 
 friends would go in the evening. 'For,' said Tom to 
 Cluney, ' as it is your last Sunday with me, [the school 
 master was going to Saratoga the latter part of the week, 
 and from there to Montreal, and thence direct home by 
 water] I want to treat you to some novelty. Let me 
 see : How would a Spiritualist meeting suit you ?' 
 
 ' Just the thing,' was the reply. ' I would like to be 
 present at one of these meetings.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Tom, ' there is a regular Sunday night 
 meeting of these people in a small hall on Washington 
 street, where tomorrow evening I intend to have you go 
 and see Prof. Leroy, the great mesmerist.' 
 
 During the afternoon, however, the friends took a 
 stroll on the Common, and then down to the harbor 
 front on the wharves. On Long wharf were a number 
 of Indiamen fine ships for the time. 
 
 'The Yankees are fast becoming a sea-faring nation,' 
 remarked Cluney. 
 
 ' They are that already,' replied Tom, ' and will soon 
 lay over England in that respect.' 
 
 ' I doubt it, Tom. England that is, Great Britain 
 depends on her merchant marine for her supremacy as a
 
 120 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 nation of manufacturers and shopkeepers, as well as on 
 her navy for practical naval domination on the oceon. 
 Her maritime supremacy is, in fact, absolutely necessary 
 to her continuance as a first class power ; and she will 
 not lightly surrender it to any other nation. Besides, 
 this country, with a vast interior full of natural resources, 
 will find in other lines of production more profit than in 
 mere sea-faring.' 
 
 'Perhaps you are right; this is a, magnificent country, 
 of grand resources, and destined to be the greatest 
 nation in the world.' 
 
 ' I doubt it not,' rejoined Cluney. 
 
 In the evening the friends, with others, repaired to the 
 hall on Washington street, but, for some reason that 
 could not be learned, there was no meeting that night. 
 
 One of the men in the crowd of disappointed ones 
 attracted Cluney's attention. He pointed the man out 
 to Tom Gaston, who immediately recognized him. 
 
 ' That is Prof. Leroy, the mesmerist,' he said. 
 
 'He might also be the devil,' remarked Cluney. 'He 
 looks uncanny enough to be a spirit of some kind, though 
 certainly not an angel.' 
 
 Prof. Leroy was certainly a very strange-looking man. 
 He was dark and swarthy enough to be an East Indian. 
 He might be taken to have negro blood in him, if he had 
 not such a great growth of coarse black hair on his head. 
 His eyes were very black, and, in harmony with his face, 
 gave him rather a singular and unearthly appearance. 
 
 'I have made his acquaintance,' said Tom; 'and, now 
 that we are disappointed in our Spiritualist meeting, sup 
 pose I introduce you, take him home with us, and see 
 what he can do. He, at least, is an intelligent man, and
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 121 
 
 is very frank in conversation, and an interesting talker.' 
 
 'Agreed,' said Cluney. 
 
 The introduction took place, and Tom asked the 
 professor if he would accompany them. He readily 
 consented, and the trio were soon seated in Tom's rooms 
 at the West End. 
 
 Tom had noted that from the time Cluney first saw 
 Leroy he appeared like one fascinated by him, and, 
 thinking that perhaps he might prove a good subject, 
 the wicked thought came to him to suggest to the 
 professor to give an exhibition of his art then and there, 
 Cluney to be the victim. He knew the professor would 
 oblige him, for he had written some flattering notices of 
 his exhibitions in the Times. 
 
 Accordingly, after some general conversation, in 
 which he took especial pains to dilate on the wonderful 
 power of the mesmerist, Tom asked him if he would not 
 give an exhibition of his power among themselves, and 
 offered himself as a subject. 
 
 ' There is a subject present,' said Leroy, ' but you are 
 not the one. I would not, however, think of operating 
 on Mr. Cluney, without first obtaining his consent.' 
 
 'I doufct if you could mesmerize him,' said Tom, wink 
 ing at the professor. 'Do you think he could?' he asked 
 addressing Cluney. 
 
 ' I do not know,' replied Cluney, in an indifferent way ; 
 ' but he can try.' 
 
 ' I need not do that,' said Leroy. 'You are already 
 under my control.' 
 
 Tom saw that indeed Cluney was already mesmerized. 
 'Now,' thought he, 'I will have some rare fun with him.' 
 But he was cautious about speaking out his wishes, so he
 
 122 m FETTERS: 
 
 wrote on a slip of paper, which he handed to the 
 professor : 
 
 ' Ask him if he doesn't know his uncle, Father Tom 
 meaning me? Then lead him on to talk the strongest 
 kind of Infidelity to me; and make him talk it in the 
 rich Cork brogue. (He's a native of Cork.) ' 
 
 Taking his cue, the professor addressed Cluney with : 
 
 'Well, sir; why don't you speak to your uncle, here 
 Father Tom?' 
 
 Cluney looked at Tom fixedly, for a moment, and then 
 approached him, and said : 
 
 ' Well, uncle Tom, what the devil brings you here ? ' 
 
 'Put a little Cork brogue in your talk,' suggested 
 Leroy, ' when you are speaking with his reverence.' 
 
 'Well, ye ould spalpeen, what the divvel brings ye 
 here? D'ye think I'm an omadhawn, that can't take 
 care of meself?' 
 
 'No,' replied Tom, who could hardly refrain from 
 laughing outright ; ' but I'm afraid ye'll lose yer sowl in 
 Boston, along wid that blaggard, Tom Gaston.' 
 
 ' Tell him what an out-and-out Infidel you are,' sug 
 gested Leroy ; ' and you needn't use the brogue in doing 
 it.' . 
 
 Cluney straightened himself up, and assuming a tone 
 and dignity habitual to him in addressing a class at 
 school, said: 
 
 . 'Father Tom, I would remind you that my soul if I 
 have such a thing is my own, and I am in no danger 
 of losing it. Soul-saving is not a matter of business 
 with me, as it is with you. My profession, sir, deals in 
 the cultivation of the mind, and not the credulity of the 
 young and for that matter the old, as with you.'
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 123 
 
 ' What,' said Tom, interrupting him, ' do you mean to 
 say that my holy profession is one of humbugging 
 people, old and young?' 
 
 ' That is just what I mean to say. How can it be 
 otherwise, when the church you represent is based on 
 humbug. The Bible miracles are all fables ; the story ot 
 the incarnation is only a repetition of a very old fable, 
 antedating Christianity by thousands of years; indeed 
 Christ is only a myth, and his life and deeds a tissue of 
 inventions by the so-called fathers of the church, and you 
 know it, as well as I do, Father Tom ! ' 
 
 ' Do you not believe in ' the immortality of the soul ? ' 
 asked Tom, who was nearly choked in the endeavor to 
 stifle his laughter. 
 
 'Immortality of the soul? No! You may as well 
 ask me if I believe in the reality of dreams? And yet 
 there is more reality in them than in that. What folly ! 
 No one can tell anything about it, and no one in existence 
 can ever know. Immortality is a creature of our selfish 
 desires nothing more ! ' 
 
 ' Then you're an Infidel,' said Tom. 
 
 'I am,' said Cluney ; ' and I glory in the fact ! ' 
 
 ' What would you say if the church should pronounce 
 the curse of excommunication against you?' asked Tom. 
 
 ' I should laugh at it ! I defy the Catholic church, and 
 all its devils in the guise ef saints ! I fear them not, and 
 glory in being a man ! ' 
 
 Tom could contain himself no longer, and burst into 
 a shout of uncontrollable laughter, and Leroy, judging 
 that this line of exhibition had gone far enough, pro 
 ceeded to restore Cluney to his normal condition. 
 
 When he came to his normal condition, Cluney found
 
 124 IN FETTERS: 
 
 himself standing in the middle of the room, and Tom Gas- 
 ton rolling at his feet on the carpet, in a fit of laughter. 
 
 'What's the matter, Tom,' he asked. 'Are you sick? 
 What has happened?' 
 
 Tom, after a while, gathered himself up, and with a 
 face reddened by extreme laughter tried to explain. 
 
 ' What,' said Cluney, ' do you mean to say that I have 
 been mesmerized?' 
 
 ' That is what you have been,' said Tom, who renewed 
 his laughter. 
 
 'And what have I been doing or saying that was so 
 funny? ' asked Cluney. ' I remember nothing.' 
 
 T om who had taken notes of what he had said 
 described the seance to him, and how he had been 
 addressing him (Tom) in the belief that he was his uncle, 
 the priest, who had come to Boston after him. But 
 when Tom read what Cluney said about the church, 
 Bible, Infidelity and immortality of the soul, the school 
 master interrupted him, with 
 
 'Impossible, Tom it is impossible that I should 
 have used such language.' And he appealed to the 
 professor, who confirmed Tom's report. 
 
 ' Well,' said Cluney, with a twinkle of humor in his 
 eye, ' the only way I can account for it is my connection 
 with you for the past ten days, Tom. You know the 
 saying: "Evil communications corrupt," and so forth.' 
 
 Tom, however, soon restored his good humor, and to 
 give him some amusement in turn for what he had fur 
 nished, asked a few of the boarders into the room to see 
 the professor, who soon found among them two subjects 
 whom he mesmerized, and made to perform some curious 
 and comical feats, such as to mistake one another for
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 125 
 
 persons of the opposite sex and fall to love making, and 
 then to have a domestic wrangling scene. 
 
 These exhibitions were greatly enjoyed by Cluney, as 
 well as by others present, and when, to wind up, the 
 professor made both subjects deliver orations together, 
 on different subjects, the effect was truly comical, and 
 was a fitting wind-up to the evening's entertainment. 
 
 After the professor had departed, Cluney said: 
 
 ' If I were at all inclined to superstition, I should say 
 that if that man Leroy was not the veritable personal 
 devil, he was at least a demon clothed in man's form.' 
 
 'That he is not,' said Tom, ' but he is simply a sensible, 
 honest man, who uses that singular faculty of his to 
 make a living. He was at one time a famous Methodist 
 revivalist preacher ; but becoming convinced of the falsity 
 of Christianity that is, the theological part of it 
 left the ministry and a good living to be independent. 
 He is a remarkable man.' 
 
 ' I should say he was,' rejoined Cluney. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 GASTON SENIOR COMES TO BOSTON TOM GASTON GOES 
 
 TO EUROPE ON BOARD THE BALTIC. 
 
 The Monday following the events narrated in the last 
 chapter passed without any incident to Tom and Cluney 
 worth noting. On Tuesday it was arranged that they 
 take a steamboat trip to Nahant, where they were to 
 have a regular New England clam-bake one of the
 
 126 IN FETTERS: 
 
 very few gastronomic customs of the Indians which have 
 survived them. 
 
 Arrived at Nahant, after a pleasant sail, Cluney 
 expressed a desire to see how clams were baked, a la 
 Indian, and Tom took him to the spot where a fire had 
 already been lighted over a number of stones, set i-n a 
 bowl-like hollow in the ground. When the fire had 
 nearly burnt out, the embers and ashes' were carefully 
 swept away, and several baskets of washed clams were 
 poured in on the hot stones, to which a number of ears 
 of corn in the husk were added. The whole was then 
 quickly covered with a thick layer of green seaweed, and 
 the pile left to steam and cook. 
 
 ' I have read of clambakes,' said Cluney, ' but such 
 descriptions were hardly realistic enough to satisfy me 
 1 wanted to see the operation with my own eyes, and 
 now I am satisfied.' 
 
 In a short time the clams were cooked and served, and 
 Cluney declared that he had never enjoyed any meal 
 like it before in his life. 
 
 ' There is a sweetness about the clam cooked in that 
 way, that I never realized before,' he said. ' The only 
 drawback to perfect enjoyment is the presence of sand, 
 which grits on the teeth.' 
 
 ' It illustrates anew,' remarked Tom, ' the truth that 
 there is no bliss without its sand alloy, I should say.' 
 
 It was late in the evening when the friends returned 
 to the city. Tom stopped at the office to do some work, 
 and Cluney proceeded up to the boarding house. As he 
 entered the door, the landlady asked : 
 
 'Where is Mr. Gaston?' 
 
 He told her.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 127 
 
 <A gentleman his father, I am sure, for Mr. Gaston 
 is the picture of him has been here twice, and waited 
 over an hour the last time. lie inquired for Mr. Gaston, 
 and seemed in a great hm-ry to see him. He also asked 
 if you were here.' 
 
 'Good God!' exclaimed Cluney. 'I hope nothing 
 serious has happened at home.' 
 
 'I hope not,' said the landlady, 'though he seemed 
 much troubled, and nervous-like. He said he would call 
 again. Why, I declare here he comes up the street, 
 this blessed moment.' 
 
 The elder Gaston, for such he was, came up quickly, 
 and, seeing Cluney, his face lightened. 
 
 ' Where's Tom,' he asked. ' I have been looking for 
 him the whole afternoon.' 
 
 Cluney explained, and also told him where they had 
 been that day, and of their late return to the city. Then 
 the father asked: 
 
 'Has Richard been with you?' 
 
 'Yes; and he left about a week ago, for Rome.' 
 
 They had by this time reached Tom's room, which 
 was fortunate, for the father sank limp into a chair, the 
 picture of disappointment, saying: 
 
 ' As I feared too late ! ' 
 
 'What is it, Mr. Gaston? Tell me. Has anything 
 happened? Has 
 
 But at this juncture the door of the room opened, and 
 Tom entered. Recognizing his father at a glance, a 
 gleam of joy lighted his face, but, noticing his apparent 
 distress, it quickly changed to an expression of concern. 
 The father, seeing his son, rose, and both were locked in 
 each other's arms.
 
 128 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' Father,' said Tom, ' what has happened ? Has 
 mother 
 
 ' Your mother is well,' was the reply, ' but, O, Tom, I 
 had hoped to find your brother here and take him home 
 with me. But, it is too late! too late! ' 
 
 Then he explained what had happened as already 
 narrated. When he had finished, Tom said, quickly: 
 
 ' Cheer up, father ! It may not be too late. In fact, I 
 feel a conviction that it is not. I will follow him in the 
 next steamer from Xew York, which I believe sails on 
 Saturday next. From what Dick said, I think he will 
 linger on the way, and in that case I can get to Rome 
 ahead of him.' 
 
 'I pray to God you may,' said Mr. Gaston, 'for it 
 would be a life-disappointment to me to have him 
 become a priest under the circumstances.' 
 
 ' There is little use in regretting what cannot now 
 be helped, father. The best thing to do now is to 
 concert measures for the future. If I remember rightly, 
 the steamer Baltic, of the Collins line, sails on Saturday 
 next from New York to Liverpool, and I can go in her. 
 This will give me two days here to settle my affairs, 
 which I can do in that time.' 
 
 'What affairs, Tom?' asked the father. 
 
 Then Tom explained to him about his connection with 
 the daily Times, and what he had been doing in the way 
 of journalism. 
 
 ' So,' he said, ' that accounts for your independence in 
 money matters. Well, Tom, I am rather pleased to find 
 you forging ahead for yourself in this manner, though, as 
 you know, I would have honored any request of yours 
 for money, at any time.'
 
 TBE MAK OK THE PRIEST? 129 
 
 ' I know that, father, and also that you could afford to 
 let me have it. But I wanted to be the young bird who 
 could fly of its own unaided strength, rather than depend 
 on the old one for sustenance, especially as I will have 
 to do it sooner or later, in any event.' 
 
 'It is a good spirit, and I like it in you, Tom. But do 
 you know that we have had the impression at home that 
 you were a sad, free-thinking radical.' 
 
 'Well, father, suppose I am? I am honest about it. 
 I am perhaps imprudent in being outspoken in my views. 
 But,' and Tom looked roguishly at Cluney, ' when you 
 come to dissect what I say, it is no worse than Master 
 Cluney has given expression to in my presence.' 
 
 Cluney colored up, and was about to speak, when Tom 
 turned off th* point of his remark, by adding 
 
 'But, then, he was only quoting one of the unbelievers 
 as a warning to me that is, to give me an idea how 
 such things would strike me if put into language ; and I 
 must allow, they did strike me as rather peculiar at 
 least coming from him.' 
 
 ' Well, Tom, the offence is not a serious one with me. 
 I was inclined to free thinking at one time myself.' 
 
 4 1 judge yon were, father, though I never mentioned 
 it before: for amonsj the books I now have are two of 
 
 ' O 
 
 yours which I picked up in an old chest in the garret. 
 One is Paine's "Age of Reason," and the other is 
 Voltaire's " History of the Manners and Spirit of 
 Nations." I know they were yours at one time, for your 
 name is written in each book.' 
 
 ' That is not my writing, Tom. It is your grandfather's. 
 His name was Richard, also.' 
 
 'I might have thought of that,' rejoined Tom. 'Well,
 
 130 IN FETTERS! 
 
 it shows that I come honestly by my free-thinking 
 propensities, at least.' 
 
 ' I suppose it runs in the blood,' said Mr. Gaston, ' for 
 my father was a free-thinker and an active participant 
 he was young then in the scenes of the French Revo 
 lution of 1789. His leaving France, when Bonaparte 
 became First Consul, is the subject of a story in itself, 
 and I will tell it to you some time or other when you 
 come home.' 
 
 ' I would like to hear it,' said Tom. ' But now to the 
 business in hand. One of the first things I shall do in 
 the morning will be to see Dr. Bigelow of the Medical 
 School, and tell him why I must be absent. I know he 
 will fix everything smooth for me.' 
 
 'That is right, Tom. Do not miss taking your 
 professional degree,' said the father. 
 
 'Then,' continued Tom, 'I will arrange with Mr. 
 Roberts to get some one in my place ; and will console 
 him for my loss by promising to write a series of letters 
 to the paper from different points of interest in Europe. 
 Such letters of foreign travel are now in great favor 
 here.' 
 
 'I shall go on to New York with you, Tom,' said the 
 elder Gaston. ' I have some business to transact there, 
 and can do it after seeing you off.' 
 
 ' And, as I am going to Saratoga,' said Cluney, ' I will 
 go along with you as far as New York, also.' 
 
 ' Do you know what I propose to do ? ' said Tom. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 'It is to get a French grammar, and French- English 
 dictionary, and study the language on my way across to 
 Europe.'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 131 
 
 'The idea is not a bad one,' replied the father, 'but 
 reading and speaking French are two different things. 
 I could speak it when young, and can yet, but my 
 tongue has grown out of it, so to speak. I have lost the 
 pure accent. However, while I am with you, I can give 
 you some hints in regard to pronunciation.' 
 
 ' I can read French easily,' remarked Cluney, ' and 
 even old French, for I have read Rebelais in that 
 language. But as to speaking French, I would despair 
 to attempt it with the hope of making myself understood 
 by a Frenchman.' 
 
 4 Nevertheless,' replied Tom, ' I will make the attempt. 
 I can only fail. But,' he added, confidently, 'I'll be 
 hanged if I do ! ' 
 
 The two following days were spent by Tom in arrang 
 ing his affairs in Boston to his satisfaction. When Dr. 
 Bigelow understood the nature of his sudden call to go 
 to Europe, he entered heartily into the business of 
 making everything smooth for the young man. 
 
 ' You are one of the ablest men in the class,' he said, 
 'and the profession must not lose you. I will give you 
 a letter to Dr. Blank, of London, of whom you have 
 read and I know he will treat you well. I sincerely 
 hope you will succeed in rescuing your brother from a 
 church life. It is, so far as human ties go, a kind of 
 living death.' 
 
 With George Roberts, of the Times, Tom made a 
 satisfactory arrangement. 'I am very sorry to lose 
 you,' he said, 'but, of course, you can do nothing less 
 than follow your brother, and prevent his becoming a 
 priest. I know, however, that we will have a compen 
 sation in the letters you'll write. Make them as practical
 
 132 IN FETTERS: 
 
 as possible, and abounding with just the information 
 which you would like to find in letters from abroad. I 
 will give you one or two letters of introduction to 
 gentlemen of my acquaintance in London and Paris, and 
 also, a certificate that you are the special European cor 
 respondent of the Times. Such a document will no 
 doubt aid you under certain conditions. At any rate, it 
 will not injure you if found on your person.' 
 
 Cluney, on his part, was not idle. He went to Bishop 
 Fitzpatrick, and told him of the peculiar matters connec 
 ted with young Gaston's choice of a priest's life. When 
 the bishop heard the story, he said: 
 
 'Mr. Cluney, if I had known these facts when the 
 young man was here, I would have strongly advised him 
 against taking holy orders. Such men as he are not fit 
 for the priesthood. However, I will give you, for his 
 brother, a letter to the head of the Propaganda in Rome, 
 and would advise that young man to make all haste in its 
 delivery.' 
 
 On Friday niorning, all things being arranged, the 
 elder Gaston, Cluney, and Tom left Boston en route for 
 New York. 
 
 There had been a good rain during the preceding night 
 
 but it had cleared off, and a bracing west wind a pre- 
 
 curser of the September ones had set in. Riding in a 
 railway carriage was then a luxury, though, of course, the 
 coaches were nothing like what they are today. Chair 
 cars, parlor cars, and sleepers, were then unthought of, 
 and people who traveled by night had to get along as 
 best they could, taking ' cat-naps ' from time to time. 
 Hence, most people preferred traveling by daylight. 
 
 The elder Gaston and Cluney had ridden on English
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 133 
 
 railways, but both agreed that the American coach was 
 more convenient, and certainly more democratic. 
 
 The party, after a most enjoyable ride, arrived in New 
 York in the evening, and proceeded at once to the Astor 
 House, on lower Broadway. This was, at the time, the 
 leading commercial hotel of the city. 
 
 It was quickly ascertained that the great steamer 
 Baltic, which had already made the fastest time between 
 lands some ten days that had yet been achieved by 
 ocean steamship, would sail at noon on the following day, 
 Saturday. 
 
 Passage and stateroom were at once secured, and Tom 
 learned some facts in regard to the necessity of having 
 passports while traveling in Europe he did not need 
 them in England so he obtained an American passport. 
 
 On Saturday, when the banks were open, Mr. Gaston 
 obtained an amount of sterling exchange which he 
 thought his son might need for expenses in Europe; and 
 then, to make sure he would not lack for means, gave 
 him also a letter of credit to a well known banking firm 
 in London. 
 
 In his hasty preparations for the voyage, Tom thought 
 it best not to load himself down with luggage ; so he 
 took only a small leather trunk, with one change of 
 clothing, a light overcoat, and some white shirts. 
 
 An hour before noon, the party, with Tom's modest 
 trunk, left the hotel in a carriage, and were soon at the 
 pier, where the Baltic was lying. After seeing that his 
 trunk was carried to his stateroom, and taking possession 
 of the latter, the time remaining before the steamer cast 
 loose from the pier was occupied by Mr. Gaston in giving 
 instructions to his son with regard to his mission.
 
 134 IN FETTEES: 
 
 ' Here is a letter for Richard,' he said, ' which 1 hope 
 you can deliver to him. But, if it is too late to intercept 
 him, and he has already been ordained, do not give it to 
 him. If that thing has unfortunately taken place, it is, 
 of course, best that he should know nothing about the 
 matter. We must make the best of it.' 
 
 ' I don't want to think of such a possibility as my 
 being too late to intercept him ; but, if I am, then, of 
 course, he must not know what has happened ; and it 
 will puzzle me to explain to him why I have followed 
 him to Rome. But I guess I can frame a plausible 
 excuse. One thing should be understood, and that is, if 
 he has become a priest, it is best he should never know 
 how near he has been to happiness, and missed it. Home 
 gossip, if there be any, should be silenced.' 
 
 'I will look out for that, Tom. Be sure and write 
 when you arrive in Liverpool; then, when you get to 
 London ; and finally, when you reach Rome. It is right 
 that we should know the worst, if such it be But, 
 in the meantime, we will hope for the best.' 
 
 ' That is right, father. There is no philosophy in 
 anticipating trouble.' 
 
 The bell of the steamship, warning those who were 
 seeing their friends off, now began to ring. 
 
 Embracing his father, and bidding his friend Cluney 
 good-bye, Thomas Gaston accompanied them to the 
 gangway, and watched them standing on the pier, waving 
 him adieu, until the ship was well down the bay. 
 
 Then he turned and enjoyed the views on the Jersey 
 shore not very picturesque, on account of the flat lands; 
 on Staten and Long Islands, and then up the North River, 
 which was crowded with craft of all kind, from the
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST ? 135 
 
 swift-moving steam tugs to the slow-going canal boats 
 and lighters. Behind was an animated scene, as he saw 
 it in vista through the Narrows. Before, the vast ocean 
 upon which he was about to enter, and on whose unstable 
 bosom he was to be tossed about for the next ten or 
 twelve days. The thought was not a cheering one, but, 
 as he was on a mission of brotherly love, the hope that it 
 would be successful, buoyed him ; besides he was not 
 one to mope and brood over things which could not be 
 amended by such actions. 
 
 After entering upon the ocean, and viewing for a 
 short time the opening lines of coast on the Jersey and 
 Long Island shores, young Gaston began to take some 
 interest in his immediate surroundings to look over 
 the ship he was in, in fact. 
 
 The Baltic was then one of the largest transatlantic 
 steamers, being 3200 tons burden, and would not be small 
 compared with some of the steamers of the present day. 
 She was nearly 300 feet in length, and nearly 50 feet in 
 width, with a depth of hold of over 30 feet. She was a 
 side-wheel steamer, the diameter of her huge wheels 
 being 36 feet, and the length of their floats over 12 feet. 
 Her engines were very powerful, and she appeared to 
 make rapid headway in the water. This huge vessel 
 the largest young Gaston had ever seen interested him 
 greatly, and he soon, by inquiry, learned all about her 
 internal arrangements, especially her huge propelling 
 machinery, the operation of which he watched for some 
 time with great interest. 
 
 When dinner was announced, young Gaston repaired, 
 with others, to the spacious dining saloon, which, 
 however, was not well filled, as the passenger list of the
 
 136 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 steamer was not a full one, travel to Europe being light. 
 
 At the table he was given a seat next to a gentleman 
 of rather large physique, a fine and even noble 
 countenance, who in the course of the meal opened a 
 pleasant conversation, in fluent English, with, young 
 Gaston thought, a slight foreign accent, but whether he 
 was French or German, he could not decide. The 
 gentleman was polite and courteous enough to be a 
 Frenchman, but he looked more like a German, with his 
 broad face, high forehead, gray eyes, and heavy 
 moustache. His age might be about fifty. He was as 
 straight as an arrow, and any one who had seen the 
 soldiers of Europe would have placed him at once in the 
 military profession. But the young man was inexperi 
 enced in this respect, and was puzzled where to place 
 him. After a few polite commonplaces, he asked : 
 
 Is this your first visit to Europe ? ' 
 
 ' It is, sir ; and as it is taken unexpectedly, it finds me 
 at the disadvantage of going unprepared so far as any 
 knowledge of the French language is concerned, which 
 will be inconvenient, as I shall have to travel on the 
 Continent.' 
 
 'That is a drawback; but not without remedy. You 
 will find couriers persons who can speak all the 
 European languages fluently whose services can be 
 obtained for a consideration.' 
 
 'I presume so,' said Gaston, 'but, do you know, I have 
 cherished the idea wild it is, no doubt -of gathering 
 enough of the French language, during the voyage, to 
 get along without such aid.' 
 
 The gentleman smiled, and said: 'If you could 
 acquire such a knowledge of French as you aim at in
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 137 
 
 two weeks, you would certainly be a phenomenal man.' 
 
 ' I am quick to learn,' said Tom, ' but I am aware that 
 I shall have a great difficulty in the matter of pronun 
 ciation. My father, on the way from Boston to New 
 York, sought to give me an idea of the pronunciation of 
 several of the colloquial words used by inquirers, and I 
 caught the accent quite well, he thought, though he had 
 himself been long out of practice in the habitual use of 
 the language.' 
 
 'Is your father French?' inquired the gentleman. 
 
 * I may say he is, though he was born in England, 
 and his mother was of that country. His father was a 
 Frenchman, but left France after Napoleon became First 
 Consul. I never heard the story in regard to it.' 
 
 'What was your grandfather's name, if I may be 
 excused for asking it ? ' 
 
 ' Richard Gaston.' 
 
 ' The name is Norman French, certainly,' remarked 
 the gentleman. Then he said: 'You have chosen a 
 fortunate period for your visit, for Europe is now in a 
 state of profound tranquility, though how long this will 
 last is uncertain, for the elements of future contention 
 are not lacking in plenty.' 
 
 'I am glad of it,' returned the young man, 'for 1 
 desire to reach my destination as quickly as possible, 
 though afterwards I may take occasion to visit many 
 famous places on the Continent other than the one I am 
 going to, namely, Rome.' 
 
 'Well,' remarked the gentleman, 'if your tour is 
 extended in certain directions on the Continent, you will 
 meet evidences of the ravages of civil war. You will 
 see cities scarred and mutilated by shot and shell;
 
 138 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 exploded fortresses in ruins; private dwellings and 
 palaces burned, and entire streets, in some of the cities, 
 with nothing remaining but smoked and tottering walls. 
 You will see some of the evidences of military and siege 
 operations at Rome and its vicinity. You will find 
 everything quiet, but it is the repressive calm of military 
 rule ; for the bayonet and the musket, the sabre and the 
 connon, in the hands of legions of soldiers, hold the 
 people in check for how long, no one can predict.' 
 
 'Europe,' said Tom, 'is a wonderful country in science 
 and art, and I have often longed to visit it, without the 
 hope of having ari early opportunity of doing so. And 
 even now I can scarcely realize that I am going there.' 
 
 'In Europe,' remarked the gentleman, 'you will find a 
 country far different from America. There art includ 
 ing that of war is everything, and man is as nothing.' 
 
 At the close of the meal, young Gaston sought the 
 upper deck. The evening was bright and calm, the 
 ocean smooth, with only the regular heaving swell, which 
 is never absent from it. Thomas Gaston stood leaning 
 against the rail of the ship, and taking in the scene, when 
 a voice at his side remarked : 
 
 ' This is one of the rare occurrences at sea, and one not 
 to be forgotten.' 
 
 Tom turned, and the friendly stranger of the dinner 
 table stood beside him. ' Pardon me,' said the gentle 
 man, 'for omitting to give you my name at the table, in 
 return for yours. At present, I choose to be known as 
 Warfield, and by that name you can address me. I say 
 this because we are fellow-passengers, and I have taken 
 a fancy to you ; and pardon me, if I am intrusive 
 have determined to aid you in your study of the French
 
 THE MAN Oil THE PlllEST? 139 
 
 language, which, fortunately, I can speak with some 
 fluency.' 
 
 ' I thank you for your interest, in me,' replied the 
 young man, ' and will accept your offer gladly.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Warfield, ' as this is so fine an evening, 
 and we may not have another like it during the voyage, 
 suppose we do nothing about the lessons, but talk of 
 anything else you please. What subjects are you most 
 interested in?' 
 
 'Religion, free thought, and the physical sciences.' 
 
 Then Tom gave the stranger a frank account of him 
 self, of his medical studies, of his doubts regarding 
 revealed religion, and other things pertaining to his 
 peculiar views, with which the reader is already 
 acquainted. The stranger heard him with a sympathetic 
 interest, and, when he had finished, remarked: 
 
 'My dear sir, you have, without perhaps being aware of 
 it, caught the spirit of free thought and free inquiry, 
 which is becoming more and more widespread as the 
 years roll on. It is the spirit which is destined, in the 
 fullness of time, to emancipate the human race from the 
 thraldom of superstition, of ecclesiastical authority of 
 perhaps all authority, as now constituted. But its work 
 will be realized slowly, very slowly. The masses are not 
 prepared for it. They still cling to their idols. When 
 you are a gray-haired man, if you live as long, you will 
 perhaps almost fail to see any perceptible progress in the 
 direction you are tending. But there will be progress, 
 nevertheless. One powerful element in the change, 
 which is inevitable, will be the development of the exact 
 sciences. There is a natural order for all changes in the 
 physical world, and in the mental or intellectual as well.'
 
 140 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'You think, then, that it is only a question of time 
 when these changes will be brought about?' queried 
 Tom. 
 
 'Undoubtedly,' replied Warfield. 'It is in the line 
 of evolution, and thus in harmony with the great and 
 immutable law of change, which pervades the universe.' 
 
 'Do advanced scientists believe in a special creation, 
 like that related in the Hebrew book of Genesis ? ' asked 
 Tom. 
 
 ' Not at all. That is simply the accounting of ignor 
 ance for the result of phenomena which it had no 
 right conception of.' 
 
 'Has not man come up from lower conditions of life?' 
 asked Tom. 
 
 'I do not doubt it. The simple cell is the unit of all 
 organic structure, and is substantially the same in the 
 embryo of the plant as in that of the animal. The won 
 derful development of organic structure that we now see 
 is no doubt due entirely to the conditions under which it 
 has grown, from the crudest beginnings to its present 
 proportions. Man, for example, is a culmination of per 
 haps millions of metamorphoses from the primal cell.' 
 
 ' This earth was at one time unfitted for animate life, 
 by reason of internal heat, was it not?' asked Tom. 
 
 'It was. In fact there was a period in its existence, 
 after it separated from its parent nebulous mass, now 
 condensed into what we call the sun, when it was a huge 
 ball of liquid incandescence, hundreds of thousands of 
 miles in diameter a vast mass of flaming hydrogen, 
 sporting in the ethereal fields of the universe with its 
 oxygen and other gaseous affinities, and giving birth 
 to the varied and wonderful products which we behold
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 141 
 
 in the solid and liquid matters of our earth. Organic 
 life is only one of the phases of productive development 
 that is going on, not only on our earth, but throughout 
 the universe.' 
 
 'Then life and death are simply parts of the general 
 phenomena of change?' remarked Tom. 
 
 'Precisely; and life and death are not confined to 
 organic beings on earth alone, but are phenomena of the 
 universal law of evolution, to which all things, even the 
 stars themselves, are subject. Though in the brief period 
 of human existence, these heavenly bodies may appear to 
 be unchanging, immutable, eternal, each and all had a 
 beginning, and each and all will have an end.' 
 
 'I have read Sir William Herschel's- account of the 
 great nebulas. From these, then, it is supposed that all 
 worlds and planetary systems are derived, is it not?' 
 asked Tom. 
 
 ' Yes ; these are undoubtedly the laboratories in which 
 worlds and world systems are formed. Here we have 
 the materials out of which the wonders of creation are 
 moulded, in their most plastic condition. From such 
 mobile masses have our own solar system, and others of 
 a like nature, been envolved. Laplace, that wonderful 
 Frenchman, was the first to assert that hypothesis, which 
 has become an accepted theory with many of our most 
 eminent scientists, and is now generally accepted by 
 the scientific world. 
 
 ' According to Laplace's hypothesis, our sun, for 
 example, in the remote past, was a vast nebular spot, of 
 high temperature, revolving on its axis ; and, at length, 
 in consequence of continuous loss of heat, the matter of 
 the mass became more and more compressed. That, in
 
 142 m FETTERS: 
 
 accordance with prescribed mechanical laws, a free- 
 floating ring separated itself from the nebular mass in 
 the region of the equator. 
 
 ' The cooling being continuous, and the condensation 
 of the surface-matter keeping pace with it, the ring- 
 formation would, in due course, repeat itself, all rings 
 working from west to east around the central mass, in 
 harmony with the direction of the revolution of the 
 latter. The persistence of these rings would depend on 
 their perfect uniformity in structure and condensation, 
 which is very unlikely ; consequently they break up, and 
 being still fluid assume globular forms. These glowing 
 nebular globes then become planets, revolving round the 
 sun, from which they are thrown off. The larger 
 planets go through the same course, throwing off rings, 
 which break up into satellites.' 
 
 ' And an end must come to even stars and worlds,' 
 reflected Tom. 
 
 4 Yes,' said Warfield, ' an end will inevitably come to 
 all ; but it will be individual extinction. The same 
 creative principle must continue, and as old systems die 
 out new ones come in. The systems will die first in 
 their smaller members, however, the central masses or suns 
 surviving longer. The reason is that the smaller masses 
 radiate their heat energy quickest, this heat being 
 produced as a consequence of their formation. And 
 when it has finally disappeared, they will no doubt be 
 resolved into formless cosmic dust, fitted for the work of 
 re-creation by collection into nebulous bodies.' 
 
 'Life, of course, is inseparable from heat?' suggested 
 Tom. 
 
 ' Yes life is but one of the expressions of that energy
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 143 
 
 which is manifested in heat and motion. Our atmos 
 phere and its gaseous contents are peculiar forms of heat 
 or heat-matter. When this heat ceases, what we call 
 cold which is simply the absence of heat or heat- 
 energy succeeds. When the heat inherent in our atmos 
 phere can no longer receive reinforcement from internal 
 sources, the gases composing it will solidify, and the earth 
 as our moon did millions of years ago will lose its 
 last vestige of vitality; light will no longer illumine its 
 surroundings, and it will wander blind and rayless for 
 other millions of years, until the great heart of our 
 system the sun ceases to beat, and then dissolution 
 will set in, and the "wreck of matter and crush of 
 worlds " will be realized.' 
 
 The conversation ceased for a few minutes, and both 
 Gaston and his interesting new acquaintance seemed to 
 be buried in thought. At last Tom broke the silence : 
 
 'Mr. Warfield,' he said, 'I hope you will pardon me 
 for persisting in asking you, who appear to be a master 
 in the sciences, a question or two regarding the origin of 
 the various species of animals which have inhabited, 
 or that still inhabit the earth. Where, in your opinion, 
 did organic life begin on the earth?' 
 
 'I will give you my opinion, for what it is worth. 
 We now know that the coldest sections of our globe are 
 at the poles. Without holding that the exact position 
 of the poles has not changed, it will be enough for me 
 to say that when the cooling of the incandescent mass 
 of our globe had begun, it was evidently at the poles. 
 The condensation of the vapor resulting from combustion 
 must have there produced the liquid combination of the 
 two representative elements of heat and motion, and
 
 144 IN FETTERS: 
 
 consequently life on the earth hydrogen and oxygen 
 and as a result we had water, the great menstruum in 
 which organic life had its inception. Therefore, while 
 the equatorial regions of the earth were still unfitted for 
 organic life, the polar regions became the nurseries for 
 the cruder and simpler organisms which preceded what 
 we may call the higher and more complex ones. On 
 such an hypothesis, therefore, we may conclude that 
 organic forms originated at the poles, and will end at the 
 equator, being driven thither by the encroachment of 
 polar cold, as the earth loses its heat, and the sun fails 
 to contribute enough of it to prevent such radical climatic 
 changes.' 
 
 'Then,' said Tom, 'there was an origin in the creative 
 processes of the earth that was crude and simple. 
 Could such processes be originated under conditions 
 which now exist on the earth?' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' replied Warfield. ' That would be 
 manifestly unlikely. Organic life which is, after all, 
 when rightly considered, a chemical process must have 
 had its beginning in conditions which originated, first, 
 vegetative existence, that was attached to its surround 
 ings; and, secondly, mobile or animal existence, that 
 had the power to change or move about in its environ 
 ment, first by instinctive or uneasy impulse, and, secondly, 
 by force of will, which was brought into existence by the 
 crudest form of reasoning. The reasoning power, thus 
 developed being called for more and more, as other 
 organs of the animal were demanded by the necessities 
 of movement, aggression, and appropriation the brain, 
 in its way, kept pace with animal development; until 
 from the cruder forms more complex ones were evolved.
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST ? 145 
 
 ' Now, as organic life had its crude beginnings in the 
 cruder conditions of the creative processes of our globe, 
 and as these conditions have given place to others 
 which are rather sustaining than originative ; developing 
 more than formative; 1 cannot see how the conditions 
 for original creative processes could now exist, or, in 
 other words, that the strains of creation, which have cul 
 minated in man, the superior or the lower animals, could 
 now be originated, any more than that the life-sustaining 
 faculty could be restored to the moon a thing which I 
 believe it once possessed. 
 
 ' No, no ! The law of change, which is ever-persisting, 
 can not tolerate a return to crude conditions or processes, 
 after the necessity for these have passed away. This 
 arises from the consistent and sequential operation of the 
 immutable law of change, which can not because it 
 should not go backward, for the harmony of the universe 
 evidently calls for progression in all its parts while the 
 impelling energy endures.' 
 
 ' Then all things and conditions are the result of these 
 great laws, even human slavery,' ventured Tom. 
 
 ' Yes, they are ; and the growing desire on the part of 
 the people of a portion of the United States to get rid 
 of slavery is just as natural ; that is, the sentiment of 
 abhorrence is necessary to arouse the action required to 
 be taken to get rid of what is now regarded as a social 
 evil, though at one time it was looked at as a social 
 necessity. This is in the line of psychological and moral 
 development. All thoughts, and impulses .arising from 
 them, therefore, are only the effects of the operation of 
 the law of change and change alone can endure; it, 
 alone, so far as we know, is eternal ! '
 
 146 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'If I understand you rightly,' said the young man, 
 ' our faculties have originated from the necessities of our 
 environment. How do you account for the growth of 
 the superior faculties, which are not directly necessary to 
 our wants?' 
 
 'Nature,' replied Warfield, 'if I may use that term to 
 express existence and development, is not only responsive 
 but it is even generous to our needs, and even to the 
 desires which grow out of them. Faculties are, I may 
 say, invented to meet the wishes as well as the necessi 
 ties of existence. The keen eyesight and hearing of the 
 Indian, as well as the wonderful power of scent in the 
 dog, are evidences of response to needs; while the 
 marvellous faculties of the brain the power of abstract 
 contemplation and reasoning are evidences equally as 
 strong in the higher direction.' 
 
 Twilight had come while the conversation recorded 
 was being held, and its shades deepened into night. 
 The huge steamer forged its way through a wavy field 
 of liquid glass, as it seemed, leaving behind an angry 
 wake of boiling surges, which, however, were lighted up 
 by corruscating flashes of a phosphorescent character, so 
 frequent and so general as to produce a luminous trail, 
 that grew broader and fainter in the distance. The 
 firmament above and around was studded with stars, 
 bright, beautiful, and, to such minds as those of the two 
 voyagers whose conversation we have been listening to, 
 must have teen suggestive of profound reflections. 
 
 There was a pause in the conversation. Both appeared 
 to be engaged in drawing inspiration in taking in 
 draughts of ethereal delight from the matchless scene. 
 The silence of rapt contemplation prevailed for nearly
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 147 
 
 half an hour, neither appearing willing to break the 
 spell. 
 
 Then the striking of the steamer's bell, and the call of 
 the watch came in like a discord, and the glamor faded. 
 But the witchery of the scene had impressed itself on 
 the minds of the voyagers, and Warfield broke the 
 silence by remarking, in precisely the same words that 
 young Gaston was about to employ : ' How beautiful ! 
 How grand ! How inspiring ! ' 
 
 'Yes,' replied Tom, 'it could not be surpassed for 
 beauty, and I have no doubt that such glorious scenes as 
 this have awakened the minds of men in the past to the 
 desires of a paradise of just such quiet enjoyment as this 
 has afforded us.' 
 
 'Probably. Well, I feel like retiring. Good night, 
 my friend. Tomorrow we shall begin our French 
 lessons.' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND THROUGH FRANCE, TO ITALY 
 
 IN ROME, THE ETERNAL CITY. 
 
 At breakfast on the following morning, Thomas Gaston 
 again sat beside Warfield. There had been a change in 
 the weather ; a fresh wind was now blowing from the 
 northwest, and the ship was rolling somewhat. 
 
 ' We shall not have such another evening as that of 
 yesterday,' said Warfield, 'probably during the entire 
 trip; but it need not prevent us from prosecuting our 
 studies ; so after breakfast we will begin. At first it will
 
 148 IN" FETTERS: 
 
 not be so easy for you, but by and by we will talk of 
 common-place things in French, and in this way I am 
 satisfied you will get along very well.' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Tom. 'But I do hope it will not 
 become a bore to you.' 
 
 ' It will be a pleasure. Besides, when you are tired 
 we can talk philosophy, or something else.' 
 
 So the work of teaching French in a few days began, 
 and was prosecuted with such success that before the 
 Irish coast was sighted, Tom could do fairly well in a 
 limited conversation, in French, on common matters. 
 
 As the steamer was forging its way along the Irish 
 coast through St. George's Channel, young Gaston said 
 toWarfield: 
 
 ' I presume my best plan, on landing in Liverpool, will 
 be to go at once to London, and from thence take a 
 steamer up the Mediterranean to Rome?' 
 
 'To go to London directly from Liverpool is all right; 
 but if you desire to reach Rome in the quickest time, the 
 best route is from London by rail to Folkstone, and from 
 there by steamer to Boulogne; thence by rail to Paris; 
 Paris to Lyons by rail, diligence and water, and thence 
 by boat to Marseilles. At that place you cart take a 
 steamer to Civita Vecchia, by way of Genoa, and from 
 Civita Vecchia to Rome, by diligence, it is seventy-five 
 miles. This route, however, will involve more expense 
 than that by water.' 
 
 ' I do not care for that,' said Tom. ' My object is to 
 get there as quickly as I can, at any cost.' 
 
 Then Tom related to his now warm friend the exact 
 nature of his mission to Rome. The gentleman thanked 
 him for this confidence, and said he would give him a
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 149 
 
 note to a friend in Rome, who would show him attention 
 and make his visit a pleasant and profitable one, so far 
 as sight-seeing was concerned. 
 
 'I was in and around Rome for several months some 
 thing over a year ago,' said Warfield, 'and witnessed 
 scenes which made my heart feel sad. It was a curious 
 sight to behold the soldiers of Republican France over 
 throw the Republic of Italy, and it was a sad one, also. 
 The first Napoleon established a Republic in Italy, nearly 
 half a century ago; now, another Napoleon President 
 of the French Republic has overthrown one established 
 by the freedom-loving Italians, with the brave Garibaldi 
 at their head, one of the noblest soldiers of the present 
 century. This great man is not dead yet, and I predict 
 for him a future of great achievement in connection with 
 the freedom of Italy.' 
 
 'Is he not now in the United States?' asked Tom. 
 
 'He is; but with the purpose of returning to Italy 
 when opportunity offers, I am told; and, if I mistake not, 
 he will return in less than five years.' 
 
 'Is France satisfied with the Republic?' asked Tom. 
 
 'No; that is, the active elements in politics are not. 
 Louis Napoleon is plotting to become Emperor, and he 
 may attempt and carry a coup d'etat at any moment. 
 This would no doubt serve as a key-note to a still more 
 complicated condition of affairs in Europe, and where it 
 all will end no one can foresee.' 
 
 'Do you go beyond England?' asked the young man. 
 
 'Yes, I go direct to Paris, and will accompany you 
 that far,' replied Warfield. 
 
 'I am glad to hear that,' said Tom, ' for I esteem it a 
 fine privilege to travel in your company.'
 
 150 IN FETTERS. 
 
 'That you shall,' was the hearty reply. 
 
 The Baltic steamed up the Mersey, and, about noon, 
 a small steamer came alongside, took off the passengers 
 and baggage, and carried them to the landing-stage, an 
 immense floating pier, rendered necessary by the great 
 rise and fall of the tide in the river. 
 
 After passing the custom house officers, the friends 
 were driven to a hotel, where thay had dinner, and then 
 took the afternoon train for London. 
 
 'There is much to be seen in Liverpool as well as 
 London,' said Warh'eld, 'but you must content yourself 
 with a glimpse of the fine buildings as we pass along ; 
 and, before the light fades, we can perhaps see a few of 
 the fine old English manors, which line the route to 
 London.' 
 
 Arriving in London in the night time, young Gaston 
 would have been puzzled what to do, but his friend 
 Warfield appeared to know the place well, and ordered 
 the coach to proceed to Morley's Hotel, on Trafalgar 
 square, where rooms were obtained, and the travelers 
 retired for the night. 
 
 Tom slept soundly, and was up early in the morning. 
 
 He was, however, anticipated by his friend, Warfield, 
 who had been down before him, and was on the point of 
 taking a walk before breakfast, in which the young man 
 gladly joined him. 
 
 They did not go far beyond Charing Cross, however, 
 but soon returned to the hotel, where they breakfasted, 
 and then prepared for the business of the day. 
 
 ' The train will not leave for Folkstone until 8 o'clock 
 this evening, so that we will have some time on our 
 hands to view London. Have you any business that
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 151 
 
 you desire to transact in the city now ? ' asked Warfield. 
 
 ' Yes ; I wish to see my father's agent, who may 
 enlighten me in regard to when brother Richard passed 
 through London. Then I have some sterling exchange 
 to get cashed, and letters of credit to obtain for the 
 continent.' 
 
 'Very good,' said Warfield. 'I have, also, some 
 business to transact, and will accompany you to the place, 
 which is not far from here, where I'll leave you for half 
 an hour, and call on my return.' 
 
 A carriage was called, and the friends were driven to 
 the business section, where Tom easily found the firm 
 that did business for his father in England. He there 
 learned that Richard had arrived in London some two 
 weeks before, and called on them to obtain exchange for 
 the continent, and had started forward without delay to 
 his destination. 
 
 Thomas Gaston delivered his letter of credit, but as 
 he did not wish to draw any money on it, but only to 
 get his bills of exchange turned into available money, 
 the firm readily undertook to do this for him, and also to 
 arrange for his passports and other matters pertaining to 
 the journey on the Continent. Promising to forward 
 these to his hotel, and desiring him to call on his return 
 to London, when they would show him the city, the 
 kindly merchants bade him good-bye, just as the carriage, 
 with Warfield inside, stopped in front of the house. 
 
 'I see you have concluded your business,' said 
 Warfield, 'and now we will return to the hotel. I have 
 there some letters to write, after which we will take a 
 carriage and drive to Hyde Park, where you can see the 
 great Crystal Palace, about which so much has been
 
 152 IN FETTERS: 
 
 written and printed. It is certainly a modern wonder.' 
 
 In an hour's time, the messenger with money, pass 
 ports, etc. , came to the hotel, and by that time Warfield 
 had finished his correspondence. 
 
 A carriage was ordered, and the friends were driven 
 out to view the new wonder of the world the great 
 Crystal Palace. This was one of the sights Tom would 
 not have missed seeing, for he desired to send a 
 descriptive letter in regard to it to the Boston Times. 
 But he was more than surprised at its extent. It had a 
 front of more than one-third of a mile, besides its 
 branches. It covered an area of eighteen acres, and 
 under its vaulted transept were to be seen some large 
 and stately trees that were growing in the park. 
 
 The structure was a wonder, the framework of iron 
 seemed slight in comparison to the size of the building, 
 and was in fact only a setting for the glass, so that the 
 building was a veritable crystal palace, filled with the 
 products of all nations, in bewildering variety and 
 amount, and was visited by people of all nationalities by 
 the hundreds of thousands, the low price of admittance 
 (one shilling and sixpence) opening it to the poorest as 
 well as the richest. 
 
 Tom was delighted with all he saw, and took copious 
 notes as they walked around, his friend greatly aiding 
 him in his observations by his knowledge of works of art 
 and machinery of all kinds. 
 
 Returning to the hotel, Tom found that he had still 
 four hours to spare before the train left for Folkstone, so 
 he told his friend of his piirpose to write a letter to the 
 Boston paper, giving his impressions of the exhibition. 
 He must also write to his father, mother, his old friend
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 153 
 
 Cluney, and to one or two of his good friends in Boston. 
 
 To this proposition Warfield readily agreed, and 
 volunteered to read over his correspondence to the paper, 
 and suggest improvements an offer that was thankfully 
 accepted. 
 
 Tom at once set to work, and in about two hours and 
 a half had a letter of about two columns in length 
 written, which Wartield was looking over with great 
 interest. 
 
 'My dear sir,' he said at length, 'you are a born 
 journalist. You have caught, and epitomized, a great 
 many things that should be of interest to the American 
 reader. Your description of the building, its varied 
 contents, and the scenes attending the exhibition, is 
 excellent could not be bettered in the same space. It 
 is highly creditable, indeed. Mr. Gaston, you would 
 make a fine war correspondent.' 
 
 'Perhaps I would,' said Tom, laughing; 'but I fear I 
 would be too fond of the excitement of the battle to 
 think of describing it. I would want to take a hand 
 in it.' 
 
 'Perhaps so; but the novelty would soon wear off. 
 You would, after a short experience, be more fascinated 
 in watching the drama of the fight than in taking an 
 active part in it that is, getting into a situation where 
 you could see only what was going on in your near 
 vicinity.' 
 
 The letters were despatched to the post-office, dinner 
 eaten, and the friends took the carriage for the railway 
 station. As the clock struck 8 p. m. the train started 
 for Folkstone, which is on the Kentish coast, some 80 
 miles from London. The train was not a fast one, for it
 
 154 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 did not arrive at Folkstone until the following morning, 
 giving plenty of time and opportunity for a good night's 
 rest. 
 
 They went at once to a small steamer, which started 
 to sea at 9 o'clock, and soon the white cliffs of Dover on 
 the one hand, and those of Calais on the other, were 
 distinctly visible; and presently the little steamer was 
 tossing like a cockle-shell in the rough waters of the 
 Straits of Dover. The passage, if rough, was but a short 
 one, for in two hours from the time of starting the 
 steamer was in the smooth water of the land-locked 
 harbor of Boulogne, and secured to the wooden pier. 
 One of the conspicuous things noted by young Gaston 
 on the approach to Boulogne, was the tall column on 
 which the statue of the Emperor Napoleon was placed. 
 
 'That monument,' said Warfield, 'is the statue of 
 Napoleon, erected there by his army, in his honor. It 
 was here, at Boulogne, in 1805, that Napoleon assembled 
 an army of about 200, 000 men, for the supposed purpose 
 of invading England, but the execution of a treaty of 
 alliance between that country and the continental powers 
 caused him to abandon the project, if he ever really 
 entertained it, so that the English can still boast that 
 their women have never yet seen the smoke of an 
 enemy's camp-fires.' 
 
 ' Napoleon was indeed a wonderful man,' remarked 
 young Gaston. 
 
 'Yes,' said Warfield, 'he was a military genius. He 
 knew perhaps better than any man of his day how to 
 mould bodies of men into vast engines of force, and to 
 launch them like battering rams against living walls, to 
 demolish them. Napoleon's men boasted that he made
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST ? 155 
 
 them fight and win battles more with their feet than 
 their hands.' 
 
 ' Mere fighting, then, is not all that is required to win 
 battles?' said Gaston. 
 
 ' No, indeed. The best fighting may be done by the 
 men who will be defeated.' 
 
 'That seems paradoxical,' observed Gaston. 
 
 ' Yes ; but it is sometimes true. It is not the killing 
 of a great number of men that secures victory, but the 
 disorganization of the opposing force, so that they can 
 not offer a united front against attack. Napoleon's 
 great strength lay in the celerity of his movements and 
 the audacity and strength of his attack. This was 
 illustrated in his campaign in Austria in 1809, when by a 
 succession of rapid movements and attacks he defeated 
 the Austrian army in several successive battles, and 
 finally so disorganized it by defeat and dispersion that 
 he practically destroyed it for the time being, as an 
 effective fighting engine.' 
 
 'I have sometimes thought,' said Tom, 'that I would 
 like to be a soldier under such a man as Napoleon to 
 be a private, and rise from the ranks to a high position.' 
 
 'Never carry out such an idea as enlisting in the 
 ranks,' said Warfield, with a smile, ' at least with the 
 expectation of rising though personal bravery, where all 
 are alike brave ; though, if you should be foolish enough 
 to enlist, it would be well to aim high, even if it were a 
 hopeless ambition.' 
 
 'Has not a common soldier a chance to distinguish 
 himself in war ? ' 
 
 ' Rarely. Not one in ten thousand,' replied Warfield. 
 'An army is a machine, and the more perfect machine it
 
 156 IN FETTERS: 
 
 is, the more effective it can be made in the hands of an 
 able general. The best soldier is the one who most 
 exactly obeys orders and does the duties assigned to him. 
 In fact, obedience to orders is the first principle incul 
 cated in the discipline of an army, and that principle 
 runs up through every rank, from the private to the 
 general in command. The more perfect the obedience 
 of the rank and tile of an army, the easier it is to 
 handle, and the more effective a force it becomes in the 
 hands of an able general. 
 
 'But an army is a complex machine, and it may be 
 made much more formidable and effective by raising its 
 morale, which can be best achieved by success in its 
 operations and confidence in its commander. Napoleon's 
 success was due, first, to strict discipline in movement, 
 and, secondly, to his ability to utilize this in overthrow 
 ing his enemy. His soldiers had the fullest confidence 
 that if they obeyed his orders he would make them win 
 the victory, so that they were always ready to obey; and 
 if they met with temporary defeat, they did not blame 
 him for it, but themselves. Napoleon was their idol, and 
 they were ready at all times to sacrifice themselves for 
 him.' 
 
 'Fighting battles, I am told,' said Tom, 'is like play 
 ing chess.' 
 
 'In a manner it may be likened to that; but I think a 
 better illustration would be to compare two generals 
 fighting a battle to two pugilists boxing. The necessity 
 for guarding against the attacks of an opponent on weak 
 points is the same, and the equal or greater necessity of 
 giving effective blows is also indicated. The general, 
 however, wields battalions, brigades, divisions, and even
 
 THE MAN OE THE PKIEST? 157 
 
 army corps in his blows, and whenever he can deliver 
 the strongest and heaviest blows at his opponent in the 
 most vital and vulnerable parts, the more likely he is to 
 be successful. 
 
 ' Before it comes to blows, however, both armies to a 
 contest may manosuvre to obtain advantage of position ; 
 such, for example, as the guarding of one flank by 
 water, swamp, or other natural obstruction, or choosing 
 a hill or other natural feature of the ground to 
 strengthen his centre, and await attack. If his choice is 
 well made and his position a strong one, his opponent 
 may yet move around him so as to compel a change of 
 front and base. Napoleon's success often hinged on 
 deciding to attack when his enemy was not prepared for 
 it, or was too confident in the position chosen, or would 
 disarrange his plans by attack at a point that was least 
 expected.' 
 
 The passengers were not long delayed by the customs 
 officers, who were very courteous, and the friends were 
 soon on board the cars and on their way to Paris. 
 There was a peculiar swinging or vibratory motion to 
 the cars, like the rolling of a ship, which was not at all 
 agreeable, but Tom forgot it in the interest which the 
 historic places he was passing through inspired, espec 
 ially when recalled by so intelligent a man as his 
 companion, who seemed to know the country intimately. 
 Most of the country passed over in the 200 miles from 
 Boulogne to Paris, was beautiful as well as historic, and 
 gave evidence of the highest degree of cultivation. 
 After a delightful ride, passing through Abbeville, 
 Amiens, Chantilly, and other places of interest, the day 
 closed just as the train passed into Paris by the gate of
 
 158 IN FETTERS: 
 
 St. Denis, and the travelers, after again undergoing 
 inspection by customs officers, found their way to the 
 Hotel des Princes, on the Rue Richelieu. 
 
 Here Warfield, after directing Tom how to proceed in 
 the morning, parted with him. He handed him a letter 
 of introduction to a friend in Rome, and said : 
 
 'My friend, we have had a pleasant journey together 
 from America, and I have learned to like you. We may 
 never meet again, but if you should ever come to Europe 
 again, or if on your return from Rome you might wish 
 to find me, at this address you can trace me, if" I am 
 alive.' He handed him a card, which Tom did not read, 
 but in the excitement of the moment thrust into his 
 pocket with the letter. Then he said, with emotion : 
 
 'Mr. Warfield, if I believed in fate or special 
 providence, I would say that it was one or the other 
 which has made us companions on the voyage from 
 America. You have not only instructed me in many 
 things which are useful to know, but you have enlight 
 ened me on much that I knew in a way, but not with the 
 confidence which I feel in such knowledge since talking 
 with you. I shall remember your kindness and condes 
 cension to me a mere stranger and a nobody with 
 gratitude, while I live. I have found in you a master 
 mind, and recognize in you the only nobility which I 
 would bow to superior knowledge. If I return to 
 Paris, and have the time to spare, I shall call on you, for 
 I believe your invitation is given sincerely. If not 
 then I shall ever remember you.' 
 
 With a warm clasp of the hand, the friends parted. 
 Tom's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 Next morning Thomas Gaston proceeded to the
 
 THE MAN OE THE PBIEST? 159 
 
 diligence a large coach drawn by six horses and 
 was driven to the railway station at the north-east side 
 of Paris. Here the diligence was lifted, bodily, from its 
 wheels and placed on to a railway truck, and the train 
 started for Tonnere, where the diligence was again 
 transferred to wheels, and six horses carried it along to 
 Dijon, some 213 miles from Paris, where it arrived next 
 morning. After a short delay for refreshments, the 
 coach started for Chalons, 43 miles distant, where it 
 arrived in the evening. 
 
 From Chalons to Lyons the voyage was by river 
 steamer, and from Lyons to Marseilles by steamer also. 
 
 If I were writing a book of travel, I might tell of the 
 famous places passed through, their historic chateaus 
 and other landmarks, many of them dating back to the 
 times of the Roman occupation. Such things were seen 
 by Thomas Gaston, and, by the aid of a guide-book, were 
 recognized and appreciated in a way, though as a matter 
 of fact, he was in a state of partial preoccupation, his 
 mind being largely taken up with thoughts of his brother 
 and of the new acquaintance he had parted with in Paris, 
 whose identity he could not guess. 
 
 Remembering the letter given him by that gentleman 
 and he wondered he had not thought of it before 
 just as the steamer hove in sight of Marseilles, Thomas 
 Gaston drew it forth from his pocket, and with it a card 
 containing Warfield's address, which, to his intense 
 chagrin, escaped from his hand and was carried away by 
 the wind! His first impulse was almost to jump over 
 after it, but of what avail? 
 
 He now looked at the letter in his hand for the first 
 time, and was startled to read this name and address on it :
 
 160 IN FETTERS: 
 
 DR. VINCENT GASTON, 
 
 74, via della Croce, Rome. 
 
 There was certainly something very strange in this, 
 he thought. The letter was sealed. But an idea 
 occurred to him in connection with it, and that was that 
 Dr. Gaston might know the address of his late friend, 
 and at least could tell him who he was. This thought 
 consoled him for the loss, in so heedless a manner, of the 
 address given him. 
 
 It was just seventeen days from the time young Gaston 
 parted with his father and Cluney on board the Baltic, 
 at New York, that he found himself in the French Medi 
 terranean port of Marseilles, famed more for being 
 an unhealthy place than anything else in the minds 
 of travelers. This year, however, it was more than 
 ordinarily healthy, and as the cool nights of Autumn 
 were coming on it was the beginning of the second 
 week in September there was no danger of sickness. 
 
 On the following morning Tuesday a steamer of 
 the Messageries Impenales line was to sail for Genoa, 
 Leghorn, and Civita Vecchia, and after putting up at the 
 Hotel Richelieu, and getting dinner, our young traveler 
 proceeded to the office of the company on the quay, and 
 secured his passage to Civita Vecchia. 
 
 An early start was made by the steamer on the follow 
 ing morning, and Thomas Gaston was afforded a fine 
 opportunity to see the whole of the mainland coast, and 
 the off-lying islands of the Tuscan archipelago. These 
 places were enhanced in beauty to his eyes by the fact 
 that they had been the scenes of some of the most 
 famous deeds recorded in the wondrous history of the 
 Roman empire, and its numerous mediaeval and modern
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 161 
 
 successors. On the mainland nearly every foot of 
 ground had been fought over, until each one had a red 
 record of violent deaths to bear witness to. 
 
 By the evening the steamer entered the fine harbor of 
 the ancient city of Genoa, which on the land side is 
 encircled by an amphitheatre of hills. After a short 
 stay, to land freight and passengers, the steamer again 
 put to sea, and at six o'clock on the following morning 
 reached Leghorn. 
 
 Much to young Gaston's chagrin, a delay of about 
 eleven hours was made in Leghorn, which had many 
 places of interest; but Tom spent, most of the time on 
 board the steamer, writing letters descriptive of his 
 travels, two of which he mailed in Leghorn. 
 
 At 5 o'clock in the afternoon it was Wednesday 
 the steamer again put to sea, and, before darkness set in, 
 passed between the islands of Corsica and Elba the 
 one famous as being the birthplace of the Great 
 Napoleon, and the other the scene of his first exile, after 
 his disastrous Russian campaign. Both islands were 
 distinctly visible in the twilight glow, and the young 
 traveler looked upon them with strange emotion. 
 
 ' Here, in this Italian peninsula,' Tom reflected, 'has 
 been the cradle as well as the grave of many an ambitious, 
 aspiring man, while on that little island, yonder, perhaps 
 the greatest of them all was produced. And where are 
 they all now? Gone back to nothingness. The animated 
 dust which once contained such spirits has long since 
 mingled with that of commoner mortals no better, and 
 no worse. 
 
 'What is ambition, after all, but inflated pride! And 
 what is pride? Is it not the quintessence of selfishness,
 
 162 IN FETTERS: 
 
 or is it not rather the result of that mysterious prompt 
 ing of our nature of all animate nature, in fact that 
 impels us to persist up to the verge of dissolution? 
 Who can say what it is ? To me it is a puzzle one of 
 the puzzles of existence!' 
 
 With such thoughts as these passing rapidly through 
 his mind, young Gaston spent several hours on deck, the 
 night being calm and cloudless, and then he retired to 
 rest. At 5 o'clock in the morning he arose, and found 
 the steamer nearing her destination. At 6 o'clock, with 
 a bright sun shining, the steainer dropped anchor in the 
 harbor of Civita Vecchia; and, after a tedious delay 
 occasioned by the visit of inspection on the part of 
 military and custom-house officers, the passengers and 
 their baggage were landed by means of a row-boat. 
 
 The stage coach for Rome started soon after, and the 
 ride of 75 miles to the Eternal City was inaugurated at a 
 goodly pace. 
 
 If it were not for its historical associations, a more 
 uninteresting country could hardly be imagined than 
 that passed through, or rather by, for the road led along 
 near the sea shore. Some ten miles inland could be seen 
 the line of the Apennines, which seemed to run parallel 
 with the coast, and formed a background for a picture 
 of desolation. 
 
 The few people met with were ragged, squalid and 
 dirty, and were anything but creditable to the govern 
 ment of the Catholic church, while beggars besieged the 
 coach at every stopping place, and were the most 
 persistent of their class young Gaston had ever dreamed 
 of. But then it was his first experience of such debased 
 mendicancy.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 163 
 
 'Why,' said he, to himself, 'these are but little better 
 than savages not as good, come to think of it, for the 
 savage is in the line of development, while these are 
 degenerate. What a comment their condition makes on 
 misrule and oppression, church and state. It is terrible ! ' 
 
 This was rather a rude shock to his ideas of that land 
 which was once the abode of giants among men. Was 
 it possible, he mused, that he was traveling in what was 
 at one time almost the centre of the great Roman 
 Empire? Was this bare, uncultivated, desolate country 
 at one time covered with towns, villages, sumptuous 
 villas, gardens, pleasure-grounds, and cultivated fields, 
 teeming with the harvest and the vintage? Was it on 
 this ground that the masters of the world pursued their 
 business and their pastimes? 
 
 Along these desolate plains marched the grand armies 
 of Rome on their way to glory and conquest, and over 
 these also rolled the tide of Gothic and Vandal invasion, 
 that was to finally bring the proud city and empire to 
 the dust 'the throne and grave of empires.' 
 
 When great nations become vain and effeminate, then 
 brutality has its opportunity, and the culture, science, arts 
 and civilization of centuries may be wrecked in an hour. 
 ' So passeth the glory of the world.' 
 
 One of the first objects noted, to signal the approach 
 to the Eternal City, was the dome of St. Peter's, which 
 was observed when the coach was still about fifteen 
 miles distant from Rome. Then the young man looked 
 about him to discern some sign of suburban settlement 
 and cultivation, but in vain. And this was prosperity 
 under the benign rule of the church! 
 
 At length, just as the twilight had settled down into
 
 164 IN FETTERS: 
 
 darkness, the coach passed through the gate in the city 
 wall, the Porta Cavalleggieri, as it is called. After a 
 short delay, the coach resumed its way, encountering a 
 number of French soldiers on duty, and passed by the 
 immense colonnade of St. Peter's, and then crossed the 
 Tiber on the only ancient Roman bridge that then 
 spanned it, the (Elian. Then, after a drive of some two 
 miles in the city, the coach paused in the spacious Piazza 
 del Popolo, under the Pincian hill, comfortable accommo 
 dations being found at the Hotel des Isles Britannique. 
 Here young Gaston learned that the waiters spoke fairly 
 good English, so he was not called on to use his callow 
 French with them, for which he was not sorry. 
 
 He made a hearty supper; and, feeling tired, and 
 being satisfied that it would be a search to a disadvantage 
 to look for his brother that evening, he concluded he 
 would go to bed and have a good night's rest, which he 
 proceeded to do. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN ROME RICHARD ORDAINED A PRIEST DR. VINCENT 
 
 GASTON ROMAN SCENES AND REFLECTIONS. 
 
 When Thomas Gaston awoke on the morning succeed 
 ing his arrival in Rome, he found that he had overslept 
 himself, he being an early riser from habit. He dressed 
 quickly, and went down to breakfast, after which he 
 approached the landlord, and attempted to open a 
 conversation with him in French. The landlord, who 
 was a German, with a spice of German humor in him,
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 165 
 
 perceiving by his accent that the young man spoke 
 English, said : 
 
 Vy don't you speak de English, my frient?' 
 
 Tom laughed, and proceeded to make known his 
 desires in his native tongue. 
 
 'I would like,' he said, 'to find Dr. Vincent Gaston, via 
 della Croce. Can you direct me where to go?' 
 
 The landlord gave him the direction, which was to go 
 straight down the via del Corso, and the street he was 
 in search of was the seventh on the left. Then he 
 added 
 
 'Ah, I see it is your oncle.' 
 
 Without affirming or contradicting this idea, the young 
 man set out to find the doctor. He had concluded that 
 this would be the best thing to do, for the doctor, who 
 had lived for some time in Rome, could tell him just 
 what to do in the matter of finding his brother, and 
 reaching the Propaganda headquarters, where he would 
 be most likely to be found. 
 
 After a brisk walk of about fifteen minutes, he reached 
 the hotel at which Dr. Vincent Gaston was located. On 
 ringing the bell, a servant in livery appeared, who looked 
 at him in evident surprise, and, on hearing his desire, 
 ushered him into a richly-furnished apartment, and with 
 drew. 
 
 In about fifteen minutes it seemed two hours to the 
 impatient waiter the door opened, and a gentleman of 
 middle age, wearing gold-bowed spectacles, walked 
 briskly into the room. 
 
 'Monsieur,' he said, in French, 'I am at your service.' 
 
 Tom looked curiously at the doctor, and with good 
 reason, too, he thought, for in him he recognized a face
 
 166 IN FETTERS: 
 
 and form that might be that of his father's brother, so 
 strong were the leading physical traits of his father 
 displayed in him. 
 
 'Pardon my intrusion, doctor,' he said, in English, ; for 
 my business is not of a professional nature. But I have 
 a letter of introduction from one of your friends a 
 gentleman who values you highly.' And he handed him 
 Warfield's letter. 
 
 The doctor read the letter with evident surprise, and 
 some emotion. Then he looked at Thomas Gaston, took 
 him warmly by the hand, and drew him close up to the 
 window. 
 
 * I want to look at you in a clear light,' he said. 
 
 He looked at him closely, and then said, in a satisfied 
 tone 'Yes, you are a Gaston. There is no mistaking 
 the leading facial and other characteristics of the family 
 in you. Sit down sit down. Now what can I do for 
 you?' 
 
 Then Tom told him the purport of his mission to 
 Rome; and that the first thing he desired to do was to 
 find his brother, who would no doubt be at or near the 
 College of the Propaganda. 
 
 'That is not far distant,' said Dr. Gaston. 'It is in 
 the Piazza di Spagna, at the end of this street. I will go 
 with you.' 
 
 On the way Tom told the doctor how anxious he was 
 to find his brother, and save him from becoming a priest, 
 as a wife and good fortune awaited him. But if he was 
 ordained, then it would not be wise to say anything to 
 him about it. 
 
 'I understand,' said Dr. Gaston, 'and I will be 
 discreet. There are two hotels near the college the
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 167 
 
 Europa and the Hotel de Londres. We will try the 
 Europa first your brother may be there.' 
 
 But they were disappointed in this. At the Hotel de 
 Londres, however, they found Richard, in company with 
 several young ecclesiastics, all foreigners, and most of 
 them from different countries, one being from China. 
 
 If an angel had appeared to Richard, he would not 
 have been more surprised than to see his brother Tom in 
 Rome. 
 
 'Why, Tom,' he said, after a warm embrace and 
 greeting, 'you are the last person I would dream of 
 seeing here. Has anything happened at home?' 
 
 ' Father and mother and all friends are well. How is 
 it with you? Am I in time to be present at your 
 ordination?' 
 
 'I regret that you are not,' replied Richard. 'I was 
 ordained three days ago.' 
 
 Tom felt as if he had received a blow on the head with 
 a sledge-hammer, but he had such a perfect command of 
 his face that the smile on it did not waver. He said, 
 pleasantly : 
 
 'Well, I regret that I am too late.' There was a 
 bitterness in his tone, which, however, Richard did not 
 notice, but which was detected by Dr. Gaston. Turning 
 to the latter, Tom said : 
 
 'Brother, let me introduce a friend, doctor '- 
 
 Richard had fixed his gaze on the doctor, and made 
 an impulsive move towards him. 
 
 'Surely,' he said, 'this is not'- 
 
 He was about to say 'father,' and if the doctor had 
 been ten or fifteen years younger he might have said it ; 
 but he paused, still gazing on him.
 
 168 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'No,' said Tom. 'Not father Gaston, but doctor 
 Gaston.' 
 
 ' If your moustache were removed,' said Richard, after 
 a warm greeting, ' I would still take you to be my father. 
 How strange! Tom would pass for your son. I am 
 hardly a Gaston, but resemble the people of my Irish 
 mother, I am told.' 
 
 After some further conversation, in the course of 
 which it was arranged that Richard and Thomas would 
 meet at the doctor's residence that afternoon, Tom 
 took his leave, and left the hotel with the doctor. 
 
 ' I am sick at heart,' he said, ' to find my mission of no 
 avail. My head is almost bursting, doctor what shall 
 I dd? A sedative some rest eh?' 
 
 ' Come with me,' said the kind physician, ' and I 
 will give you a sedative, and you can have a quiet rest 
 in my house until evening.' 
 
 Tom accepted the offer of his new friend, who gave 
 him a powder in a glass of water. ' This will make you 
 sleep,' he said, ' and that will answer, for what you now 
 need is temporary oblivion.' 
 
 ' I know that,' said Thomas, as he drained the glass, 
 and retired to the room assigned him. When he awoke 
 it was evening, and darkness covered the city. Hastily 
 arranging his apparel, he opened the door of his room, 
 and, as he stepped over the threshold, Dr. Gaston greeted 
 him with : 
 
 'Well, my dear young friend, how are you feeling 
 now?' 
 
 'I am all right, doctor. The narcotic you gave me did 
 the business warded off the blow and I can now look 
 fate in the face. Has my brother arrived?'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 169 
 
 'He has been here for nearly an hour, and we have 
 been entertaining him. He is bright and amiable.' 
 
 'Do you gather that he has any suspicion of my real 
 motive in following him,' asked Thomas. 
 
 'I judge that he has no suspicion of the real cause,' 
 replied the doctor. 
 
 'I am glad to know it. If he suspected the truth,. I 
 fear it might unhinge him. He is inclined to be 
 impulsive.' 
 
 'Now,' said the doctor, 'for refreshment. You must 
 eat a special dish, which I have had prepared for you. 
 While eating it, I shall leave you alone. When done, 
 you can come into the salon, which a servant will show 
 you to,' and leading the young man to the family 
 refectory, he placed him at a table, and directed the 
 servant to wait on him. The dish was new to the young 
 man, but he relished it and ate heartily. Then he 
 sought the salon, where he found the doctor, his wife, 
 his brother Richard, and a young lady who was intro 
 duced to him as Miss Beatrice Gaston. 
 
 The doctor's wife, he noticed, was very much younger 
 than her husband not over forty, while he was 
 evidently over sixty. The daughter was about eighteen 
 years of age, but resembled her mother, who was a lady 
 of 1 toman birth and family, and very beautiful, intelligent 
 and agreeable. 
 
 Thomas Gaston explained to his brother that fatigue 
 after his journey induced him to seek rest, and then he 
 joined in the social talk of the family. In introducing 
 his daughter, Dr. Gaston said that she was one of three 
 children, the other two being males. One, named 
 Richard, was twenty years of age, and was at that time
 
 170 IN FETTEKS! 
 
 in France, at the Polytechnic school of Paris, while the 
 other, about sixteen years of age, was at an academy in 
 Milan. His name was the same as that of his father. 
 Dr. Gaston was a Frenchman, and like all his country 
 men was proud of the distinction. 
 
 ' So you see,' said Dr. Gaston, ' that we have a Richard 
 in our family. It is an old family Christian name of the 
 Gastons.' 
 
 ' That was my grandfather's as well as my father's 
 name,' said Thomas. 
 
 'Do you know anything of your family history?' asked 
 the doctor. 
 
 Thomas told him all he knew, which was not much, 
 but said he would obtain all his father knew of it and 
 send it to him by letter. ' For,' said he, 'I am convinced 
 of our family relationship, though how remote it may be 
 it is not easy to guess.' 
 
 ' I shall await your account with impatience,' said the 
 doctor. 
 
 'By the way,' said Thomas, 'can you tell me who my 
 traveling companion was, who called himself Warfield? 
 He gave me an address, which he said would find him in 
 Paris,' and then he explained to the doctor how he lost it. 
 
 ' I cannot tell you who he is,' replied Dr. Gaston, ' for 
 reasons which I cannot now explain. In fact, I may say 
 that he is something of a mystery to me, though I know 
 his name and rank. He is a nobleman by birth, but a 
 democrat by choice. He is a soldier, who has seen 
 service, and a scholar and scientist. In some respects he 
 is an enigma. I'll give you an example. While sympa 
 thizing with the Republicans who held Rome two years 
 ago, he, yet, under Gen. Oudinot, directed the siege
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 171 
 
 operations against the city, which ended in its capitula 
 tion. I have reason to believe, however, that he 
 facilitated the escape of Garibaldi and his followers. I 
 made his acquaintance while active in the hospitals here, 
 and saved his left arm from amputation the bone being 
 shattered by a musket ball. The arm is now good as 
 new, but it is fully three inches shorter than the right 
 one.' 
 
 ' I never noticed it,' said Thomas. 
 
 The evening was agreeably spent by the brothers at 
 the Gastons', and they then departed for their hotels, 
 after arranging to meet on the next morning. 'I want 
 to talk with you, Tom, about home and other matters,' 
 said Richard. ' It will be Sunday, you know,' he added, 
 'but we shall have an opportunity to talk before it is 
 time to go to mass. I think you will like to go to St. 
 Peter's with me.' 
 
 'I would like to go,' replied Thomas, and the brothers 
 parted for the night. 
 
 Early on Sunday morning Richard called at the hotel 
 where his brother was stopping in the Piazza del Popolo. 
 Thomas had finished breakfast, and when his brother 
 called on him he took him at once to his apartments. 
 
 'Now, that we are alone, Tom,' said Richard, 'let me 
 ask you the real motive of your following after me so 
 quickly to Rome? I am satisfied that the reason you 
 gave me yesterday to see me ordained was not the 
 real one, for I know you have shared with others the 
 opposition to my choice of profession.' 
 
 'Why were you in such a hurry to be ordained?' asked 
 Thomas, avoiding the question. 'I supposed you would 
 have to undergo an examination, and submit to more or
 
 172 IN FETTEUS: 
 
 less of probationary delay. But of course I am ignorant 
 of such procedure.' 
 
 ' That would have been the case,' replied Richard, 
 'were it not for the letters which I brought to the head 
 of the Propaganda, from the principal of the college in 
 Montreal, as well as from the Bishop of Boston. Only a 
 mere formal examination was made, which was satisfac 
 tory, and, as they were about to ordain a number of 
 young men on Wednesday, I concluded that it would be 
 best for me to take the vows and be ordained. But you 
 have not answered my question as to what brought you 
 to Rome, Tom.' 
 
 'I'll tell you,' said Thomas. 'Father came on to 
 Boston, hoping to intercept you, so that you could trans 
 act some business for him in London. But you had 
 gone, and he seemed so disappointed that I volunteered 
 to go for him. Then, it struck me, that it would be no 
 harm for me to follow you on to Rome, and try and 
 dissuade you from the determination to become a priest. 
 But I suppose it would have been useless, even if I had 
 arrived before the event occurred. Well, I have had a 
 glimpse of Europe, at any rate, and that is something. 
 What do you purpose doing next?' 
 
 'I shall stay in Rome for a few months, perhaps till 
 spring. There are many things here which I want to 
 see and study, and if I do not take advantage of the 
 present, I may never have another opportunity of doing 
 it,' replied Richard. Then he asked : 
 
 'How long shall you stay, Tom?' 
 
 'Not long,' replied Thomas. 'I must finish my 
 college course, and obtain my degree. I will take a 
 gallop around with the doctor, and then go home.'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 173 
 
 ' Dr. Gaston isn't it a singular thing that you should 
 have run across him? I have no doubt but he is of our 
 family. He is the picture of father, so far as general 
 features are concerned, only he it considerably older. 
 Well, now, will you go with me to St. Peter's church to 
 mass?' asked Richard. 'I am told that it is a notable 
 celebration, and that His Holiness will be present.' 
 
 'I will go,' said Thomas. 'It will no doubt be a show 
 worth seeing a spectacle, I mean,' he quickly added, 
 seeing that his remark displeased his brother. 
 
 A carriage was called, and the brothers proceeded to 
 St. Peter's, where the pontifical high mass was celebrated, 
 with all the pomp and ceremony pertaining to such an 
 august religious rite. The spectacle was a brilliant one, 
 indeed, though to Thomas Gaston, who looked upon it 
 more as a theatrical representation than anything else, 
 there was a kind of mockery in the whole thing, and his 
 irreverant fancy pictured the affair as being carried out 
 by skeletons instead of men, and so real did this fancy 
 for the moment appear to him that he imagined he heard 
 the rattling of dry bones under the richly embroidered 
 vestments of the hundreds of ecclesiastics who took part 
 in the ceremony. 
 
 The great church edifice of St. Peter's itself was a* 
 wonder and revelation of art and architecture to him. 
 He had read descriptions of it, but they were tame in 
 comparison to the reality. 
 
 ' What a glorious work of skill and art it is,' he mused, 
 ' and it not inaptly typifies the genius of a religion that 
 feeds the imagination with fables, while it excites the 
 fancy by the help of such show and tinsel as all this is. 
 And yet I have no doubt that many of these poor mortals,
 
 174 rtf FETTERS: 
 
 who play the part of puppets in this show, believe that 
 they are doing God a service. They are animated no 
 doubt by the same spirit that swayed the priests of Isis 
 thousands of years ago; and probably their sacrifice is 
 just as significant in its way but no more.' 
 
 Then his eyes wandered over the interior of the church, 
 which was rich and magnificent beyond anything he had 
 ever dreamed of. The four great pillars supporting the 
 vast dome, appeared like colossi to him, with the burden 
 of heaven's vault resting on their heads. 
 
 'I do not wonder, after all,' mused Tom, 'that, in such 
 a magnificent church as this, dedicated to the Creator of 
 the Universe, there should be more or less of inspiration 
 to minds which are reverentially inclined ; and that in it 
 a man would feel his own littleness, and thereby exalt 
 the greatness of the God it is dedicated to. 
 
 'And yet, after all, when rightly considered, this 
 should be regarded rather as a fane of deified art ; for, 
 surely, in this building art has wrought its most godlike 
 achievement a poem of exquisite grandeur and beauty. 
 But to me it seems incomplete. Like the church, of 
 which this pile may be said to be the architectural repre 
 sentation, art is everything, and science nothing. It is 
 grand and beautiful, appealing to the imagination 
 altogether ; but dull, plodding life the life of the world 
 is far removed from it. It is the portal of heaven, 
 the visible throne of the invisible God, to the common 
 mind, when, after all, it is. but the embodiment of the 
 artistic conceptions of man nothing more where 
 beautiful thoughts have been carved and painted into an 
 objective representation of the dreams of the past and 
 hopes of the future; where the senses are lulled by
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 175 
 
 sweet music into a kind of rapt abstraction an ecstatic 
 condition somewhat akin the pleasures of narcotism, and 
 usually attended with the same reactionary symptoms.' 
 
 Tom could not restrain the agnostic and diagnostic 
 habit, even in the sacred hall of St. Peter's. And while 
 he thus mused, his pious brother prayed, devoutly, no 
 doubt; for faith made the occasion to him one of the 
 grand opportunities of approaching nearest to that God 
 who promised to be with his church to the end. 
 
 After services at St. Peter's, the brothers took carriage 
 for the hotel in the Piazza del Popolo, where it had been 
 agreed that Richard would stop and dine with his 
 brother. 
 
 At the table, Tom who was abstemious by habit 
 noticed that Richard showed a fondness for the strong 
 Italian wine, which was served at his suggestion. 
 
 'Dick,' he said, 'do you like that wine, and have you 
 drank much of it since coming to Rome ? ' 
 
 'I have learned to like it,' was the reply, 'but indulge 
 in it only at meal times.' 
 
 ' I do not seek to criticise your habit, brother, but you 
 will pardon me if I utter a word or two of caution in 
 regard to the use of wine and spirits. It is a habit that 
 often grows quickly to dangerous proportions, and, what 
 is moi-t strange, the one who acquires and practises it to 
 excess is the one who is the last to realize it.' 
 
 'I do not fear it,' replied the young priest. 'If I 
 should find it were getting the better of me, I could and 
 would leave it off instantly.' 
 
 Nothing more was said on this subject. 
 
 'Have you written home since you were ordained?' 
 asked Tom.
 
 176 m FETTERS: 
 
 ' I have not,' was the reply. ' But I suppose I ought 
 to write, and let our parents know about it.' 
 
 ' Then I think you should write tonight. The mail 
 leaves in the morning. I have pens and paper. Why 
 not write this afternoon after dinner and I will mail 
 it with mine in the morning? Besides letters to father 
 and mother, I shall write to Master Cluney, and shall also 
 send a letter to the Times, descriptive of the service at 
 St. Peter's church today.' 
 
 This was agreed to, and, after dinner, Richard wrote a 
 letter to his parents, which he gave to his brother to 
 mail. Then he went off to attend vesper services at the 
 church of the Propaganda, leaving Tom alone to finish 
 his correspondence. 
 
 On Monday morning, Dr. Gaston called on Tom, and 
 both went to the hotel where Richard was. The three 
 then proceeded to take a view of the city, from the tower 
 which crowns the capitol, on the Capitoline hill. Here 
 the various historic places were pointed out: the Forum 
 at the foot of the hill; the ruins of the palace of the 
 Gesars, on Mount Palatine, opposite; the ruins of the 
 Coliseum at the foot of that hill ; the various grand 
 ancient baths of Caracalla, of Titus, and of Diocletian; 
 and in fact all of the bewildering array of historic 
 objects to be seen from this vantage-ground in that most 
 historic city of the world, which had survived the 
 vicissitudes of empires and dynasties, but retained 
 features of each and all of them all these were viewed. 
 
 Here were seen the monuments of the heroes and 
 demi-gods among men ! Here was, in one respect, the 
 cradle of much of the literature and many of the arts 
 and sciences of the modern world. Here dwelt the titans
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 177 
 
 of the human race the masters of the world, in their 
 time. In this splendid view, Thomas Gaston felt that he 
 had realized the dream of his youth. 
 
 The doctor pointed out the various historic objects, 
 and rapidly outlined their history, like one thoroughly 
 familiar with the salient features of the panorama. When 
 the doctor had finished, promising to give details in the 
 visits with the brothers to the various points indicated, 
 Tom said, reflectively: 
 
 'Doctor, it is grand! But there is a sadness of heart in 
 contemplating it. It curiously illustrates the paradox of 
 existsnce, in the fact that nothing so strongly proves 
 man's littleness as his greatness. Here, a magnificent 
 civilization was built up, after centuries of progressive 
 effort. Then, when luxury and the ambitious rivalries 
 of the great men had weakened the nation, the hordes of 
 a barbaric king in seven days reduced it to a heap of 
 smouldering ruins. 
 
 'The conquerors were, in their turn, conquered and 
 this seems equally strange- by the ghostly power; by 
 the representatives of the kingdom which is not of this 
 world.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the doctor, ' and this ghostly power has not 
 only spread the gospel of Christianity throughout the 
 world, but its missionaries have carried the literature, art 
 and science of Rome into every nation.' 
 
 'That is true,' replied Tom, 'but, while aiding in this 
 way, it has enslaved as well as enlightened. It has 
 cultivated the intellect, but at the same time has fettered 
 the mind. In this once glorious country, I should say, 
 the common people have grown gray in suffering under 
 despotic rule. It is now a country of princes and
 
 178 IN FETTERS: 
 
 of beggars; of toilers who work, and of idlers who pray. 
 Perhaps,' added Tom, smiling at the conceit, ' if the 
 praying part of the people would work more, and the 
 workers had more leisure to improve their minds, there 
 might be a better condition of things brought about.' 
 
 The doctor smiled, and said: 'Nephew allow me 
 to cajl you that, for convenience you are original, at 
 least, in your mode of thinking, and this, I judge, comes 
 from your American habit of thought, which is utilitarian. 
 In one respect, however, you are right. In Italy there 
 are too many ecclesiastics too many monks resident, 
 I mean. It has become the fashion to devote at least one 
 of a family sometimes it is several to the service of 
 the church. This has become so great a feature of the 
 Italian social condition that political economists are 
 beginning to see the evil of it in an economic sense. 
 Where the priests of the church are active workers, and 
 do practical good among the people, it is all right. But 
 where they simply live in communities, for the gratifica 
 tion of their own personal selfishness however good it 
 may be the conviction is abroad that the result is not 
 really good for the nation, and the Italian nationalists are 
 extremely exercised and restless in regard to it, and 
 many of the leaders are driven into infidelity as a conse 
 quence; for, once the utility of an institution comes into 
 question, its sacred character itself becomes open to 
 criticism.' 
 
 Thomas Gaston was so fascinated with Rome that he 
 remained there for two weeks, going either alone or with 
 his brother, or with Dr. Gaston, or both, to various points 
 of interest, and enjoying his visit to the Eternal City in 
 the best and most practical way, for if Tom was anything
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 179 
 
 he was practical. He spent many pleasant evenings in 
 the house of Dr. Gaston, and was pleased with his 
 daughter, who was a very intelligent and unsentimental 
 young lady, and was very sensible and practical, without 
 being unfeminine. 
 
 Richard seemed wedded to Rome. To him it was a 
 Mecca, indeed, and his brother could see that he would 
 only leave it with an effort. 
 
 The time came for departure, however, and for mutual 
 regrets. Arrangements for correspondence with Dr. 
 Gaston and his daughter, and with his brother were made 
 by Tom ; and one beautiful morning in September, 
 Thomas Gaston bade adieu to Rome, and turned his face 
 westward toward his Mecca, which was Boston. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 UNWELCOME NEWS AT CHEBUCTO ITS EFFECT ON MB. 
 
 WARDEN AGNES' RESOLVE. 
 
 It was an evening in the early part of October, and a 
 fine autumn day was drawing to a close. The steamer 
 had arrived in Chebucto with the mail, and among the 
 impatient waiters on the outside for its distribution was 
 merchant Gaston. With him was James Warden, now 
 his warm friend. The latter had rallied in his business 
 affairs, and it looked as if his trouble was nearly over. 
 He expected good news from his agents in London in the 
 mail that just came in.
 
 180 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'I do hope,' he said to Mr. Gaston, 'that you will have 
 good news from the boys in Rome. It will please me 
 more than I can tell to learn that Tom has arrived in 
 time to save Richard from becoming a priest.' 
 
 'It will please all,' replied Mr. Gaston. 'Even my 
 wife is now warmly interested in the matter, and she 
 loves Agnes like a daughter.' 
 
 The mail was at length delivered, and Richard Gaston 
 had two letters postmarked "Roma" one in Tom's 
 handwriting, and the other in Richard's. JamesWarden 
 had also the expected letter from his London agent. 
 But he did not open it, preferring, first, to hear of the 
 course of events in Rome. 
 
 Richard Gaston opened Tom's letter, and the first line 
 gave him the whole story in a few words 'I was too 
 late. Dick has become a priest.' His hand trembled, 
 and his face showed deep emotion. 
 
 'The news is bad, I see,' said Warden. 
 
 'It is,' replied Gaston. 'Dick has taken the irrevo 
 cable step he has been ordained a priest.' 
 
 ' God help Agnes ! ' exclaimed Mr. Warden. ' And me,' 
 
 he added bitterly. ' It is I who am responsible for it all 
 
 for the wreck of their happiness!' and he turned 
 
 about, and, with a drooping head, wended his way 
 
 homeward. 
 
 Agnes and her mother were on the lookout for Mr. 
 Warden, as they expected he would see Mr. Gaston, and 
 learn if he had received news from Rome. When they 
 saw him approaching, with bowed head and spiritless 
 gait, their woman's wit divined that bad news had been 
 received bad news for Agnes. 
 
 When Mr. Warden entered the house, he found the
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 181 
 
 ladies awaiting him; and was puzzled what to say or do. 
 He had not the heart to tell it all, but evaded direct 
 knowledge of what had happened, by saying 
 
 'I fear Mr. Gaston has received unwelcome news, 
 judging from the expression of his face, when he opened 
 his letter and glanced at it in the post-office.' 
 
 That was all he said, and neither his wife nor Agnes 
 cared to ask him any questions. Agnes, however, was 
 bound to know the truth, and, leaving the room quietly, 
 she slipped out of the house, and went to the Gaston 
 mansion. 
 
 Here she found Mr. and Mrs. Gaston in the sitting 
 room. The former had just finished reading the letters 
 he had received to his wife, who was in tears. When 
 Agnes entered the room, and saw the condition of affairs, 
 she guessed the full truth. Hope had in the last few 
 weeks restored the delicate pink roses of health to her 
 face ; but now it was deathly pale. Mrs. Gaston looked 
 up at her as she entered, and seeing that she was already 
 in misery, opened her womanly heart and arms to her, 
 and Agnes sank into those arms, sobbing as if her heart 
 would break. It was a great relief to the poor girl, for 
 her heart had been almost bursting with suppressed 
 emotion, and this was her first break-down. 
 
 Mr. Gaston looked at the two weeping women for 
 some minutes in silence, until they grew somewhat calm. 
 Then he said 
 
 ' My poor Agnes, you have come over to share our 
 sorrow, and it is proper that you should. Our mutual 
 sorrow should be shared in common.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Agnes, in agony. ' I feel that this is a judg 
 ment on me, for being so set with Richard in the matter.
 
 182 IN FETTERS: 
 
 I believed too strongly in obedience to my father's 
 behest. But my eyes are now opened. I should have 
 told him to wait, and might have forseen that my father's 
 cruel enmity would not last always. But it is too late to 
 repine,' she said, drying her tears. ' We must now do 
 all we can to sustain him in the holy office he has 
 assumed.' 
 
 ' I think there was more or less of fault on Richard's 
 part, also,' said Mr. Gaston. '] will say nothing against 
 your father now, Agnes. He seems to feel the full force 
 of the punishment, and takes it to heart greatly. I sin 
 cerely pity him.' 
 
 'So do I,' said Mrs. Gaston, 'though he never had any 
 good reason for his enmity to us. But I forgive him, and 
 hope God will. The only feeling I now have about it is 
 that, if it were not for his enmity, you, my dear, would 
 have a good man for a husband, while I would have a 
 daughter in you. He has prevented it.' 
 
 ' Well, mother,' said Agnes, ' and you will please let 
 me call you mother, there is no helping what has 
 happened. We have all erred somewhat I more than 
 Richard but it cannot be helped. We must try to 
 make life happy to him, by aiding and encouraging him 
 in the work he will do.' 
 
 ' Well,' said the mother, ' I hope we shall,' and she 
 sighed. 
 
 ' You do not purpose, then,' said Mr. Gaston, to Agnes, 
 ' to renounce interest in the world?' 
 
 ' No ; I shall keep on as I am,' si.ld Agnes. ' Father 
 and mother will require my services while they live, and 
 I can look after them, and still have time to spare to help 
 and encourage Richard in his good work. If I can't be
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 183 
 
 his wife, I can be his helper. If he has a mission, why 
 cannot I have one in conjunction with him?' 
 
 ' Then you still love him?' asked Mr. Gaston. 'And 
 is it possible that you would ever think of another?' 
 
 ' Never, sir,' she replied. ' It is not my nature to be 
 changeable. I can love but one, and once only.' 
 
 ' It is a pity,' he said, ' that the world was not made 
 up of people like you. Affection, sincerity, and constancy 
 are three cardinal virtues.' 
 
 ' I hope, when he comes home, Richard will never 
 hear of the plan to recall him from the priesthood,' said 
 Agnes, after she had read the letters of the brothers, 
 which the father had handed to her. 
 
 ' I sincerely hope he will not,' chimed in the mother, 
 'for he is a peculiar boy not like Tom, who is made of 
 iron - and the knowledge of such a thing might upset 
 him.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Mr. Gaston, ' that the facts in the case 
 are not known here outside of our families, and not 
 likely to be, so we need not fear any trouble from that 
 source.' 
 
 In conversation like this these good people gradually 
 talked themselves into a kind of philosophically-resigned 
 condition of mind; and, after an hour spent in discussing 
 the situation, Agnes returned home feeling much better 
 and stronger in faith and purpose than when she had 
 left it. 
 
 She could see that, beginning with her father's foolish 
 enmity towards Mr. Gaston, there had been a series of 
 blunders, first, on her part, and then on Richard's in 
 being so impatient and hopeless of delay. But Agnes 
 had strong common sense, and,, now that her lover was
 
 184 IN FETTERS: 
 
 lost to her forever as a husband, he could still be her 
 friend, and she a friend to him. In his company she 
 could still be happy, and then it was a consolation to 
 know that no other woman would possess him. 
 
 Yes ; she would still cling to him to the life-interests 
 of her own family and of his. She would marry no 
 other man ; neither would she ever renounce the world. 
 In fact> she began already to feel a kind of bitterness 
 against the church which had taken her lover from her. 
 And she contrasted the life of a priest with that of a 
 minister of the Protestant faith, who could take a wife 
 and surrouud himself with all the blessings of humanity, 
 which a celibate could never enjoy. Did God, she asked 
 herself, require such a sacrifice? If he did, she could 
 not see the justice of it. Must a priest be forever 
 debarred from the pleasures of affection the joys of 
 paternity ? 
 
 The more she studied this subject, the more her heart 
 rebelled against a system of what seemed to be ecclesi 
 astical tyranny. She little understood that stern, relent 
 less system of usage and discipline which treats the men 
 in the ranks of the Catholic priesthood as so many parts 
 of a complex machine, whose functions are clearly defined, 
 and whose efficiency is estimated in exact proportion to 
 the manner in which the fundimental principle of their 
 connection with the army of the church is observed, 
 namely, obedience. For. as a matter of fact, the priest 
 is held to the same order and discipline that the soldier 
 is, and hence his efficiency, or rather the efficiency and 
 power of the grand but heartless church government to 
 which he is subject. 
 
 On entering her home, Agnes found her father and
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 185 
 
 mother in earnest conversation. Her mother had 
 evidently been weeping, for her eyes were red and 
 swollen. Her father appeared more than usually de 
 pressed. He said to his daughter: 
 
 ' Well, Agnes, I suppose you know the worst.' 
 
 * Yes, father. The news is bad, but repining will not 
 help it. I think we'd better make the best of the situa 
 tion ; and go on, as if mistakes were not beyond remedy.' 
 
 1 1 am glad to hear you talk so bravely and sensibly, 
 Agnes,' said the father. 'It will enable me to bear up 
 better. But do you know, my dear, that I also have had 
 bad news by the mail ? It seems as if the devil of bad 
 luck were in close pursuit of my vessels; the one that 
 was sold or rather would have been when she returned 
 from a voyage to Leghorn has been lost, and instead 
 of getting five thousand pounds for her, I have a 
 prospect of getting only about two thousand, insurance. 
 Well, after it is settled, out of whatever I get, Richard 
 Gaston must be paid, first and foremost. But if things 
 go on much longer as they have gone of late I fear 
 you will see me bankrupt before six months have passed 
 away.' 
 
 'I hope not oh, that would be terrible,' said Mrs. 
 Warden. 
 
 'I hope not, too,' said Agnes, ' but if it should come, I 
 would not flinch. We can better bear poverty than dis 
 grace any time. But, dear father, I hope things are 
 not so bad and gloomy as you think they are.' 
 
 'They are bad enough, Agnes, and I have not the 
 vigor to face reverses which I had some years ago ; 
 and then, I do not feel so hopeful; but I will struggle 
 and do the best I can. The business outlook, however,
 
 186 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 added to the other trouble for which I am mainly 
 responsible, has practically unnerved me. I now feel 
 humiliated and ashamed of what I have done.' 
 
 Agnes rose, impulsively, and, going over to her father, 
 put her arms about his neck. 
 
 'Father,' she said, 'do not feel unhappy on my 
 account. It will do no good. I shall remember, to my 
 dying day, how ready you were, when you came to your 
 own self, to undo if possible what had been done. But 
 fate has been against us. It is the will of God, and who 
 can properly murmur at that. He orders all things for 
 the best, we are told, and it would be a sin to repine. I 
 have accepted the cross, and will bear it patiently. I 
 shall do all that I can to make you and mother happy 
 while we live.' 
 
 'We cannot ask such a sacrifice from you,' said Mr. 
 Warden. 'You can marry, and marry well, Agnes; and 
 it would not be right to have you refuse a good position 
 in life for two old people, who would in any event be 
 dear to you.' 
 
 ' Father,' replied Agnes, ' I will not marry. My duty 
 is with you and mother, and I shall fulfil it. As to 
 marrying well,' she added, with a sadness in her tone, 
 ' even if I should want to marry at all, it would be 
 different as to whether I was the daughter of rich James 
 Warden, or of James Warden the bankrupt. The young 
 men who might want to marry the one would, perhaps, 
 hardly care to marry the other. No. The die is cast. 
 I stay with you, and I hope it will be for many years.' 
 
 ' God bless you, my daughter,' said Warden. 
 
 'Agnes,' said the mother, 'I am sorry for your 
 decision; but I know you will live up to it, so it is
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 187 
 
 perhaps best to say nothing more about it. Let us make 
 the best of things, and do all we can to cheer and help 
 your father. He has need of it.' 
 
 Now that Warden showed signs of weakness, his wife 
 began to assume an individuality which before had been 
 merged into his. She and Agnes were now the strong 
 members of the firm, at least in the matter of giving tone 
 and hopefulness to the mind of the man, who, but a few 
 months before, possessed the supreme will of the 
 family.' 
 
 John Cluney, who, of course, was in the family secrets 
 of the Gaston and Warden families, so far as the matter 
 of the affairs between the younger members was 
 concerned, called at the Gaston mansion shortly after 
 Agnes had left. 
 
 ' The news from Rome is bad,' said Mr. Gaston in 
 reply to a question from Cluney, if he had received 
 letters. ' It is all over with Richard, so far as marriage 
 is concerned. He was ordained before Tom arrived.' 
 
 'Yes; Tom wrote me to that effect. Does Agnes know 
 of it?' asked the schoolmaster, 'and how did she take it?' 
 he further asked when a nod indicated that she had. 
 
 ' She took it bravely,' said Mr. Gaston, ' after the first 
 burst of feeling was over,' and then he described the 
 scene which occurred shortly before Cluney came in. 
 
 ' That was noble,' replied the schoolmaster, ' but just 
 like her. She has more bravery, more character, than 
 any girl I have ever met. She will not marry anyone, 
 now that Richard is beyond her reach. But she will do 
 just what she says she will ; be a good and sustaining 
 friend to him.' He added to himself, ' but I hope not a 
 dangerous one.'
 
 188 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 ' Richard must never know how near he was to 
 happiness, and missed it,' said Mrs. Gaston. ' It would 
 upset him, I fear, if he did.' 
 
 ' He must never know it at least for many years,' 
 said Cluney. 'Time, and the formation of the priestly 
 habit, will no doubt reconcile him to fate, in the end.' 
 
 Cluney did not tell of the discovery by Tom of the 
 verses which Richard had written to Agnes. He thought 
 it better to suppress that fact, for a knowledge of it by 
 the parents would do no good, and might create appre 
 hension in their minds. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE RETURN HOME OF TUB YOUNG PRIEST HIS FIRST 
 
 MASS, AND HIS SERMON. 
 
 Chebucto, 1852. It was near the latter part of June, 
 when the summer garments of the forests and fields were 
 a soft and lovely green. 
 
 In those northern latitudes there is practically no 
 spring, the transition from winter being rapid and 
 wonderful, which can be accounted for in part by the 
 fact that the length of day is from sixteen to eighteen 
 
 hours. 
 
 Vegetation at this season is very rapid. In a week 
 from the opening of the buds the leaves of the trees 
 attain half their growth, and grass grows into a surpris 
 ing luxuriance in a few days. In the cultivated fields,
 
 189 
 
 oats, barley and wheat hid the reddish soil, -the potato 
 stalks were just above ground, and the cherry trees in 
 the gardens were still hardly out of blossom. In the 
 meadows the strawberry blooms lightened the green. 
 
 It was Sunday forenoon and the church bells were 
 tolling the hour of service. Among the Catholic 
 worshippers all were agog. A new priest was to 
 celebrate mass, and this priest had been a boy who had 
 grown up among them. 
 
 Rev. Richard Gaston, and his brother, Dr. Thomas 
 Gaston, had arrived home two days before, and it was 
 known that Father Tom McMahon had invited the 
 young priest to celebrate high mass on that day, and 
 great was the expectation in consequence. 
 
 Before the hour of service, many of the parishoners 
 were on hand to meet the young ecclesiastic. They all 
 knew him, and liked him, as well for his own sake as for 
 that of his father. After a while the young priest, in 
 company with Father McMahon, came down the lane 
 from the parsonage to the church. The contrast between 
 the two priests was great. Father Tom was medium- 
 sized, fat and stumpy, with fat cheeks, florid complexion, 
 small red eyes, carroty hair tinged with gray he was 
 over sixty and a short, turned-up nose. Richard 
 Gaston well, the reader will remember how he looked. 
 He was indeed a handsome fellow, too handsome to be a 
 priest. 
 
 As the two ecclesiastics approached the people in 
 front of the church, the young one ran his eyes over the 
 well-remembered faces of all who had collected there, 
 and a gleam of satisfaction shone in his eyes as he noted 
 how strong and friendly an interest was manifested in
 
 190 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 him by all. They came forward spontaneously, many of 
 them hat in hand, and bade him a warm welcome. 
 
 To these he said : ' Put on your hats, gentlemen. I 
 have done nothing as yet to merit such peculiar respect. 
 You are the older, and it is I who ought to take my hat 
 off to you.' Handshaking and greetings over, the young 
 man started to go into the church. In the vestibule he 
 encountered many of the women of the parish, nearly all 
 of whom he knew, and warmly - greeted ; the younger 
 ones he simply passed with a pleasant word. Among 
 the former was Mrs. Warden. He stopped to speak 
 with her. 
 
 'Mrs. Warden,' he said, 'I do not see your husband 
 here, and want to inquire about his health, for I hear he 
 has not been very well.' 
 
 'He is not here now,' said Mrs. Warden, 'but will try 
 to be up in time for mass. He is not well; and is low 
 spirited.' 
 
 ' I hope he will soon be all right,' said Richard. Then 
 turning to Agnes, who stood beside her mother, he took 
 her hand in his a hand that trembled and looked 
 into her Madonna-like face and eyes: 'Agnes,' he said, 
 'I am glad to meet you here, and hope to hear your 
 voice in the choir float above all the others, as it did in 
 the time past. It will be a great encouragement to me.' 
 
 ' Then it will float above the others,' said Agnes, 'for 
 I want it to help you.' 
 
 ' God bless you, Agnes,' he said, and passed into the 
 church. 
 
 While the young priest was robing himself for the 
 ceremony of the mass, which he was to celebrate, the 
 choir began singing one of those glorious compositions,
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 191 
 
 those noble hymns, which make the services in Catholic 
 churches even with all the apparently absurd kneel- 
 ings, standing up and sitting down at frequent intervals, 
 genuflections,.etc. not only tolerable but even enjoyable 
 to the lover of good music. The music, from violin, 
 clarionet and flute, was none of the best there was no 
 organ but the singing was good enough to cause the 
 majestic notes of the anthem to sweep up the nave and 
 aisles of the church to the chancel in throbbing waves of 
 devotional harmony. In this hymn, high above all 
 voices, and yet in harmony with them, was a full, rich 
 soprano voice a voice which the young priest remem 
 bered only too well, for he, too, when a youth, sang the 
 tenor part to it in the same choir. The voice, however, 
 was now fuller, richer, and its tones were further 
 enhanced by an accent of melancholy, which, in certain 
 of the prolonged notes gave it a wailing sound, as if it 
 expressed the hopeless feeling of a broken heart. 
 
 The young priest involuntarily cast his eyes up to the 
 choir in the end gallery, just as the hymn was closing, 
 and saw the eyes of Agnes Warden, the soprano, fixed 
 on him, with an expression of rapt devotion in them. It 
 disturbed him, and brought a flood of memories to his 
 brain and the blood to his face. He realized that if he 
 gave way to his emotion he could not perform his office 
 in celebrating the mass without betraying an unseemly 
 feeling. This he was bound should not occur, and, 
 though deeply stirred, by a supreme effort of the will he 
 became master of himself, and when the hymn closed, he 
 ascended the steps of the altar, and after the usual 
 genuflection, turned toward the congregation, and reso 
 lutely keeping his eyes away from the choir gallery,
 
 192 IN FETTERS: 
 
 uttered, in a full, musical voice the " Dominus vobiscum," 
 of mass ceremony. The response of the choir, " Et cum 
 spiritutuo" (" The Lord be with you." Response, "and 
 with thy spirit.") The grand soprano yoice seemed 
 endowed with new inspiration in this, as in the other 
 responses of the choir, throughout the mass; but the 
 young priest, though he felt thrilled by the devotion 
 embodied in the tones of that voice, now appeared to 
 draw inspiration from it rather than disturbance. It 
 seemed to say to him, by a kind of magic influence, "my 
 love shall aid you in your holy office of worship and 
 sacrifice ! It will lift up your heart not pull it down 
 to the gross things of the world!" and he felt a new 
 strength and new courage as he proceeded with the 
 celebration of the mass, which in his hands was almost a 
 revelation to the people who had been accustomed to the 
 ministrations of Father Me Mahon, with his unmusical 
 and grunting voice, and ungraceful manner. The old 
 priest noted the contrast as well as his congregation, and 
 could not conceal a look of chagrin, which, however, 
 few noticed, the general attention being so absorbed by 
 the new priest. 
 
 At the close of the mass the young priest removed the 
 chasuble, or outer garment, and turning to the congrega 
 tion, prepared to give them a sermon a thing they 
 were usually greeted with by Father Me Mahon only 
 about three times a year. 
 
 lie stood in front of the altar there being no pulpit 
 in the church with his right hand raised, and his head 
 thrown back. In this position he remained for about 
 half a minute, silent and immoveable. Then he said : 
 
 'Dear friends of my youth, and congregation of God's
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 193 
 
 chnrch It is perhaps meet that I should say something 
 to you on this my first celebration of holy mass. My 
 remarks will, perhaps, be in the nature of a sermon, and 
 they will be inspired by the contemplation of the life of 
 Jesus, and his promise of immortality, and a place with 
 him in paradise heaven on the day of his death. 
 
 'The text is to be found in the 42d and 43d verses of 
 the 23d chapter of St. Luke. While on the cross, one 
 of the thieves reviled the Saviour, but the other rebuked 
 him, and said unto Jesus, " Lord, remember me when 
 thou comest into thy kingdom." And Jesus said unto 
 him, "Verily,! say unto you, today thou shalt be with 
 me in paradise." 
 
 ' Now, in this, Jesus illustrated two vital things 
 vital to erring humanity. One was that true repentance 
 is never too late ; and the other and this is of the 
 highest importance that there is a hereafter, an 
 immortality, and a place wherein that immortality is 
 passed. From this it can be seen that immortality is not 
 the mere idea, arising from hope, which materialists say 
 it is, but a natural thing to those who believe God's 
 promise, made through his only begotten son to man 
 kind. 
 
 'The heaven he promises us, therefore, is not the 
 mere figment of the imagination, but an actuality as real 
 as this life is. The question now naturally arises, how 
 shall we pass the eternity of happiness in heaven ? Will 
 it be in idleness? No. Simply in praising God, by 
 mouth exercise? Manifestly no. The eternity of exist 
 ence cannot be of idleness and continual praise, but must 
 be one of effort. Of what kind ? God, who is perfect 
 and self-sustaining, needs no service from us for his own
 
 194 IN FETTEBSi 
 
 benefit. Who then shall we serve, and find occupation 
 in doing so? Who, but one another! In other words, 
 our happiness in heaven will consist in serving one 
 another and making one another happy. 
 
 'How shall we do this? By kind and generous deeds, 
 by considerate and friendly treatment, by doing nothing 
 that will offend, or make sad any living soul. As we do 
 to them they will do to us. The happiness which we 
 impart we also receive. We are just, and we receive 
 justice; we are cheerful, and receive good cheer; we are 
 loving, and receive love in return ; we are considerate, 
 and we receive consideration ; we offend not, and we 
 are not offended; we are hopeful, and we meet with 
 hopefulness ; we busy ourselves in serving those we come 
 in contact with, and they in turn serve us; the word 
 charity as with us is unknown, because all are on equality, 
 all are equally sustained by God, and all act in unison in 
 their good work and good will toward one another, by 
 which they best praise his holy name. 
 
 ' What I desire to call your attention to is this, that 
 as such conduct as I have here outlined is evidently that 
 which can alone secure perfect happiness in the life to 
 come, it is the one which should be adopted to secure 
 the best enjoyment in this life. This is the mode of 
 living which Christ taught, and you can see how logical 
 it was, for the practice of it here simply fits us for the 
 practice of it in the world to come. 
 
 ' To be sure, the harmony of such a life here is broken 
 by the discord of passion, cruelty, selfishness, and the 
 misery that results from them things that need not 
 and should not exist. But we can try to keep our own 
 lives harmonious, and if there is discord, let it be by
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 195 
 
 some one else. We can try to love our enemies and do 
 good to those who would injure us, which would be 
 forgiveness of the most practical kind. Christ showed 
 us by his life the model of living. His was, under the 
 conditions in which he existed, the model life of a good 
 man. He offended no man willingly, and did all the 
 good that lay in his power. He was just, merciful and 
 helpful. All these we can also be, and if we practised 
 these virtues we should be not only happier ourselves, 
 but would impart happiness to others. 
 
 ' In the holy city of Rome, which I left not long since, 
 I saw abundant evidences of the badness of men and the 
 dire consequences following such actions. There a band 
 of unlawful men, with a fanatic at their head, drove the 
 holy Father, our beloved Pope, Pius IX, out of the Holy 
 City. But God interposed, and put it into the head of 
 the ruler of the French people to restore him. It 
 involved much and lamentable bloodshed, and the poor 
 mistaken wretches who participated in the sacrilege were 
 either killed or driven out, as wanderers and outcasts on 
 the farce of the earth. 
 
 ' If these people had not been moved by blind passion 
 they would not have thought of committing such a sacri 
 lege ; but it only illustrates the terrible consequences of 
 injiistice, of transgression, of sin. God is slow to punish, 
 but his vegeance when it does come is swift and sure. 
 
 'I have said nothing about the eternity of misery 
 which is evidently in store for the transgressor who is 
 not repentant. God is merciful, and will forgive the 
 worst sinner if he be repentant. If, however, he does 
 not repent if he does not walk in the way of right 
 eousness ; doing all the good he can and living a virtuous
 
 196 IN FETTERS: 
 
 and honest life, then the consequences are terrible. He 
 is consigned to an existence where misery and discord 
 are unending. I do not care to contemplate it. It is 
 not a cheerful subject of thought, but it is necessary to 
 point out to all who persistently transgress the in 
 evitable consequences of such transgressions. 
 
 'Now, a word about myself. I have chosen my path 
 in life. It is one beset with cares and responsibilities, 
 but it is also one in which I hope to be of service to my 
 fellow men. This is my highest ambition, to serve God 
 by serving my fellow-creatures, and striving to lighten 
 their load of existence by kindness, sympathy, charity 
 for the weak, and good will to all. It matters not to me 
 who it is that needs my aid he is a fellow-creature, the 
 son of God and heir of eternity he shall receive it.' 
 
 He paused, for he had finished. 'There had been 
 nothing strained or dramatic in his tone or gestures 
 during the delivery of this his first sermon. The voice 
 was natural, though of course the inflection was some 
 what high. There was a flush on his cheek, and a glow 
 in his eye that seemed as if it had caught the light of 
 inspiration, and when he resumed the concluding services 
 the flush and glow had not faded, and his voice had an 
 exultant, hopeful tone in it when he faced the congrega 
 tion and pronounced the aspiration, 'Dominus vobiscum !' 
 and there floated back from the choir (he could hear 
 only the voice of Agnes) ' et cum spiritu tuo,' in the 
 tones that said: ' God bless you, my love ! Go on, you 
 are in the right! ' and a flush of gratification, softened by 
 an unnameable sadness, swept through his whole being. 
 
 The congregation was dismissed in the usual way, and 
 in company with Father McMahon, Cluney, Tom, and
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 197 
 
 his parents, Richard walked to the home of the latter, 
 the parish priest and his nephew having been invited to 
 the Gaston mansion to dinner on this particular day. 
 
 At the table, Richard very properly declined to say 
 grace in deference to his senior, who invoked the bless 
 ing. After the meal was over, and the wine brought on, 
 Mrs. Gaston retiring, the conversation naturally turned 
 upon events of the day. 
 
 'I liked your sermon,' said Father McMahon to 
 Richard. ' It was simple, direct, and ' - with a meaning 
 look at Tom ' very much to the point.' 
 
 Tom saw the point of the latter remark, and said : 
 
 'The soul, or rather the body of the sermon was good. 
 It was pure ethical religion, and was so broad and liberal 
 and logical that it was a surprise to me. I never heard 
 such sentiments -given out from a Catholic altar before. 
 The general idea of heaven entertained by all the 
 Catholics I have ever talked with is that heaven is a 
 place where there is nothing to do but play on harps and 
 sing praises. The idea of an eternity of effort is good, 
 and that such effort is to be expended in mutual works 
 for mutual happiness why that is excellent. Is it 
 sound Catholic doctrine, Father Tom?' 
 
 ' It is,' replied the priest, ' without any doubt. There 
 is nothing that is good and noble in the ideas of right 
 and good that is not Catholic.' 
 
 ' I must say, Dick,' pursued Tom, addressing the young 
 priest, ' that I like your idea that if doing good to one 
 another were the employment of people in the hereafter, 
 it was the true method of conduct in this life. This I 
 regard to be the basis of all true religion on earth, even 
 without reference to the hereafter.'
 
 198 IN FETTERS: 
 
 'Then,' queried Cluney, 'you do think that religion is 
 not out of place in this life ? ' 
 
 ' Religion,' said Tom, ' is all right, when stripped of 
 the tinsel and glitter which now dims its true lustre. 
 Dick has, consciously or unconsciously, struck at the 
 fundamental principle of all true religion the ethical 
 or moral one embodied in the precept, " Do unto others 
 as ye would that others should do unto you.'.' This, 
 alone, is basis enough to stand on.' 
 
 'But is it enough?' asked Cluney. 
 
 ' I do not see wherein it is lacking. If you mean that 
 the supernatural is needed, I see no objection, if every 
 one was allowed to create his own ghosts. But when 
 the ghostly principle is put in as an article of faith, to be 
 subscribed to, I think it is wrong, as well as superfluous.' 
 
 'Why don't you start a religion of your own, Tom,' 
 asked the priest, sarcastically. 
 
 'I think I could improve on the old ones in the way 
 of pure ethical practices, though as regards the business 
 part of it, I think they could give me many points.' 
 
 ' Give us an idea of what your church would be,' said 
 Cluney. 
 
 'I will do it,' said Tom, 'for,, to tell the truth,! have 
 been thinking seriously of starting a new religion.' 
 
 When the good-natured laugh, which this naive 
 declaration evoked from all present the wine was 
 beginning to mellow the souls of even the godly had 
 subsided, Tom continued: 
 
 ' To begin with, 1 recognize certain tendencies in man 
 which the laws condemn and the churches frown at. 
 One is to games of chance, games of pastime, and other 
 things which are in themselves harmless if pursued under
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 199 
 
 right conditions. For example, there is card playing. 
 It is an innocent pastime, and, under proper regulations, 
 not bad to pursue. But if you drive it out of the home, 
 and the church condemns it, then it goes into places 
 where it is employed for gambling, to fleece and cheat 
 the unwary. 
 
 ' Again, there is dancing. Some of the churches con 
 demn it. Properly regulated, it is exhilarating and 
 thoroughly enjoyable.' 
 
 'The Catholic church does not condemn dancing,' 
 remarked Father Tom, ' except at certain times.' 
 
 ' I am not speaking of the Catholic or any other church 
 in particular,' said Tom, ' but of the Christian attitude in 
 general towards such things. I mention these things 
 which are now frowned upon by the church, but which 
 flourish sometimes under bad influences against 
 their interdict. And why do they persist? Simply 
 because in them people find an amusement, a pastime, to 
 vary the monotony of life. 
 
 ' What are our churches ? They are used only for one 
 purpose, that of worship. They are, as it were, the 
 portals of eternity, where fate, with stern and terrible 
 aspect, confronts us, and reminds us that we are worms, 
 life a hollow mockery, and that the only true motto of 
 our lives is " memento mori." 
 
 * Now my idea is to tear down the old church edifices, 
 and build habitable places, where the people of each 
 parish could meet on common ground for mutual instruc 
 tion and mutual enjoyment. I would have lectures, 
 discussions, social meetings, places where card and 
 domino playing, billiard playing, dancing assemblies, 
 gymnastic exercises, and all other kinds of amusements
 
 200 IN FETTERS: 
 
 that could be pursued in doors would be carried on 
 under good influences.' 
 
 'What would you do with the priest?' asked Cluney. 
 
 'I would make him the active leader in all the good 
 work. I would have this modern church open every 
 day and night in the year, and would make it so attract 
 ive that there would be no need of the young people 
 going elsewhere for any legitimate amusement they might 
 desire. In this way the pastimes, which are now often 
 objectionable because of the conditions under which they 
 exist, could be regulated to proper moderation, and given 
 a tone of sanction and respectability that would make 
 them legitimate and therefore more highly enjoyable. 
 This would be the kind of a church that would have 
 some true merit and right vitality to it. It would knit 
 us closer together in our lives, for, after all, ties of 
 friendship and even of relationship are really based upon 
 association ; and, therefore, when a church congregation 
 can be made as one family, by intimate and pleasant 
 association, the ties of fraternity can be extended and 
 made of vast utility in the promotion of general harmony 
 and brotherly love.' 
 
 'Upon my word, Tom,' said Cluney, 'there is much 
 merit in what you say ; very much, indeed.' 
 
 'That is true,' added Father Tom, 'and there is 
 nothing in it contrary to the teachings of the church.' 
 
 'Then why does not the church pursue the work 
 practically; for, so far as I can judge, it rarely if ever 
 gets farther than the theory? Tolerating pastimes is not 
 promoting them.' 
 
 'The work of reconstruction must be a slow one,' 
 observed Cluney. ' You understand that the church has
 
 THE MAN OB THE PKIEST? 201 
 
 all along had to contend with social and inherited condi 
 tions which are not readily amenable to modification.' 
 
 'I do not understand it,' said Tom. 'I rather regard 
 the church as the active agent into producing most of 
 the conditions you speak of. But perhaps it is well not 
 to pursue this line farther. One thing I will say, and 
 that is, that I am glad to find that Richard's sermon was 
 so little doctrinal, and was so purely ethical, except in 
 one respect, when he condemned the action of the Italian 
 patriots.' 
 
 ' You saw some of the desolation wrought by them in 
 Rome,' said Richard. 'How do you justify such acts, 
 especially as they were directed against the benign rule 
 of so good a prelate as the Holy Father?' 
 
 ' War,' said Tom, ' is revolting, terrible, but bad as it is, 
 it is often justifiable. While it lasts, which is usually but 
 a short time, it entails more or less destruction of life and 
 property. But what are such sacrifices compared with 
 the prolonged agony which despotism imposes upon its 
 victims. Personally the Pope may be a good and 
 charitable man, but we have abundant evidence that his 
 government was at best but a mild despotism. 
 
 'Look at the condition of the people of Italy, descend 
 ants of that noble race, who were once masters of the 
 world. A foreign king rules, with despotic sway, in 
 Naples. The Italian peninsula, where the ancient glory 
 of the republic and the empire was centered, is in the 
 control of the church, supported by bayonets. A portion 
 of the northwestern kingdom has become a province of 
 the Austrian empire, and only one small section of the 
 kingdom Sardinia is in the hands of a native Italian 
 prince.
 
 202 IN FETTERS: 
 
 * Let us put ourselves in the place of the people whom 
 Garibaldi and Mazzini represent in Italy. Every act of 
 the oppressed against the oppressor is in the nature of 
 an expression of despair, wrung from them by centuries 
 of wrong and of denial of manhood. Look at Ireland, 
 which has been for ages under the heel of the stronger 
 element in Great Britian do you condemn its patriotic 
 sons for regarding every opportunity to break their 
 fetters as one that should be gladly availed of? Are the 
 patriots of Ireland right in rebelling against the domina 
 tion of a foreign power, and Italian patriots wrong in 
 doing the same thing?' 
 
 'The two cases are not analogous,' interrupted 
 Cluney. 
 
 'If there is any lack in the analogy,' returned Tom, 'it 
 is in favor of the Italians. While the Irish had been 
 more or less oppressed, they have had at least a show of 
 representation in the law-making of the kingdom. It is 
 true that a class of the people more than the people of 
 Ireland is represented in the British parliament. But, in 
 Italy, the country has been cut up into small despotisms, 
 and the people have been practically without representa 
 tion. Their condition as a people is little better than 
 that of serfdom. The Irish, bad as their condition may 
 be, are free men compared with the Italians of the Papal 
 States, the Neapolitan kingdom in fact, of all the 
 sections outside of the little Sardinian kingdom. If I 
 were an Italian, I would be not only an active conspirator, 
 but would devote my whole life, as Mazzini and Garibaldi 
 have done, to the promotion and success of insurrection 
 ary enterprises, until the entire people would rise in 
 revolution and possess themselves of the birthright which
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 203 
 
 had been stolen from their fathers. There is a spirit 
 abroad in Italy, I feel confident, which will never 
 slumber, until freedom and unity are secured for that 
 historic land. And I glory in the fact that in Italy today 
 '"Thoughts have gone forth, 
 
 Whose powers can sleep no" more." ' 
 
 'Would you depose the Holy Father ?' asked Father 
 Tom. 
 
 ' Most assuredly. Let him attend to the affairs of his 
 spiritual kingdom, and allow secularists to attend to 
 secular affairs. Why should you, because you are a 
 priest, have a right to govern this town or this province ? 
 The Pope could still have his headquarters at Rome, 
 and carry on his church government there as well as 
 now.' 
 
 'Well, well,' said Cluney, 'let us change the subject. 
 You are at least consistent and honest about your ideas, 
 Tom; and we cannot evidently agree with you in every 
 thing. When do you propose to return to Boston ? ' 
 
 'In about a week. I deferred beginning a general 
 practice until I could remain there permanently ; for I 
 feel somewhat in my profession as Dick does in his. I 
 want to do all the good, in my way, to poor, suffering 
 humanity that I can.' 
 
 'That reminds me, Tom. Our friend, James Warden, 
 has been failing in health greatly in the past six months,' 
 said the elder Gaston, who had heretofore taken no part 
 in the conversation. ' Do you think you could help him 
 in any way ? ' 
 
 'I doubt it, father. His case is a peculiar one, I 
 should say what is commonly known as a breakdown. 
 It is mainly psychological that is, the spirit of the man
 
 204 IN FETTERS: 
 
 seems to be broken, and, though he appears to be an 
 ordinarily sound and healthy man, he has evidently 
 surrendered his hopefulness; and, what with the worry 
 and loss of sleep incident to such a condition of mind, 
 together with his peculiar physiological constitution, 
 there need be no surprise if he should at any time be 
 visited with apoplexy, paralysis, and well, there is no 
 telling what might occur to him at any time.' 
 
 ' That is not a favorable diagnosis, Tom,' said Mr. 
 Gaston, ' but I fear you are right. His condition, also, 
 cannot be greatly improved by the bad state of his affairs. 
 I fear he is not over and above solvent, and his business 
 seems to be growing worse every day. What do you 
 say to calling on him tomorrow, Tom, and asking him 
 some questions about his health?' 
 
 ' That is needless, father, for the reason that I have 
 already seen and talked with him, and Agnes has told 
 me much that I know about him.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE STRANGE DISCOVERY SICKNESS AND ABERRATION 
 
 MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF RICHARD. 
 
 Since his return home, Richard Gaston had not felt as 
 he anticipated that he would. He had pictured Agnes 
 as being distant, and perhaps not friendly in her bearing 
 towards him. On the contrary, however, he found her 
 not only friendly, but cordial. He saw in her eyes the 
 fire of the old love, and thought what a fool he had been
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 205 
 
 to be so precipitate in the matter of becoming a priest. 
 Still he had no idea of the true state of affairs. 
 
 On the evening of the Sunday on which he preached 
 the sermon which was given in the last chapter, Agnes 
 came over to his father's house, and contribvited to the 
 enjoyment of the evening. She was bright, cheerful and 
 witty more so than he had ever known her to be 
 before. 
 
 That night, on retiring, he said to himself, and kept 
 repeating it 'What a fool! What a fool! ' 
 
 On Monday evening, after supper, when Tom and his 
 father were engrossed in the discussion of matters and 
 things in Europe, as seen by the former on his visit, 
 Richard left the house and wandered down to the seaside, 
 the old trysting-place seeming to have a fascination for 
 him. He went a little way LeyQnd it, and sat down to 
 watch the rising moon. 
 
 'Dear old moon,' he said, 'I have seen you elsewhere, 
 in many climes, but nowhere just as T see you here ; for 
 here you are so familiar and homelike that I feel most 
 intimate with you, and could even shout and laugh at 
 you, as I did when a little fellow, who knew nothing 
 about you or the troubles of the world.' 
 
 The moon kept on its upward path, apparently, and 
 Richard's reveries continued; but were interrupted by 
 the sound of voices near at hand. lie listened. 
 
 ' This,' said the voice of a young man 'is the place 
 they met and talked of love. Why can't we?' 
 
 'I would rather not,' said a female voice. 'It is, I 
 fear, an unlucky place. They did not marry, and he 
 became a priest.' 
 
 ' Yes,' was the reply, ' but it was his own fault. He
 
 206 IN FETTEES: 
 
 would not wait. Old Warden afterwards relented, and 
 told Mr. Gaston that his son could have Agnes. But 
 Dick had gone to Rome, and when his brother followed 
 him and tried to prevent his becoming a priest, he found 
 he had already been ordained. So you see it was his 
 own fault.' 
 
 ' I hear Agnes took it very much to heart,' said the 
 female voice, 'but she does not show it. She is too 
 proud to, I suppose. But, come away! There is some 
 thing uncanny to me in this place.' 
 
 Richard heard this conversation, like one in a dream. 
 Was it possible that what he heard was true? He was 
 dazed at the revelation. It explained everything to him, 
 and when he fully realized it, his head was in a whirl. 
 He hastened home and sought his mother. 
 
 'Mother,' he asked, 'is it true?' And then he told 
 her what he had heard. 
 
 'Oh, Richard! Where did you hear that?' 
 
 He told her, and asked almost Avildly: ' Is it true, 
 mother ; -is it true ? ' 
 
 'God help me,' said the mother, ' and God help you to 
 bear it, my son ! ' 
 
 'Then it is true?' 
 
 'It is. But' 
 
 She could say no more; for he had risen, thrown up 
 his arms wildly, like a man who had been shot, and then 
 fell down on the floor limp, and apparently lifeless. 
 
 ' It is lucky that I am at home,' said Tom Gaston, 
 after reaching his brother's side, whither the shrieks of 
 his mother had summoned him. 
 
 ' Let me see. Yes why what has happened? The 
 boy has all the symptoms of brain fever. Do you think
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST ? 207 
 
 the excitement of yesterday had an unfavorable influence 
 on his mind ?' 
 
 Then his mother explained what had occurred. 
 
 ' Confound the tattlers,' he said. ' How did it leak 
 out? But we must attend to him at once; for, in his 
 present mental condition, this shock may unbalance 
 him.' 
 
 Tom then proceeded to do all that his art could 
 suggest for the sufferer, and even called in one of the 
 most reputable of the town doctors to aid him in the 
 treatment. 
 
 The young man was delirious for many days, and his 
 ravings were all about Agnes Agnes, his love! Agnes, 
 his life ! Tom suggested that the young woman be 
 brought to his bedside, as her presence might have a 
 tendency to quiet him. This the doctor agreed to, and 
 Agnes was sent for, and came. When she realized what 
 had occurred, she felt as if she, too, would be a victim 
 of brain excitement; but a strong will restrained her 
 from giving way ; and, perhaps, also, a sense of duty, for 
 she realized that in her presence and ministration might 
 be involved the safety of the young man. So with her 
 the crisis was brief> and she came off triumphant. 
 
 Agnes helped to nurse the young priest alternating 
 with the mother for several weeks, during his slow 
 recovery. 
 
 At length one day it was in the afternoon Richard 
 awoke to a consciousness of his surroundings. He had 
 recovered his reason. . 
 
 He found himself in bed, with Agnes seated by its side, 
 and his hand in hers. He tried to rise, but, much to his 
 surprise, fell back exhausted from the attempt. Agnes,
 
 208 rtf FETTERS: 
 
 perceiving that his reason had returned, quickly relin 
 quished his hand, and blushed scarlet. 
 
 'What is it, Agnes?' asked Richard. 'Have I been 
 sick? Was it all a dream or a nightmare? We've had no 
 trouble, have we, dear? I did not go to be a priest, and 
 was not ordained, then? I see how it is some sickness 
 I have had. And, yet, all was so natural that Say it 
 wasn't true, Agnes, that it was only a dream and I 
 will bless you ! ' 
 
 Agnes was weeping. What could she say, except 
 what she did say : 
 
 ' Richard, you are too weak to talk, and the doctor 
 has ordered me not to say anything to you.' 
 
 ' I care not what the doctor says, Agnes ! Have I not 
 been sick?' 
 
 'Yes, very sick, of brain fever.' 
 
 l or how long?' 
 
 ' About two or three weeks. Now, that will do. 
 Take this draught, and compose yourself.' 
 
 He did as directed, and soon fell into a quiet slumber. 
 
 Agnes looked at the young man, who should have 
 been her partner for life, snatched from her by a cruel 
 fate, and held in fetters by the church fetters that 
 could never be broken ! It was terrible ! 
 
 She knew that, though the church held him, he still 
 loved her. The whole burden of his ravings during his 
 sickness was of her and of his love for her. Tn his 
 delirium he imagined that he had married her, built a 
 house for her reception, and, began a life of domesticity 
 with her. 
 
 Then a cloud would come up a remembrance that 
 there was a claim on him the claim of the church.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 209 
 
 But lie would deny the claim and defy the church. Then 
 he would imagine he was being taken to a dungeon, to 
 be chained chained by the heart to a living death! It 
 was pitiable to behold him in these paroxysms of fever; 
 but Agnes bore it, like one apparently fascinated by the 
 terrible fate of which she and the sufferer were the 
 victims. 
 
 When Richard slept, Agnes quietly left the room to 
 carry the glad tidings of his restoration to reason. His 
 brother Tom had just returned from a walk, and when 
 told of the fact, advised that his mother now watch him 
 and be present when he awakened, and that it would 
 hardly be advisable for Agnes to go in again unless he 
 called for her. 
 
 'Now, Agnes,' he said, 'you will have an opportunity 
 of getting some rest, and take it, for you need it badly.' 
 
 Agnes followed his directions, for she sadly needed 
 sleep having had but little in the past three weeks, and 
 Mrs. Gaston took her place at the bedside. 
 
 Richard's recovery was rapid. In two weeks from the 
 time he became conscious he was able to go abroad. 
 His brother had returned to Boston a week before, and 
 matters in the Gaston household began to settle down to 
 a normal condition of monotony. 
 
 With Richard there was not a revival of cheerfulness 
 with the return to health. Without being notably 
 morose, he was yet peculiarly silent, and seemed thought 
 ful and brooding. He took long walks alone, and was 
 often absent a whole day. He appeared to take little 
 interest in anything. 
 
 His mother, more than once, detected him at the side 
 board, helping himself to the strong French brandy,
 
 210 IN FETTERS: 
 
 which was kept there more for certain visitors than for 
 home use. At first she thought nothing of this and 
 indeed was rather glad of it, for she believed it might 
 stimulate him to cheerfulness and robust health. But 
 when the habit was persisted in, and the potations 
 became more frequent, she grew alarmed. Mr. Gaston 
 one day commented on the rapid way in which the 
 French brandy was disappearing, and questioned his 
 wife about the matter. She told him of Richard's grow 
 ing taste for it, and how uneasy it made her; but she 
 refrained from saying anything, in the hope that when 
 the young man had fully regained his strength, and 
 began to occupy his mind, he would abandon it. 
 
 'Dear me,' said Mr. Gaston. 'How stupid of me not 
 to think of it before, and tell you. Before leaving, 
 among other things, Tom said to me that he hoped 
 Richard would not become melancholy and take to 
 drinking. However,' he said, cheerfully, 'it is not too 
 late yet. I will talk with him this very evening and 
 you might make an excuse to leave the room to allow 
 me the opportunity.' 
 
 What of Agnes? it may be queried. She was not 
 often seen now at the Gaston mansion, and indeed she 
 had all she could attend to at home. Her father was 
 not in good health, and there was much about his 
 business that required looking after, which absorbed 
 most of her time. She had seen but little of Richard 
 since his convalescence. Indeed there was a kind of 
 mutual shyness between the young people, which neither 
 seemed to care to analyze. When Agnes did see 
 Richard, it was in the presence of one or both of his 
 parents. She studiously avoided meeting him alone,
 
 THE MAK OK THE PRIEST? 211 
 
 and she now rarely went out for a solitary walk, her 
 mother or a servant being generally with her. On such 
 occasions, if Richard was encountered which was 
 sometimes the case he usually passed by with a bow, 
 though once or twice he paused to greet her civilly, and 
 ask after her father's health. 
 
 One evening Richard was late to supper, and when he 
 did appear his face was flushed. He had little to say, 
 and no excuse to offer for his prolonged absence. When 
 he came into the sitting room, Mr. Gaston gave his wife 
 a signal, and she made an excuse to leave the room. 
 
 'How are you feeling in health, Richard?' asked the 
 father. 
 
 ' I am well and hearty, sir.' 
 
 'What do you propose doing?' asked Mr. Gaston. 'I 
 suppose you have your plans for the future?' 
 
 'I have nothing definite in view. I did think of 
 writing to the bishop, and asking for the vacancy in the 
 Vignish parish, which Father McPhee has lately left, on 
 account of ill health. But it is a wild region, and the 
 people are not half civilized. Do you know, father, that 
 I have half a notion to go to the States, on a short tour ? 
 I think it would do me good. Then I will come back, 
 and face my duty like a man.' 
 
 'I will not seek to combat that resolution, Richard ; 
 but, really, I think you would do much better to settle 
 down at once to the business of the life you have 
 chosen.' 
 
 Then, in a delicate way, he introduced the subject of 
 the growing habit of drinking ardent spirits, which the 
 young man appeared to be developing. 
 
 'Liquor,' he said, 'is a good thing in its place as a
 
 212 IN FETTERS: 
 
 medicine, perhaps. But when taken regularly it loses 
 that virtue, and when the habit of drinking is once 
 established, it is sure to lead to excess.' 
 
 Richard replied that he was aware of the truth of 
 what his father said, and would forthwith abandon the 
 use of it ; but he still showed a disposition to go abroad 
 for a short time, and asked his father for a loan of fifty 
 pounds, to enable him to make the journey. This Mr. 
 Gaston declined to promise at that time, though he said 
 he would think the matter over, and give him an answer 
 later. 
 
 For about a week after this interview, the parents of 
 the young man noticed with satisfaction that he had 
 discontinued his visits to the sideboard, and was 
 beginning to be more cheerful and talkative. When 
 Mrs. Gaston heard of her son's desire to go to the States 
 she was opposed to it, but he pleaded with her so 
 strongly that she at length consented to aid him in the 
 project, if his father was willing. She had some money 
 in her own right, and could easily give him all he would 
 need for a journey of a few weeks. 
 
 Matters were in this condition of uncertainty for two 
 weeks longer, when Richard announced that he had 
 abandoned his contemplated trip to the States, and 
 would apply to the bishop for the vacant parish of 
 Vignish. 
 
 He went to see his friends, Father Tom and Cluney, 
 about the matter, and the former at once gave him a 
 letter to the bishop, to accompany Richard's application. 
 This was duly forwarded by Richard, who, however, did 
 not send with it his own application, as afterward 
 appeared.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 213 
 
 On the way homeward, that day, the young priest 
 encountered Agnes, alone, on the street, and stopped to 
 talk with her pleasantly. He seemed to be in good 
 humor, and excellent spirits, and told her he was about 
 to make application for the Vignish parish. In parting, 
 he took her hand, an unusual thing for him to do, and 
 held it in his for nearly a minute. Then he bade her 
 good-bye ''till we meet again.' 
 
 She thought his action a little strange at the time, but 
 did not attach any special significance to it, as he was 
 smiling pleasantly, and seemed to act half playfully 
 just as he was wont to do at times when they were 
 lovers. 
 
 He returned to his home early that evening, and 
 retired to his room, where he was engaged in writing 
 until quite late. 
 
 On the morning following, Richard not appearing at 
 the breakfast table, a servant was sent to his room to 
 call him. She returned and reported that no response 
 to her calls and rapping on the door had been made. 
 
 Mr. Gaston went up to investigate, and found the room 
 empty. He thought nothing of it at the time, and 
 returned to the breakfast room, saying that no doubt 
 Richard had gone out for a walk before breakfast, and 
 would soon return. 
 
 Just as they finished breakfast, however, the servant 
 who had been sent up to call Richard came in, and said 
 she had just come from his room, and that the bed had 
 not been slept in ! 
 
 ' It is curious,' said Mr. Gaston, 'that I did not notice 
 that,' and he and his wife went up at once to the bed 
 room.
 
 214 IN FETTERS: 
 
 Sure enough, the bed had not been slept in, and, look 
 ing on the table, a note was found, in pencil. It said: 
 
 ' DE AR FATHER AXD MOTHER : I shall be absent for a 
 time I can't say how long. Don't be uneasy about 
 me. RICHARD.' 
 
 In the fireplace was noted the burnt remains of paper, 
 as if letters and other writings had been destroyed. A 
 large valise, some clothing, shirts and underwear were 
 missing from the room, and indicated that the young 
 man had really started on a journey of some kind. But 
 where could he have gone? 
 
 Mr. Gaston lost no time in instituting a quick search 
 and inquiry in every direction, but without obtaining any 
 tidings of the fugitive, who seemed to have disappeared 
 as if the earth had opened and swallowed him up. 
 
 Only one clue to a possible mode of departure was 
 obtained, and that was the sailing of the brig Enterprise, 
 bound for Philadelphia, and a market, on the morning of 
 Richard's disappearance. 
 
 The captain of this brig was known, and was written 
 to, and the letter would probably be in Philadelphia 
 awaiting his arrival. Tom was also notified qf his 
 brother's disappearance, told of the sailing of the 
 Enterprise, and asked if he could not see the captain, 
 and find out if Richard had taken passage in her. The 
 letter arrived in Boston during a short absence; but when 
 Thomas Gaston returned and found it, he set out for 
 Philadelphia, where he arrived too late to intercept the 
 brig, which had been ordered to the West Indies. lie 
 thought he would go to the post office and inquire for a 
 letter for Capt. Macdonald, and found one there awaiting 
 that person, on which he recognized the handwriting of
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 215 
 
 his father. With a sad heart, he wrote to his father the 
 result of his mission to and investigation at Philadelphia, 
 and then returned to his office in Boston. 
 
 The weeks lengthened into months, and winter came 
 and passed away the long and dreary winter of the 
 eastern British provinces and not a word or trace of 
 the missing young priest was realized by his stricken 
 parents. The father bore up under the strain, finding, no 
 doubt, in his business affairs enough of occupation to 
 divert him from brooding over his family troubles. His 
 wife, however, took the matter very much to heart, and 
 her only consolation was the frequent visits of Agnes 
 Warden, who was equally heart-stricken at the dis 
 appearance of the young priest. But it was a kind of 
 consolation to both to meet and talk about the absent 
 one. And this talk was always more or less hopeful, 
 for both agreed in the firm belief that he was alive and 
 would yet return. 
 
 In the first week in June, 1853, the brig Enterprise, 
 Capt. Roderick Macdonald, cast anchor in Chebucto 
 harbor. When he ascertained the identity of the new 
 comer, Mr. Gaston hastened down to the wharf, opposite 
 which the brig had anchored, and as he reached the 
 landing slip, the stalwart form of the brig's captain was 
 seen mounting the wharf, and the merchant's hand was 
 the first he clasped when he got onto the wharf. 
 
 Of course the first question asked him by Mr. Gaston 
 was about Richard, and the captain said that on the 
 morning of his departure from Chebucto -it was an 
 early start, for he had to take advantage of the tide 
 the young man had come aboard from the wharf, and 
 asked to be taken to Philadelphia. The captain said he
 
 216 IN FETTERS: 
 
 thought it a rather singular step for the young man to 
 take, for he knew he ought to afford to go by steamer, 
 but as Richard said it was for his health, he thought 
 perhaps it might be all right, and made the young man 
 welcome. 
 
 On arrival in Philadelphia, however, Richard revealed 
 to him the fact that he had left home without any money, 
 but said he wanted to visit some places in the States, and 
 would then make his way home. He asked the captain 
 for a loan, which the latter said he readily gave him, 
 though it left him rather short for funds. But he did 
 not want the young man cast loose in a strange place 
 without money, and advanced him what he needed, for 
 which Richard gave him an order on his father for the 
 amount loaned, and price of his passage to Philadelphia. 
 The order ran as follows : 
 
 ' PHILADELPHIA, October 10, 1852. 
 * MR. RICHARD GASTON, Chebucto : 
 
 'Dear Father Please pay to Capt. Macdonald, 
 for loan of money and passage to this place, three 
 hundred dollars, or its equivalent in your currency, and 
 oblige your son, * RICHARD GASTON.' 
 
 'P. S. Capt. Macdonald has been most kind and 
 generous to me. I am in good health, and may not 
 return home for two or three years. Do not be anxious 
 about me. Love to dear mother and all friends. 
 
 ' RICHARD.' 
 
 Mr. Gaston thanked Capt. Macdonald for his kindness 
 to Richard, and invited him to call at his counting room 
 on the day following, when he would pay the loan, and 
 wished to have a talk with him. The merchant then 
 went home to his wife, and acquainted her with the facts
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 217 
 
 of the departure of Richard. The mother was greatly 
 cheered by the news. 
 
 ' Thank God ! ' she fervently ejaculated. ' He will 
 yet come back, and all will be well. I shall go at once 
 and tell Agnes of it.' 
 
 On the following day Capt. Macdonald waited on 
 merchant Gaston, who received him cordially, and after 
 paying him the money due by Richard, with interest, he 
 drew the captain to the window, and calling his attention 
 to a new ship, nearly completed and ready to launch, 
 said to him : 
 
 ' That is a fine ship, captain. I will launch her at the 
 next high tides. She is the largest and best ship I have 
 ever built, and I am going to own her and keep her in 
 trade. I shall call her the 'Agnes Warden,' after my old 
 friend's daughter, but I have told no one but you of her 
 name as yet. In two months she will be ready for sea. 
 I have been looking about for a capable man to command 
 her, and have decided on one, and therefore ask your 
 advice in regard to the matter. What would you say to 
 Capt. Roderick Macdonald as a commander of such a 
 ship?' 
 
 The young seaman he was about thirty-one years of 
 age was so taken by surprise at this question that for 
 a moment he could not answer. Then he faltered out: 
 
 'Do you mean this, Mr. Gaston?' 
 
 'To be sure I do, and I have not decided without 
 thought. I have watched your career as a ship-master, 
 and know that you are smart, capable, and faithful. 
 Now, I want just such a man to command that ship. 
 Besides, your friendly act towards my poor boy has laid 
 me under a debt of gratitude to you; and you shall have
 
 218 IN FETTERS: 
 
 the command of the 'Agnes Warden.' I shall double 
 your present salary, and, as soon as you can leave your 
 present employ, your pay as captain of the ship will 
 commence. I shall give you work until the ship is 
 ready for sea in superintending the rigging and other 
 details of her equipment.' 
 
 Captain Macdonald thanked Mr. Gaston heartily for 
 the position offered him, which he gladly accepted. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CALIFORNIA MINING CAMP GAMBLER'S VICTIM A LUCKY 
 
 FIND, AND SUCCESS RETURN HOME. 
 
 It was in December, 1852, at a mining camp in Placer 
 county, California, on the American river, that a stranger 
 arrived late in the afternoon. The name of the camp, 
 which was a small one, located not far from Michigan 
 Bluff, we may say was 'Rough and Ready.' The 
 stranger went at once to a bar-room, where he proceeded 
 to regale himself with a drink of brandy, which he took 
 with evident relish. He was young not over twenty- 
 five and good looking, but did not appear like a man 
 who had ever roughed it. But this was nothing new in 
 the diggings, as great numbers of such men flocked there 
 all the time, so that his advent and appearance excited 
 little or no comment from the few loungers in the bar 
 room. While the young man is regaling himself with a 
 second glass of liquor, let us briefly outline the mining 
 situation in California at that time.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 219 
 
 Gold had been discovered four years before this time, 
 and the rush of people from all parts to the placers on 
 the western slope of the Sierra Nevada range of 
 mountains was simply immense. For the first three 
 or four years, the mining was done mainly by the pan 
 and rocker. The pan used by the placer miners was 
 commonly made of ordinary sheet iron, with a flat bottom 
 about twelve inches in diameter, and sides six inches 
 high, inclining outwards at an angle of about fifty 
 degrees. 
 
 The gold was usually found in a tough clay mixed 
 with sand and gravel. The miner filled his pan with 
 this clay, went to the bank of the stream or river, filled 
 the pan and shook it, using a stone to break up the 
 lumpy clay, until it was dissolved. Then he kept 
 repeating the washing until the clay was dissolved and 
 run off into the river as he tilted the pan, the gold 
 settling at the bottom in the operation. The coarse 
 particles of sand and pebbles that would not go off with 
 the water were removed by hand. These manipulations 
 were repeated until the gold was practically freed from 
 all other material, when it was recovered. When pan 
 ning was in vogue, the outfit of a miner, besides his 
 'grub' or food, consisted of only a pick, shovel, pan, and 
 a blanket. 
 
 After a time, when the returns from this process 
 ceased to yield gold according to expectation, the rocker 
 took its place. The rocker was made somewhat like an 
 old-fashioned child's cradle, but open at one end, that is, 
 without a foot-board. The upper end, however, was 
 considerably higher than the lower, and contained a large 
 colander-like riddle of sheet iron, with holes punched in
 
 220 IN FETTERS: 
 
 the bottom. The floor of the rocker was set with cleats 
 or riffles, extending nearly across, to catch the gold. 
 The miner filled the riddle with pay-dirt, and rocked the 
 rocker with one hand, while he poured water on the dirt 
 in the riddle with the other. The water and the motion 
 dissolved the clay and carried it down to the floor of the 
 rocker, where the cleats caught the gold, while the mud 
 and water ran off. The riddle was attached, so that it 
 could be taken off to throw out the stones. As one man 
 could not work to advantage in this process, two men 
 usually associated together and divided results ; one 
 mining the pay-dirt, while the other worked the rocker. 
 
 Our new arrival still sat and drank in the bar-room, 
 until darkness came on. By this time the miners began 
 to congregate, and card-playing and other games of 
 chance became quite general. The principal interest, 
 however, appeared to be centered on one card table, 
 where one of the miners, with a professional gambler for 
 an opponent, was having a run of luck, and to this place 
 the new-comer was attracted. 
 
 After a time, however, the miner began to lose, and in 
 a little while the last of his gold went to the gambler. 
 A dispute between the latter and the loser had already 
 commenced, and the result of the game brought it to a 
 climax, when the miner accused him of cheating. The 
 gambler quietly asked him to 'take that back,' as it was 
 not true. This only incensed the miner still more who 
 made threats of 'getting even 'with him. Upon this 
 the gambler drew a revolver from his hip pocket, and 
 shot the miner. The latter fell. He was not killed out 
 right, but felt that his time was short. He was in great 
 agony, and cried
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 221 
 
 '(), if I only had the consolations of religion, I could 
 then meet my Maker with some hope. If there were 
 only a priest here ' - 
 
 The stranger came forward and said: 
 
 ' I am a priest, and will do what I can to prepare you 
 for death.' 
 
 He then directed all to withdraw to one side of the 
 room, while he administered the last rites of the Roman 
 Catholic church to the dying man, shortly after which 
 the latter breathed his last. His partner and some 
 others of the miners took charge of the body, and 
 buried it early on the following morning; then they went 
 in a body to the gambling den, and, taking the murderer 
 by surprise, riddled him with bullets. Then there was 
 another funeral. 
 
 These were curious scenes to the young priest, and he 
 half determined to leave the place, and would have done 
 so, if he had the means; but, as a matter of fact, he had 
 spent to within a few dollars all his money, and was 
 forced to do something. 
 
 The partner of the dead miner, who was known as Jim 
 Smith, after the second murder and burial, approached 
 the new-comer, who had acted as a priest, and said to 
 him: 
 
 'Parson, what might I call your name?' 
 
 <I call myself here Richard Warburton.' 
 
 'Did you come to these diggings to work to dig 
 gold?' 
 
 'Yes; that is what I came for.' 
 
 'Well, parson, you did so handsomely by poor Bill 
 Johnson, my pard, that I come to offer you his place 
 with me. We have a rocker, picks, shovels and pans,
 
 222 IN FETTERS: 
 
 and have been doing fairly some days taking out an 
 ounce, and some less, according to how we strike it.' 
 
 ' My friend,' said Warburton, ' your offer suits me 
 exactly, and I will accept it with thanks. I am not used 
 to rough work, but I am strong, and can soon accustom 
 myself to it.' 
 
 It was settled at once, and without delay the young 
 priest took the place of the miner whom he had shrived 
 on his departure from life. 
 
 For a few days the work seemed very hard to the 
 young man, but after a while he became accustomed to 
 it, and the new firm was doing fairly well in the way of 
 taking out gold from the river bank gravel ; but, after all 
 it was slow work, and the necessaries of life were high, 
 but not higher than liquor and the love of gaming, both 
 of which were shared in equally by the partners that 
 is, Richard drank more liquor than he should have done, 
 but would not gamble; while Jim Smith's chief passion 
 was gambling and he lost the most gold. 
 
 In this manner month succeeded month, and the time 
 lengthened into years, with little progress made by these 
 associated miners. They had fair luck in getting out 
 gold from the river bed, and generally worked hard and 
 steadily, but spent about all they made, one at the gam 
 ing table, and the other at the bar. 
 
 It was in J-une, 1854, and just one year and a half from 
 the time that Richard Warburton had known his first 
 mining experience in the Rough and Ready mining 
 camp. 
 
 One evening, when Smith was more unlucky than 
 usual, and Warburton had taken more brandy than was 
 his custom though with him the habit had grown
 
 THE MAK OR THE PRIEST? 223 
 
 steadily his partner came over to him and said 
 ' Parson, I've had the worst kind of luck lost every 
 pennyweight I had in the world. Won't you lend me a 
 few ounces, and see if I can't change my luck?' 
 
 ' Jim Smith,' replied Warburton, ' I would lend you 
 the last pennyweight of gold I had, if I was not assured 
 you would throw it away. Can't you see, man, that the 
 chances are all against you? Come, take a drink, and 
 we will talk matters over.' 
 
 ' Look-a-here, parson ; do you think its any worse for 
 me to throw my money away in gambling than in drink? 
 If I lose at a game at night, I'm able to go to work in 
 the morning. If I spend it in brandy, I'm not usually 
 fit for work next day. You know that you have lost 
 two days lately, because you were too sick to go to work 
 in the moring after drinking too much over night.' 
 
 ' That's true, Jim, quite true ; but what if I tell you 
 that in the two days I've been up the gulch I have made 
 a great discovery, which promises to make both of us 
 rich?' 
 
 'What have you struck, parson?' asked Jim, who at 
 once became deeply interested. 
 
 'Take a glass of brandy, and then promise me that 
 you will gamble no more until we have worked out the 
 new claim, which I have discovered,' said Warburton. 
 
 ' I'll do it, on one condition, parson. If I must stop 
 gambling, you must stop drinking. Is it a bargain?' 
 
 'It is,' answered Warburton. 'After to-night, and 
 until the claim is worked out, I promise that I will not 
 drink a glass of liquor of any kind, unless I need it for 
 medicine.' 
 
 ' Then it's a go, parson. Now tell us about it.'
 
 224 iff FETTERS: 
 
 ' Not here,' was the reply. ' Come to the camp,' and 
 both the partners left the saloon for their sleeping tent. 
 Arrived there, Warburton said 
 
 ' Now, Jim, let me ask, in the first place, if you have 
 any idea of how this free gold came into the river 
 bottoms?' 
 
 ' I suppose it was always there, but the river has 
 uncovered it.' 
 
 ' Not so, my friend. I have studied geology enough 
 to know that gold was originally deposited in veins or 
 lodes, and, as these were broken down or disrupted by 
 the water forcing a passage through them, the rocks 
 moved by the water were, in time, and by the action of 
 the current and other disintegrating influences, broken 
 up and pulverized. Now, it seems to me that in the 
 ancient river beds is to be found the most gold, for in 
 those beds the waters ran most rapidly, and the action 
 on the rocks carrying gold was stronger and the result 
 better. Well, now, where are those old river beds? 
 We must look for them higher up than the present river 
 beds, which have washed down through and in many 
 places across them, leaving sections of those old river 
 beds here and there along these rivers.' 
 
 'That sounds like good sense, parson; but where are 
 the old river beds you speak of? If we could only find 
 one, we could test it.' 
 
 'I have found one found it the last day I was away. 
 It is only about two miles up the gulch. I examined it; 
 found the bed-rock of the old river; worked into the 
 tough clay overlaying it with my knife blade, and, after 
 about two hours of labor, got out enough of the gravel to 
 make a good panful. Well, I put it in my handkerchief,
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 
 
 carried it back to camp, and this evening panned it out. 
 How much gold do you think I got from that panful of 
 dirt?' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps a pennyweight,' replied Jim. 
 
 'I got fully five pennyweights.' 
 
 'Great Caesar! Is that true, parson?' 
 
 ' It undoubtedly is.' 
 
 ' And is there much of the gravel there, parson ? ' 
 
 ' A vast amount ; but whether it is all as rich as that 
 panful is something I very much doubt. As gold is a 
 heavy metal and sinks to the bottom, 1 think we shall 
 find the richest dirt next to the bed-rock.' 
 
 'Parson,' said Jim, 'you're right, and I think you've 
 made a rich strike. How far is it from water?' 
 
 'It is about one hundred and fifty feet above the river; 
 but then the carrying of the pay dirt will be down hill, 
 and we can easily carry it on our backs in bags, after we 
 have picked it out.' 
 
 Next morning, bright and early, the two miners, after 
 a hasty meal, pulled up stakes and started up stream, 
 with their tent, mining and cooking untensils, and a small 
 amount of 'grub' or provisions on their backs. It was a 
 rough way to tramp so heavily loaded; but in the course 
 of about two hours they arrived there, and, after pitching 
 their tent and arranging it, and making other prepara 
 tions for camping, the miners erected their rocker. By 
 this time it was nearly noon, and they concluded to eat 
 something before making a trial of the new diggings. 
 
 Two bas^s full of material were taken from the bed- 
 
 O 
 
 rock of the ancient river at the place where Warburton 
 had obtained his panful. They were run through the 
 rocker; but the clay in the material was so tough that it
 
 220 IN FETTERS: 
 
 was found very difficult to wash it, and Jim began to 
 grumble at the length of time it took 'to bring butter.' 
 But when it was effected, and the bottom of the rocker 
 cleaned out, an exclamation of delight escaped him. 
 
 'By the Lord God, parson,' he said, 'we've struck it 
 rich ! Why there's fully an ounce here in the pan ! 
 Parson, give me your hand. Our everlasting fortune is 
 made ! I can see it, as plain as the nose on your face ! ' 
 
 Well, it turned out just as Jim said. The miners 
 drove a drift or tunnel in on the bed rock, and were 
 fortunate in running into a depression or pocket in the 
 worn bed rock, where they found much gold, among 
 which occurred a number of good-sized nuggets, one of 
 which weighed over three ounces. In less than three 
 months the partnership of Smith and Warburton had 
 taken out over ten thousand dollars worth of gold! 
 
 When tidings of the great find reached the old camp, 
 it was quickly removed to the new diggings, and the hill 
 where the gold was discovered was rapidly becoming 
 as if a lot of gophers had attacked it. Every miner 
 was making money more rapidly than ever before, and 
 Warburton was accorded the full credit of the discovery, 
 the camp having been named after him 'Parson's 
 Luck.' 
 
 ' Well, parson,' said Jim, as they sat smoking one fine 
 evening in September, after work, 'it seems to me that 
 we have nearly worked out our claim. It has been a 
 lucky one for us, for we have now nearly five hundred 
 ounces of gold. Just think of it, pard, we have about 
 five thousand dollars apiece. And I owe it to you, pard, 
 in two ways. First, you discovered this claim, and next 
 you broke me of gambling.'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 227 
 
 ' Well, if you are under obligations to me for that, I 
 am under a deeper debt to you for holding me to the 
 compact to keep from drinking. So, you see, we owe 
 much to one another.' 
 
 'Now what would you advise, parson?' asked Jim. 
 ' Shall we look for a new prospect, or put our money into 
 the new waterworks, where they are going to ditch the 
 water and wash out these old river beds on a large 
 scale? You know they are doing this on nearly all the 
 rivers, and are already at work above us on the Ameri 
 can.' 
 
 As a matter of fact, hydraulic mining had already been 
 quite generally adopted in California, but on nothing like 
 the scale on which it was prosecuted a few years later, 
 when the original ' Tom, or trough ' succeeded the 
 rocker, and was in turn superseded by the ' sluice ' and 
 'grizzley,' and later by the 'giant' water-thrower, now 
 familiar to all. 
 
 ' Jim,' replied Warburton, ' you can do as you please. 
 As for me, I've had enough of a miner's life to last me 
 while I live. I am going to let well enough alone, and 
 start for my home in the East. I have not written a line 
 to my people since I left home two years ago, and I 
 suppose they think me dead. I will surprise them.' 
 
 ' I reckon you will, parson ; and that reminds me that 
 I have friends in the South in Kentucky that I 
 ought to go and see. A wife, too, who thinks me dead; 
 and two sons. They must be let me see yes, Jim's 
 ten, and Buckner's about eight years. Fact is, pard, me 
 and my wife didn't hitch well ; so I pulled up stakes, 
 left her the farm and stock, and lighted out to California 
 in '49. Yes, pard ; you're going to do the right thing,
 
 228 IN FETTERS: 
 
 and I'll follow suit. I reckon, after all, they'll be mighty 
 glad to see me.' 
 
 So it was settled that when they had exhausted the 
 claim, which occurred within a week, they would pull up 
 stakes and leave the diggings. They traded their 
 rocker, camping outfit and mining tools for a horse, and 
 bought another; and then, on a morning in September, 
 started on their journey to Sacramento. Here they sold 
 the horses, and took passage in a steamer for San 
 Francisco 'Frisco it was called, for brevity. 
 
 Arrived at San Francisco, the partners proceeded to the 
 United States mint, where their gold was weighed, and 
 a receipt given for it. A hundred dollars was advanced 
 them, and they were told to call on the following day, 
 after the assay was made, when they would get paid in 
 full for it. They left the mint, and walked down 
 Market street to the water front, along which they 
 strayed. 
 
 'There's a fine ship, parson, and she seems to be 
 making ready to start,' said Jim, as they came to one of 
 the wharves. ' Let us go down and see her off.' 
 
 They walked down the wharf, and had nearly reached 
 the ship, when Warburton stopped shortly, and gasped 
 for breath. 
 
 ' Hello, parson ! ' exclaimed Jim, catching hold of him, 
 as he staggered, ' what's up ? Sick, eh ? ' 
 
 Richard had seen on the stern of that ship a name 
 that brought a flood of memories into his mind, which 
 nearly overwhelmed him. The name was 
 
 'AGNES WARDEN, CHEBUCTO.' 
 
 It looked as if they were about to cast off, and, with 
 out replying to Jim's question, AVarburton rushed forward
 
 THE MAN OK THE PEIEST? 229 
 
 and hailed, with a frantic haste and a manner which at 
 once commanded attention : 
 
 'Hold on, there ! Where's the captain?' 
 
 ' Here I am,' replied the man addressed. ' What do 
 you want ? Speak quickly. We are about to cast off.' 
 
 ' Capt. Roderick, don't you know me ? ' asked War- 
 burton. 
 
 But he was sunburnt, and had grown a beard, so it was 
 not to be wondered at that the captain replied 
 
 ' No ; I don't know you. What do you want ? Be 
 quick ! ' 
 
 'Capt. Macdonald, if you do not know me, I must 
 make myself known I am Richard Gaston ! ' 
 
 ' Good God ! Is it possible ! ' Then turning to his 
 men, he gave rapid orders to lower the jib sails already 
 hoisted; to not cast off from the wharf, and then jumped 
 ashore to assure himself of the truth of what he had 
 heard. He was quickly convinced that it was indeed 
 Richard Gaston, and soon had him and his partner on 
 board, and was listening to the story of his experiences 
 since leaving the brig Enterprise, in Philadelphia. 
 
 'This is your father's ship,' he said, 'and named by 
 him, and I have reason to believe that I command her 
 principally because I befriended you before.' 
 
 'Are father and mother well?' asked Richard. 
 
 'When I last heard from them they were, but I have 
 been away now over six months. Been to India, China, 
 and have run across here with a small cargo, expecting 
 a freight; but have got but little. I will call at 
 Honolulu, where I may pick up some oil from whalers 
 for New Bedford, and will then call at Pernambuco, 
 where we are always sure of plenty of hides for Boston.'
 
 230 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 'Any other news from home?' asked Richard. 
 
 'Yes,' replied the captain, with evident reluctance. 
 4 James Warden died about a year ago, leaving his affairs 
 in a bad condition. Your father was appointed adminis 
 trator, and did the best he could to settle up the estate. 
 He thought there would be but little left for the wife 
 and Miss Agnes. When I sailed it was rumored that 
 Mrs. Warden and her daughter were going to Boston to 
 live.' 
 
 'A pause ensued, when wondering Jim Smith broke 
 in with: 'Well, parson so your name is Gaston and 
 not Warburton, and this is your father's ship ? I always 
 knew you were the son of some rich man, who had left 
 home for adventure, and not because you were forced to. 
 Well, I'm glad I discovered this ship in time. I suppose 
 you'll go home in her?' 
 
 'That is just the question I was about to ask,' 
 remarked Capt. Macdonald. 'Of course you can get 
 home quicker by way of the Isthmus ; but, if you are not 
 too impatient, you can make a good voyage with us, for 
 the ship is a good sailer, and it would be a smart clipper 
 ship indeed that would show her its heels.' 
 
 ' I'll think it over,' said Richard. ' In the meantime 
 I'll write a letter to father and mother, and another to 
 Tom, to acquaint them of my return, which I will mail, 
 if I go with you. If not, I will not mail them.' Turn 
 ing to Jim, lie asked : ' Mr. Smith, if I should decide to 
 go in this ship, will you accompany me?' 
 
 'I'll go whichever way you go, parson,' was the 
 reply. 
 
 ' Am I at liberty to invite this friend as my guest, if I 
 go with you?' asked Richard of the captain.
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 231 
 
 ' Your friend will be heartily welcome, and will receive 
 the best of usage from me,' replied Capt. Macdonald. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Richard. 
 
 'And I join the parson in thanks,' added Smith, 
 'whether we go with you or not.' 
 
 On the following day the partners received their 
 money from the mint a little rising five thousand 
 dollars each, and Richard, having decided to go home in 
 his father's ship, the money and baggage of himself and 
 partner were transferred to her, and in the afternoon she 
 had passed through the Golden Gate, and was well out 
 to sea, under a good breeze and with all sails set. 
 
 'I think we shall have a good time rounding the Cape,' 
 remarked Capt. Macdonald, 'for the line gales will be 
 over before we reach there, and the weather will be as 
 fine as it ever is in that rough place.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 NEWS FKOM RICHARD THE WARDENS AND GASTONS IN 
 
 BOSTON THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN. 
 
 It was in Chebucto, late in October, 1854. Richard 
 Gaston had returned to his home in the late evening 
 that is, later than usual tired and hungry. His supper 
 was waiting him, and he ate it with a relish, saying but 
 little. At its close, and when they were seated in the 
 sitting room, he said to Mrs. Gaston: 
 
 ' I have been working so hard, trying to settle up 
 James Warden's affairs which, thank Heaven, I have
 
 232 IN FETTERS: 
 
 nearly wound up that I did not even look at the letters 
 that came in the mail there are several.' 
 
 'Will Agnes and her mother have much left, Richard?' 
 the wife asked. 
 
 'Very little. Not over one thousand pounds, if they 
 have that.' 
 
 He did not say that if he should exact the repayment 
 of the loan which he made to James Warden, there 
 would be nothing left ; but such was the fact. 
 
 ' That is too bad,' said Mrs. Gaston. 'What will they 
 do in Boston with that amount of money? It will keep 
 them there but a short time.' 
 
 Mr. Gaston took a letter from the pile before him, and 
 was reading it. 
 
 'Why,' he said, 'here is a letter which answers your 
 question exactly. It is from Tom. He says he has 
 taken a house at the West End, and Agnes and her 
 mother are going to run it. He will have apartments, 
 and thinks he can fill it with students from the Medical 
 College, who need such accommodation; and he can 
 do this, as he is now connected with the college as 
 instructor.' 
 
 ' Well, that is good, and kind in Tom, too. He has a 
 good heart ' 
 
 ' Why, great heavens, wife ! Here is a letter from 
 who do you suppose?' 
 
 ' Richard,' she replied, jumping from her chair. 
 
 ' You have guessed it, Margaret. The letter is dated 
 "San Francisco, Cal., Sept. 12," and is addressed to 
 " Dear Father and Mother." Let me see He says he 
 has just returned from the gold mines, where he has 
 been for over a year and a half, and has about five
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 233 
 
 thousand dollars in gold as the result of his work (more 
 than he would make as a priest in ten years at Vignish), 
 and hello ! here is another surprise he has dis 
 covered the Agnes Warden in San Francisco, and has 
 concluded he will come home in her. Well, wife, dear, 
 what do you say to this ? Isn't this good news ? ' 
 
 ' It is ! It is ! My poor boy God bless him ! Com 
 ing home ! And he has done so well, too. Well well. 
 How curiously our lives are ordered.' 
 
 'How curiously we order them ourselves, dear. But, 
 no matter. He is coming home, and if he would only 
 consent to let the priestly business alone, and begin with 
 me again, it would be a great benefit to me as well as to 
 him, for my business was never so flourishing as it is 
 to-day. 
 
 'I doubt if he will,' said Mrs. Gaston. 
 
 'And why not? If he could work in the mines, why 
 not with me. The property will all go to him and Tom 
 when we die. Why should he not then be interested in 
 increasing it?' 
 
 ' O, I wish Agnes were here now,' said Mrs. Gaston. 
 ' You don't know how I miss her. I would like to tell 
 her the news of Richard's safety, and his return home.' 
 
 ' I guess she knows it already, for Dick writes me that 
 he has also written to Tom in Boston.' 
 
 ****** 
 
 A substantial brick house on a quiet street in the 
 West End of Boston bore the sign 'Thomas Gaston, 
 M.D., Physician and Surgeon,' on its front. On the 
 door-plate the name ' Warden ' appeared. 
 
 It was in October, the same month as the events just 
 narrated took place in, but a week before that time.
 
 234 IN FETTERS: 
 
 Dr. Gaston returned to his home in the afternoon, and 
 was met at the door by Agnes Warden, with words of 
 welcome. She had not changed greatly in the past two 
 years, except that her face had an air of melancholy, 
 which now seemed habitual to it. 
 
 'I saw you coming,' she said, 'and I so hoped that you 
 would have a letter from home, that I thought I would 
 intercept you. But I suppose it's disappointment again.' 
 
 ' So far as the letter from home is concerned,' said Dr. 
 Gaston, 'I fear it is. But I have a greater surprise for 
 you than a letter from home would be. I received a 
 letter today from California from whom, do you 
 suppose?' 
 
 * I suppose,' said Agnes, flushing up, ' it may be from 
 Richard.' 
 
 ' You have hit it. Come into my office, and I will tell 
 you its contents.' 
 
 'This letter,' continued the doctor, after Agnes and he 
 were seated in his office, 'is dated at San Francisco, 
 September 12. It tells of Dick's experiences in the 
 mines, and that he came out with the intention of return 
 ing home, when he accidently saw the ship 'Agnes 
 Warden,' and is coming to Boston in her.' 
 
 'How long should it take the vessel to get here?' 
 asked Agnes, with an eagerness which she was quickly 
 ashamed of. 
 
 ' That depends. If she would come direct, she should 
 be here some time late in December. If she has to call 
 anywhere for a freight, she may be later.' 
 
 ' Does Richard say anything of his intentions for the 
 future that is, as to what he will do?' asked Agnes. 
 
 * No. He has saved about five thousand dollars during
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 235 
 
 his year and a half at the mines, and can live without a 
 parish, for a time, if indeed he ever takes one.' 
 
 ' Why do you say, "if he ever takes one?" Is there 
 any doubt about it?' 
 
 ' Well, he says here : " I am not as yet quite settled 
 as to what I shall do in the future. I have lost all relish 
 for the priestly office not because I do not believe in 
 it, but that I feel I am not fitted for it. However, time 
 and events will have to decide." So you perceive that 
 he is still at sea in the matter of a profession, as well as 
 literally. I wish he would throw up the clerical business 
 for good and all, and settle down to some useful occupa 
 tion. Dick has a good business head, father tells me, 
 and, if he would only go home with the old man and 
 help him in his business, I think he would soon forget 
 his wild escapades of the past four or five years.' 
 
 ' That could hardly be,' observed Agnes. 'At least it 
 would not do for him to go into business in Chebucto. 
 The people there would think it altogether improper* for 
 a priest to leave the altar and go into trade. He might 
 do that here, but not there.' 
 
 'I suppose you are right, Agnes,' said the doctor, 
 'though, hang me ifit would have any weight with me. 
 However, we shall see what he will do when he gets 
 home. I know of but one thing that I think would make 
 him settle down, if anything would.' 
 
 'And what is that?' asked Agnes. 
 
 ' To get married.' 
 
 ' Oh, you don't mean that, Tom,' said Agnes, her face 
 aflame. 'That would be impossible. A priest can 
 never marry.' 
 
 ' The laws of Massachusetts do not forbid it,' he replied.
 
 236 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' But the laws of the church forbid it,' said Agnes. 
 1 Is not that sufficient ? ' 
 
 'Hang the church! What is it, and its laws of 
 celibacy, as against a man's happiness? I would fling 
 them to the winds, and be happy in spite of them,' said 
 the doctor. ' There is nothing morally wrong in marry 
 ing ; while there is wrong in not marrying, if it would 
 make one happy, while to remain single entails misery.' 
 
 'But would his parents consent? Think of the shock 
 it would be to his mother, and what a scandal they would 
 have to endure in consequence. It would not do, Tom, 
 it would not do.' 
 
 ' Agnes,' said the doctor, bluntly, ' let me ask you a 
 question : If father and inc-ther were willing, and your 
 mother did not oppose it, would you make any real 
 objection to marrying Richard ? ' 
 
 'O, Tom,' she said, hiding her face in her hands, 'that 
 is a curious question you ask me.' 
 
 'Well, Agnes,' he replied, 'it is a pertinent one, at 
 least; and you needn't answer it now, but think it over.' 
 
 Agnes left the office, as if in perturbed thought. 
 
 ****** 
 
 In the early part of November, the members of the 
 Warden-Gaston household, at the West End in Boston, 
 were treated to a kind of double surprise. Agnes 
 Warden had just got a letter from Mrs. Gaston, and Dr. 
 Gaston had received one from his father. That of 
 Mrs. Gaston to Agnes said : 
 
 'I have been so lonesome, dear, since you and your 
 mother left Chebucto, that I fear I am getting dull and 
 melancholy. So I have persuaded father to try and fix 
 up his affairs, so that things would go on all right, and 
 take me to Boston, where we could stay until the spring,
 
 237 
 
 and where I could have some company. So, my dear, 
 please make room for us in your boarding house, and 
 expect us on within a week or two.' 
 
 Dr. Gaston's letter, from his father, went on to say : 
 
 'Your mother has been dull and moping of late, and 
 seeing that she needed congenial company to enliven 
 her, I have consented to go with her to Boston to spend 
 the winter. 
 
 ' I have arranged my business affairs in such a way 
 that I can leave this place for a time. I am doing no 
 shipbuilding indeed, I doubt if I shall ever build 
 another ship and all that will be done in my absence 
 will be store business. My head clerk is a faithful man, 
 honest and trustworthy, and I have given him full charge 
 of the business during my absence ; and, knowing that 
 liberality on the part of an employer is usually an incen 
 tive to faithfulness in the servant, I have increased his 
 wages, and feel that he sees that it is for his best interest 
 to look after my business as carefully and zealously as if 
 I were at the helm myself. 
 
 'Another reason impels me to go to Boston. My 
 advices from Capt. Macdonald lead me to expect that he 
 will arrive in Boston some time in January next. With 
 him is Richard, whom your mother is all the time think 
 ing and talking about. His going away so suddenly and 
 unceremoniously leads me to think he would not care to 
 return to Chebucto, where his pride would be apt to 
 receive a shock at every curious look and gossipy 
 whisper he might see or hear. So you see I am mainly 
 impelled to leave my business out of consideration to 
 your mother and in connection with ^ Richard's return. 
 We shall see him in Boston, and take* measures to have 
 him settle down to some occupation in life not that 
 of a priest, I hope.' 
 
 ' There,' said Dr. Gaston, as he finished reading his 
 father's letter to Agnes she having read his mother's 
 to him 'father has hit the nail on the head. Dick was
 
 238 IN FETTERS: 
 
 never cut out for a priest, and would better abandon 
 that calling as a profession. I know his pride may 
 revolt against it at first, but I believe his love is stronger 
 than his pride.' 
 
 'But would not his conscience '- 
 
 ' Agnes,' said the doctor, ' conscience is a curious and 
 very elastic condition of the moral nature. It will stand 
 an enormous strain upon occasion, and may be warranted 
 never to break. A man who is honorable will not 
 usually do a dishonorable act. But in all matters where 
 a doubt may exist, I think you will find him inclined to 
 give himself the benefit of it. I know Dick has a good 
 deal of the superstitious Irish nature of our mother in 
 him, but I also believe he has a good deal of hard Gaston 
 sense. I am satisfied that he has now a great dislike to 
 the priesthood, for he sees in it the only barrier that 
 exists to his happiness.' 
 
 ' But does he love me sufficiently to make such a sacri 
 fice?' asked Agnes, doubtingly. 
 
 For answer, Dr. Gaston arose, went over to his 
 secretary, and, opening a private drawer, took out a 
 folded paper, indorsed, 'Richard to Agnes,' and handed 
 it to her, explaining how it came into his possession. 
 
 ' This,' he said, ' was written at a time, no doubt, when 
 he was in the act of committing moral suicide. It is the 
 cry of despair of a man who was about to immolate him 
 self against the protests of his heart and of his better 
 nature. Read it, Agnes.' 
 
 She did read it, and while doing so she was a study to 
 the keen-eyed doctor, who watched her closely, while 
 appearing to look another way. As Agnes read on, her 
 bosom heaved, and the roses and lilies waved alternately
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 239 
 
 along her cheeks, fanned by the varying emotions within, 
 and when she had finished reading it, the tears were 
 flowing freely from her eyes; seeing which, the doctor 
 delicately withdrew, as if something demanded his atten 
 tion in another room. 
 
 He was absent about ten minutes, and when he 
 returned Agnes had dried her tears and was outwardly 
 calm. She handed the manuscript back to the doctor, 
 without remark, and rose to leave the office ; but he 
 waved a refusal, saying : 
 
 ' No, Agnes ; the verses are yours, and you only should 
 have the custody of them.' 
 
 She stood irresolute, for a minute, not knowing what 
 to say or do; then, folding up the paper, she put it in 
 her bosom, and silently left the office. 
 
 ' I'm not much of a plotter,' reflected the doctor, after 
 the young woman had disappeared ; ' but I think I have 
 made a clever attempt, in this instance, to aid love in 
 overcoming artificial barriers powerful ones, no doubt 
 to those who believe in their sacredness and potency, 
 but to me would be as mere cobwebs, which I would 
 brush aside with a feather. I can see that Agnes would 
 need but little persuasion to be induced to marry 
 Richard; and he, in his turn, might in a moment decide 
 to break the fetters which bind him, and become a man, 
 who owns himself and holds allegiance to no superior. 
 He has the will to do this, and the courage, if he would 
 not be deterred by his superstitious nature. 
 
 'He thinks, poor fellow, that he is religious, when he 
 is simply superstitious. The Catholic religion is no 
 doubt a venerable and respectable epitome of old-time 
 superstition; and the Protestant so-called evangelical
 
 240 IN FETTERS: 
 
 religions what are they, after all, but varied forms of 
 the same superstition? Catholic and Protestant religions 
 alike : They are simply the embodiment of the dreams 
 of ignorance into tangible creeds or intangible doctrines. 
 They claim arbitrary dominion over our destiny; often 
 lead us a life of misery and apprehension, yet holding 
 out the promise of compensation, in a world that has no 
 known existence, for what we suffer here. 
 
 'They tell us of the spiritual world, and how superior 
 it is to the material. What is the spiritual world, in 
 fact, but the world or condition of the mind which is 
 recognized as a mental abstraction that state of 
 intellectual consciousness and mental activity where the 
 mind revels, fancy free, in the realms of imagination? 
 Here the silly and uninformed mind indulges in fancies 
 which are often as absurd and grotesque as those of 
 dreams are apt to be ; and if that mind belong to a 
 preacher, and it leads him to the wildest extravagance, 
 he thinks it is inspiration, and will continue his nonsense 
 and rant until it becomes a mental disease with him. 
 Then he communicates his disease to those who come 
 under his influence, for mental and moral contagion is as 
 certain as that of the common infectious diseases of 
 humanity. Hence we have religious revivals, spiritual 
 seances and outcroppings of various mental phenomena, 
 all of which are properly traceable to perversion of the 
 imaginative faculties of the brain. Happy the man who 
 is well enough gi'ounded in philosophy and common 
 sense not to be carried away by such nonsense. But 
 well, humanity is an enigma, and life a paradox.' 
 ****** 
 
 As announced, in less than a week from the time the
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 241 
 
 letters were received by Agnes and Dr. Gaston, the 
 parents of the latter arrived in Boston, and were most 
 cordially and heartily welcomed at the West End 
 mansion, where a large front room on the second floor 
 had been reserved for them, and furnished with special 
 reference to Mrs. Gaston's taste, which Agnes was quite 
 familiar with. 
 
 Mrs. Gaston was especially pleased to see Agnes. 
 'You have no idea, Agnes,' she said, 'how I missed you 
 and your mother, and how lonesome it was to me when 
 you left. Well, I hope we shall enjoy one another's 
 society during the coming winter.' 
 
 'I know we shall,' returned Agnes. 'Nothing could 
 suit me better than to have you with us, and I know we 
 shall all be pleased.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Mrs. Gaston, 'and when Richard comes 
 home our family circle will be complete.' 
 
 Agnes blushed so deeply that she was fain to turn 
 her head and look out of the window, to hide her face 
 from observation. 
 
 Whether it was the new and pleasant associations 
 connected with the advent of the elder Gastons, or some 
 of the potency which hope instills into loving hearts, it 
 would be difficult to say; but, as a matter of fact, Agnes 
 Warden became a changed woman. The roses of health 
 bloomed on her cheeks. There was a rich sparkle in 
 her deep blue eyes, like the scintillations of the sapphire. 
 Her step became elastic, and her whole bearing buoyant. 
 She smiled habitually, and her laugh, though soft and 
 musical, was cheerfulness itself, compared with what it 
 had been of late. 
 
 In fact, Agnes Warden seemed to have at once ripened
 
 242 IN FETTERS: 
 
 into lovely womanhood. She was a beautiful woman 
 with few equals. 
 
 'Father,' said Dr. Gaston, one day, when the elder 
 Gaston was alone with him in his office, 'what are we 
 going to do with Dick, when he comes home?' 
 
 'That is a thing I have thought about frequently. 
 One tiling I am convinced of, and that is that he is not 
 
 O ' 
 
 fit to be a priest. He does not like the profession.' 
 
 ' I agree with you. Now, in my opinion, he will never 
 do anything until he is anchored to some domestic con 
 dition. To be plain, until he marries.' 
 
 'I suppose you are right; but how is that to be, when 
 the church has already a life claim on him. If it were 
 not for that' - 
 
 'Father, would that circumstance deter you from 
 sanctioning his marriage which is not against the civil 
 law especially when you know that by such a step he 
 would not only settle down in life, but would become a 
 happy man ; whereas, as it is at present, he can not settle 
 down and is not and cannot be happy?' 
 
 ' That is a question which involves more serious con 
 sequences, Tom, than you perhaps take into account.' 
 
 'I think not, father. I know what you mean, and have 
 thought it all over.' 
 
 'But would Agnes marry him? Would she brave the 
 scandal, the social ostracism that it w r ould entail? 
 Would her mother consent to it? I doubt if she would.' 
 
 'Father, I am convinced that the only way to save 
 Richard is to have him marry. I have told Agnes this, 
 and have broached the idea of marriage to her. At first 
 she saw no possibilty of it, but I soon convinced her that 
 it could take place legitimately. She has never said she
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 243 
 
 would marry Dick, but I know that if the consent of the 
 other parties were given she would yield, for she loves 
 him with all the strength of a strong woman's nature. 
 Now, father, I want to ask, would you be willing to 
 brave the seeming odium of such a consummation?' 
 
 'Would I? Why not? I have not many years to 
 live, at the most. To see my sons well settled in the 
 world is my greatest ambition now. I feel the force of 
 what you say. I believe, with you, that marriage only 
 will cure Richard, and make him settle down. But'- 
 
 'Now, father, hold on. With your consent, much as 
 it might mortify her at first, I think mother would be 
 won over ; for I know she loves Dick so well that she 
 would make any sacrifice for him.' 
 
 ' I think your mother might be brought to consent, 
 though it would be a terrible trial for her. Then, there 
 would be Mrs. Warden.' 
 
 ' If she saw that mother and you would not object, I 
 think she could be induced to consent.' 
 
 'Well, Tom,' said Mr. Gaston, 'I will think it over 
 and talk with your mother about it. Perhaps it is as 
 well to have the matter settled before Dick comes 
 home.' 
 
 ' That is just what I desire you to do, and it was for 
 that purpose that I have introduced the subject at this 
 time.' 
 
 Richard Gaston, a few days later, at a favorable 
 opportunity, broached the subject of their son Richard's 
 future to his wife. 
 
 ' You know, Margaret,' he said, ' that the boy has no 
 taste for the priesthood. He was never cut out for the 
 church.'
 
 244 IN FETTERS: 
 
 * I am sorry to say that that appears to be the fact. 
 And yet,' she added, 'he might become reconciled to it 
 in time. He has ability, and might rise in the profession 
 become a bishop. You know that there never was 
 such a sermon preached in Chebucto as the one which 
 he delivered. Every one praised it, and all deplored 
 his sickness and disappearance.' 
 
 'That may all be, Margaret; but you know what it 
 was that brought on his sickness the discovery that he 
 could have married Agnes, when it was too late to do it. 
 Do you think that he will ever change in his love for her? 
 Never. And while such a condition of mind continues, 
 can he be a priest? Is he fit to be one?' 
 
 'But what can he do, if he does not continue as a 
 priest?' asked Mrs. Gaston. 'If he goes into trade, is he 
 any more fit for business, for the same reason?' 
 
 ' There is a way out of it, if he would take the step,' 
 said Mr. Gaston. 'He could marry; and that would 
 settle him down and make a happy and contented man 
 of him.' 
 
 'Marry! My God, Richard, what are you saying! A 
 priest marry! Why such a thing would entail a curse 
 upon him and upon all his family ! ' 
 
 ' Hold on, my dear. Before coming to such a conclu 
 sion, consider the circumstances under which the boy 
 acted, and how much we are to blame in the matter. 
 You always wanted him to be a priest, and he never 
 favored the idea until he was disappointed in love. I 
 hold myself equally to blame in not setting my face 
 squarely against the boy's rash resolve. Now, we are 
 both agreed that he is not cut out for a priest, and we do 
 know that he would be happy as a married man. Can
 
 THE MAN OB THE PRIEST? 245 
 
 we not make some sacrifices for his happiness ? ' asked 
 the father, in an earnest manner. 
 
 'I would give my life to make him happy! ' she cried. 
 
 'Spoken like a loving mother, Margaret. Now all 
 that I can suggest is that you yield a portion of your 
 pride. That is all the sacrifice that is called for.' 
 
 'But how about Agnes and her mother?' asked Mrs. 
 Gaston, ' They would never consent.' 
 
 'Agnes loves Richard as strongly as he loves her. 
 Her happiness would be secured as well as his. Her 
 mother would, I think, be ready to make a sacrifice for 
 her happiness as noble as that of his mother. Well, 
 dear,' he said, rising to go out for a walk, 'I leave you 
 to consider the matter. I know you will give it your 
 best thought.' And Richard Gaston wisely forbore 
 pressing the subject farther that time; and even made 
 up his mind not to renew it until his wife saw fit to bring 
 it up again. 
 
 But the more he considered the subject, the more 
 strongly he became convinced of the wisdom of the 
 course suggested by the doctor. It would, to be sure, 
 involve much scandal at his home in Chebucto, a thing 
 he shrank from encountering, knowing, as he did, the 
 unreasoning prejudices of the general run of Catholic 
 people in such cases. But, if it would make Richard 
 and Agnes happy and he believed it would he was 
 prepared to encounter the odium attaching to such an 
 act. He said to the doctor, that evening : 
 
 ' Tom, I have spoken to your mother about the matter 
 of Richard marrying.' 
 
 'Of course she was horrified at the idea of such a 
 thing,' said the doctor.
 
 246 IN FETTEBS: 
 
 'Yes; and at first I thought she would never consent 
 to it, but I appealed to her mother's love, and I could 
 see that she wavered. She will come around. But 
 what do you think about Mrs. Warden giving her 
 consent?' 
 
 'If mother is won over, Mrs. Warden will readily 
 yield of that you may be sure. She is not so set as 
 mother is; but would hardly give her consent if mother 
 refused hers. It is all right, father. Say nothing more, 
 but let them settle the matter among themselves. They 
 will discuss it, and we shall hear the result, in due time.' 
 ****** 
 
 ' You seem disturbed, mother,' said Agnes as she met 
 Mrs. Gaston after the interview with her husband. ' I 
 hope you've heard no bad news. What has happened?' 
 
 ' No, my dear, not bad news from abroad. The 
 trouble is here. I will say nothing about it, however, 
 until I see your mother. Where is she ? ' 
 
 Agnes, with a quick woman's wit, at once divined 
 what had happened, and led the way to her mother, 
 retiring when she had ushered Mrs. Gaston into the room 
 where she was. 
 
 What passed between the two mothers at that inter 
 view need not be given in detail. The thing which they 
 most dreaded, strangely enough, they yet desired the 
 most, viz: the union of their children, because they saw 
 in it the only prospect of happiness for both in this 
 world. But what of the next? If it were a deadly sin 
 for a priest to marry, would they not shafe in it by 
 consenting to the sacrilegious act? The alternative was 
 a terrible one to contemplate. Should they peril their 
 souls for the sake of even their children, who, though
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 247 
 
 they might be made miserable here by keeping asunder, 
 might reap eternal glory in consequence of the sacrifice? 
 
 Thus they discussed the matter, pro and con, and it 
 seemed too much indeed for their poor weak natures to 
 decide upon. On the one hand was the strong, natural 
 love which a mother bears for her offspring and there 
 is nothing stronger and more sacred in the whole cate 
 gory of human sentiment than the unselfish mother's 
 love. On the other was the awful spectre of the church, 
 with one threatening hand pointing upward and the 
 other downward, indicating, 'glory, or perdition, which?' 
 Its voice enjoined the sacrifice on the part of its disciples : 
 'You shall forsake parents, and wife and children, and 
 follow me ! ' 
 
 Few persons outside the Catholic church can appre 
 ciate the appalling significance of the question presented 
 to these believing, loving women. It is not to be 
 wondered at, therefore, that as they discussed the subject 
 they wept, and dried their tears, and still wept again. 
 Neither should it create surprise that they could not 
 arrive at any definite conclusion. 
 
 And thus matters remained for a week, Mrs. Gaston 
 saying that she thought it would perhaps be best to bring 
 her husband into the conference, while Mrs. Warden 
 favored consulting a priest. At the end of the week 
 Mrs. Gaston said to her husband: 
 
 ' Richard, Mrs. Warden and I have been talking 
 over that matter of a priest marrying, and can come to 
 no determination about it. She thought that we would 
 better consult a priest, while I held that it was best to 
 acquaint you with our condition of mind on the subject.' 
 
 She then related to her husband the substance of the
 
 248 IN FETTERS: 
 
 conversation which she had had with Mrs. Warden, and 
 the tribulation in consequence. 
 
 'My dear,' said Mr. Gaston, 'you did right in opposing 
 the calling in of a priest. You can see that, while it 
 would be a delicate thing for a priest to decide on, his 
 duty to his church would not allow him to do otherwise 
 than strongly advise against it.' 
 
 ' What shall we do, then ? Will you come in and 
 talk the matter over with us?' 
 
 'Yes; and I would suggest that we take Tom into our 
 counsel,' replied Mr. Gaston. 
 
 'O husband, you know what an unbeliever Tom is. 
 Would it be right to have him with us in the discussion 
 of this matter?' 
 
 ' My dear, Tom has a clear head, and more hard sense 
 than all of us put together. The very fact that he is an 
 unbeliever better fits him, in my estimation, to look at 
 this matter in a common-sense light than if he were a 
 believer.' 
 
 'Well, perhaps you are right, Richard. Let us 
 arrange to talk the matter over to-night ; and I will pre 
 pare Mrs. Warden for it.' 
 
 The arrangement was accordingly made, and on the 
 same evening Dr. Gaston was called in. There was, of 
 course, much talk, but it need not be repeated. Finally 
 the doctor, after hearing the discussion, said : 
 
 ' I'll tell you the way the thing looks to me, and in 
 this light I think it is very simple. You believe the 
 church to be paramount; that it can do and undo. But, 
 if there is a God, he is undoubtedly above the church, 
 which is his creature or agent. Now, this God you hold 
 to be just and good, not cruel. He, you believe, holds
 
 THE MAN OB THE PKIEST? 249 
 
 the lives and destinies of the humblest of His creatures 
 dear to him. Not a sparrow falls, but He takes note of 
 it. Now, is it not fair to suppose that such a God is as 
 reasonable and as charitable as a good man would be ? 
 Then, show me the good man who would say, with a full 
 knowledge of the circumstances attending this case, that 
 these two loving hearts would be doing wrong by follow 
 ing the dictates of their nature, and uniting their destinies? 
 And, if they were not wrong in thus seeking a union, 
 would we be held responsible for aiding and abetting 
 them in accomplishing their desire ? I will say no more.' 
 
 But what he said was sufficient. It carried conviction 
 to willing hearts. Mrs. Gaston broke the silence, saying : 
 ' Tom, you have presented this matter in a new light. 
 The God who judges our hearts will not, I am sure, con 
 demn us for sanctioning what our hearts approve. I am, 
 therefore, ready to risk the responsibility.' 
 
 'In the new light,' said Mrs. Warden, 'I see the thing 
 differently, and I, too, will take the risk of sanctioning 
 what my heart prompts me to consent to. It may be 
 hard to bear, at first ; but the hope that it will secure 
 the happiness of our children is sufficient for me.' 
 
 'Dear mother, and dear Mrs. Warden, I honor you 
 both for your courage and your affection. I think you 
 have done more good by your decision than you could do 
 in any other way in so short a time.' And then the 
 doctor left the room with his father. The latter said, 
 after they had reached the doctor's office : 
 
 ' Tom, that was a masterly argument of yours short, 
 and to the point. It was, under the circumstances, irre 
 sistible. Now we want Dick to come on the scene.' 
 
 ' He will appear in due time. In the meantime, we
 
 250 IN FETTERS: 
 
 must keep up the stamina of the ladies. Agnes will not 
 object ; of that I am convinced.' 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was near the latter part of January, 1855, when the 
 Agnes Warden sailed majestically into Boston harbor, 
 with more or less of ice on her bows and bulwarks, but 
 with all well on board. Dr. Gaston, who still kept up 
 his connection with the press, had a ship-news man on 
 the alert for some time to notify him of her arrival, and 
 when he heard of it, he took a boat and boarded the 
 ship in the stream. The first man he saw on deck was 
 his brother. 
 
 ' Dick, my dear brother, welcome back again ! ' and the 
 brothers embraced warmly. 
 
 Richard introduced Capt. Macdonald and his 'pard,' 
 Jim Smith, and both these gentlemen, with Richard, 
 accompanied the doctor ashore, who took them to his 
 West End home. 
 
 'Father and mother are with us,' said the doctor, as 
 the carriage containing the four friends rolled rapidly 
 through the street. This was a surprise to both Richard 
 and the captain ; ' and,' he added, ' so are Agnes and her 
 mother.' 
 
 A light gleamed in Richard's eye at this announce 
 ment. 
 
 Arrived at the Warden mansion, the newcomers 
 alighted, and there was a curious and affecting scene in 
 the parlor, when Richard accompanied the doctor into 
 the house. The father first embraced him, and then the 
 mother threw herself upon his breast and laughed and 
 wept, and acted extravagantly, as a mother like her might 
 do under the circumstances.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 251 
 
 ' My boy ! My Dick ! My curly-headed baby boy ! 
 He has come back to his old mother ! God bless him ! 
 God bless my boy ! ' 
 
 The scene was so affecting that Jim Smith said, to 
 himself, he'd be ' dog-goned if he could stand it,' and 
 turned away to hide the tears that were coursing down 
 his cheeks. Poor fellow! He was thinking of his own 
 home and boys, and wondering what his reception 
 would be. 
 
 Merchant Gaston grasped the hand of his faithful 
 captain, in token of welcome, but could say nothing at 
 the time. 
 
 When calm was restored to the scene of the meeting, 
 Richard introduced his friend Smith, who received a 
 cordial welcome ; and then he looked around for some 
 one he wanted to see, above all others perhaps. While 
 his mother was talking with Smith and his father with 
 Capt. Macdonald, Dr. Gaston beckoned to Richard, who 
 followed him out of the room into his office. 
 
 ' Wait here a moment, Dick,' he said, and rushed away, 
 He soon returned, with Mrs. Warden. Richard greeted 
 her with nearly the same affection as he did his mother, 
 and she kissed and embraced him as if he were her son. 
 
 Then Richard instinctively looked towards the door, 
 and there, standing in it a living picture "in such fram 
 ing was Agnes Warden, a dream of lovely womanhood. 
 She was indeed a beautiful, mature woman, with the 
 roses of health on her cheeks, and a love-light in her 
 eyes which could not be mistaken. 
 
 Richard's first impulse was to rush to her and take 
 
 her in his arms ; but he remembered that he was a priest 
 
 hateful profession and stifled the impulse of his
 
 252 IN PETTEKS: 
 
 heart. Agnes came forward in a frank and friendly 
 manner, and, with more than a friendly warmth, said: 
 
 ' Dear Richard, we are all so glad to have you with us 
 again that we do not know how to express our joy.' 
 
 'Dear Agnes,' he said, and his voice faltered, 'I shall 
 never leave home again.' 
 
 It was a curious reply; but the young man hardly 
 knew what he was saying, though unconsciously he 
 implied that the attraction of home was now beyond 
 anything on earth to him, and was therefore binding. 
 He was hopelessly enmeshed in the fetters of love. A 
 curious condition for a Catholic priest to be in ; but was 
 it unnatural? 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 KICHARD DECLARES HIS LOVE AGNES CONSENTS THE 
 
 DOCTOR TO MARRY VISIT OF BROTHER IGNATIUS. 
 
 For perhaps a week after his arrival in Boston, 
 Richard Gaston did little but sit in the house in the 
 company of his father and the ladies, and tell of his life 
 in California. Jim Smith was with him much of the 
 time, and his ' that's a fact, parson,' frequently uttered, 
 gave an emphasis to the young man's narration. 
 
 But this half-dream-life had to end some time. Smith 
 wanted to visit his family in Kentucky, and Richard 
 arranged for the transfer of his gold by express he 
 would take nothing with him but the gold. So, ene 
 morning there was leave-taking, and Richard accom-
 
 THE MAN OR THE PEIEST? 253 
 
 panied the honest miner to the railway station, and saw 
 him on board the train. 
 
 'Write me when you get home, Mr. Smith,' he said, 
 ' and, if they don't treat you well, come back again, and 
 I think we will get something for you to do.' 
 
 ' I'll write ye, parson, sure,' he said, ' and if you ever 
 come to Bowling Green, don't forget to call for Jim 
 Smith. And, as for my folks, if they don't treat me 
 well, they'll not get a picayune from me; and I'll come 
 clear back to Boston see if I don't.' The train started, 
 and waving his friend adieu a good, true man, whom 
 he parted with regretfully Richard returned home 
 ward. 
 
 He walked with his head bent forward, and so 
 engrossed was he in his thought that he ran plump into 
 a gentleman on the street, who was walking more slowly 
 in the same direction. 
 
 ' Pardon me, sir,' he said and was passing on, when the 
 stranger stopped him. 
 
 'I think,' said the latter 'that we have met before. 
 Your name is Gaston, is it not?' 
 
 'That is my name,' replied Richard, 'and now I 
 recognize you as a tutor in the St. Sulpice College of 
 Montreal. You are Brother Ignatius, if I mistake not.' 
 
 ' The same. Where are you stationed? You don't 
 look much like a priest.' 
 
 ' Well, I am not a priest with a parish, and doubt if I 
 ever shall have one. I do not like the profession.' 
 
 Then he related his experience in California, gave 
 Brother Ignatius his address, and went home. 
 
 That evening he sought the doctor, his brother, in the 
 latter's office.
 
 254 
 
 IN FETTERS: 
 
 ' Tom,' he said, ' I have been brooding over a subject, 
 which I have heretofore hesitated to speak to you about, 
 though there is no good reason why I should not.' 
 
 'Go ahead, Dick. You shall have an interested 
 listener in me.' 
 
 ' Well now, Tom, I hardly know how or where to 
 begin. Curiously enough the accidental meeting with a 
 Jesuit instructor of St. Sulpice College, at Montreal, has 
 impelled me to seek your confidence in this matter.' 
 
 Then he told of the encounter with the stranger. 
 
 'I was puzzling myself, just before I ran onto him,' 
 continued Richard, 'as to how I would broach the 
 subject to you. Now, in the first place, I have imbibed a 
 strong dislike for the priesthood.' 
 
 'I don't wonder at it,' replied the doctor. 'It is not 
 an enticing profession for a man of your taste.' 
 
 'No; my taste is altogether secular, and domestic,' 
 stammered the young priest. 
 
 'I don't blame you for being inclined that way,' said 
 the doctor, ' considering the prospect before you.' 
 
 'Ah,' said Richard 'there is the trouble. The prospect 
 is bright in a way, but hopeless. The fact is, Tom, I 
 have for the past two years brooded over the matter 
 over the position in which my unfoi-tunate rashness has 
 placed me. What can I do? Coming home in the ship, 
 I fully concluded to do one thing, if it were possible, and 
 that was ' 
 
 'To marry Agnes Warden,' finished the doctor. 'Isn't 
 that so. Yes? Well, allow me to congratulate you on 
 your return to reason. I was thinking of that myself 
 not of marrying her, my boy, but of you dping that 
 thing.'
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 255 
 
 ' But,' pursued Richard, ' I have no hopes of overcom 
 ing her scruples to marrying a priest, much less those "of 
 her mother and of our own parents.' 
 
 'Never despair, Dick. Faint heart never won fair 
 lady, you know. Now, suppose she would consent, and 
 the others would not what would you do ? ' 
 
 ' 1 would marry her, and then brave the consequences.' 
 
 'Bravo, Dick ! There shows out the old Gaston spirit. 
 But what of the church?' 
 
 ' I should brave that, too. If Agnes would have me, 
 I would risk the torments of hell to marry her ! ' 
 
 ' Now that's the kind of talk that I like to hear. But, 
 of course, you know what a scandal it would create. 
 Think how the old people those believing mothers 
 might take it to heart.' 
 
 'I do think of it, and it distresses me more than I can 
 express. But I must speak to Agnes, and get her to 
 decide first. After that will come the serious part, as 
 affecting the consent of the parents.' 
 
 ' Dick,' said the doctor, ' I have anticipated your 
 change of mind on religious matters, and your desire to 
 marry. I have tried to smooth the way for you, and I 
 think have succeeded satisfactorily.' 
 
 Then he told Richard how he had squarely broached 
 the subject, how it had been discussed, and how he won 
 the victory. Richard jumped up, like one transported 
 with joy. 
 
 ' Tom,' he said, ' you are the best fellow in the world. 
 May heaven bless you forever for what you have done ! ' 
 and he started out to seek Agnes. 
 
 The doctor stopped him. ' Do not go to her in that 
 extravagant frame of mind, Dick,' he said. ' Wait here
 
 256 IN FETTERS! 
 
 a few minutes and compose yourself, and I will send her 
 in to you.' 
 
 Sure enough, in less than ten minutes Agnes walked 
 into the doctor's office, but was hardly inside the room 
 before she found herself clasped in her lover's arms. 
 
 'Agnes,' he said, 'this is no time for apology, even if 
 it were needed. We have both suffered enough to 
 dispense with that or with prudery. You have ever had 
 my love, and ever will. I cannot live without you. The 
 church can be no barrier to such love as ours. We were 
 married in our hearts before the church had any claim 
 on me. Now, Agnes, I want you to give me a favorable 
 answer.' 
 
 'Richard,' replied the young woman, 'I have always 
 loved you, I love you better now, if possible, than ever 
 before. I am prepared to face all the odium that may 
 attach to the act of marrying a priest, and will marry you 
 whenever you desire it.' 
 
 Then Dr. Gaston came in. 
 
 ' I am glad to find you have arranged this matter,' he 
 said, 'and I wish you joy. I feel that you have both 
 chosen wisely. When the time arrives, I can bring in 
 a justice of the peace it will, of course, be a civil 
 marriage and he will tie the knot without circumlocu 
 tion.' 
 
 Then Agnes escaped from the office, and went to her 
 mother, to acquaint her with what had happened, and 
 the doctor and Richard started on the same errand to 
 their parents. 
 
 When Mrs. Gaston heard the announcement that it 
 was definitely arranged that Richard and Agnes would 
 unite in marriage, she burst into tears.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 257 
 
 'Are you sorry that we are to marry, mother?' asked 
 Richard. 
 
 'Yes; I am sorry and I am glad. And I do not 
 know whether it is for sorrow or for joy that I weep. I 
 think it is both.' 
 
 But the time that the marriage would take place had 
 not been settled. Richard, of course, wanted it without 
 delay; but the elders counseled delay for a week or two, 
 at least, and this was acquiesced in. 
 
 A few days following the above events, Dr. Gaston 
 came home to his dinner as usual, but seemed more than 
 ordinarily preoccupied. At the close of the meal, when 
 the servants had left the room, he said, abruptly : 
 
 'I have a confession to make to all, and I suppose if 
 I were not so hard-hearted, I would either laugh or cry 
 I know not which. I have received a letter announc 
 ing the fact that Dr. Vincent Gaston, of Rome, and his 
 daughter Beatrice were on the eve of departure from the 
 Holy City, bound for America Boston, in fact. 
 Beatrice is going to study medicine with me, as my wife. 
 I can't say whether I fell in love with her when I met 
 her in Rome, or she with me. Anyhow we have main 
 tained a correspondence since that time, and I have 
 written to her that my mother was fond of daughters-in- 
 law, and I guessed she would like her. So this is my 
 confession.' 
 
 'I can say this for your future wife, Tom, and I saw 
 more of her than you did: She is a good, sensible, lov 
 able woman, and would make a wife any man should be 
 proud of,' said Richard. 
 
 ' Thank you, Dick ; that is my estimate of her,' said 
 the doctor.
 
 258 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 'Well, Tom,' said his mother, 'you are the coolest 
 wooer I ever knew. But, Tom, does she know your 
 peculiar views on religion? I presume she's a Catholic?' 
 
 ' Nominally, yes like her father. In reality, how 
 ever, our views on religion substantially agree. Here is 
 a photograph of her; ' and the doctor showed them the 
 photograph of a beautiful young woman, with Italian 
 features, which was passed around and admired. 
 
 'I know you will like Dr. Gaston, father,' said the 
 doctor. ' He is enough like you to be your brother. 
 You can talk over family matters, and compare notes. 
 He told me that the Gaston family boasted of many dis 
 tinguished men, soldiers and prelates the church mili 
 tant and the church triumphant, I suppose. I wonder 
 which branch we belong to, the fighters or the prayers?' 
 
 ' I shall be most happy to meet Dr. Gaston,' said the 
 father. 'Does he speak English?' 
 
 'Yes, and so does Beatrice. Now,' pursued Tom, 
 'they ought to be here inside of two weeks; and I have 
 a proposition to make: It is that Richard and Agnes 
 postpone their wedding until the Gastons come, and we 
 can have a double wedding.' 
 
 'That is a good idea,' said Mrs. Gaston. 'Are you 
 agreed to it, my children ? ' she asked, turning to Richard 
 and Agnes. 
 
 'We are,' was the joint response. 
 
 ' But,' continued Mrs. Gaston, ' will not your intended 
 want to be married by a priest, Tom?' 
 
 'She will marry me as Agnes will marry Richard, 
 according to the civil law. I shall marry in no other 
 way.'
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 259 
 
 A visit from Brother Ignatius, S. J., to Richard 
 Gaston. 
 
 The Brother called one evening when Dr. Gaston was 
 in his office, and Richard with him. Richard welcomed 
 him, and introduced him to the doctor. The latter 
 suspected that, if the Brother learned later on of 
 Richard's intended marriage, he might endeavor to 
 shake his resolution regarding it. To forestall anything 
 of that kind, the doctor, after some general conversation, 
 said, abruptly: 
 
 ' By the way, Dick, you have not told Brother Ignatius 
 of your intended marriage.' 
 
 Richard was confused for a moment at this blun-t 
 suggestion; but he rallied quickly, and said: 
 
 ' When I met the Brother the other day, the matter 
 was not decided, and, until you mentioned it, I did not 
 give it a thought. Yes; I expect to marry soon. I am 
 not cut out for a priest, and I long for a domestic life?' 
 
 'What!' said Brother Ignatius; 'you do not mean to 
 tell me that you, a priest of the Holy Roman Catholic 
 Church, contemplate a violation of your vow of 
 chastity?' 
 
 'That is precisely what I do contemplate,' replied 
 Richard, smiling, having fully recovered his coolness. 
 
 'Well, I am astonished, sir. Do you know what the 
 canons of the church say in regard to such violation ? ' 
 asked Ignatius. 
 
 ' Pray tell us what they say,' broke in the doctor. 
 
 'As it happens,' said the Jesuit, 'I have them about 
 me. in Latin, but I can readily give you a translation of 
 the exact language; and I think you should know what a 
 risk you are about to take. The "canons of the Council
 
 260 IN FETTERS: 
 
 of Trent concerning orders," (canon 4) says: "Who 
 ever shall say * * * that he who has once been a priest 
 may again be a layman : let him be accursed." In the 
 " canons of the Council of Trent concerning marriage," 
 the 9th canon is as follows : "Whoever shall say that 
 the clergy constituted in sacred order or regulars, who 
 have solemnly professed chastity may contract marriage, 
 and that the contract is valid, notwithstanding ecclesias 
 tical law, or vow, and that to maintain the opposite is 
 nothing else than to condemn marriage, and that all can 
 contract marriage who do not think that they have the 
 gift of chastity, even though they have vowed it : let him 
 be accursed; as God does not deny this to those who seek 
 it aright, nor does He suffer us to be tempted above 
 what we are able to bear." 
 
 'This,' continued the Brother, in a severe and 
 impressive tone, 'is the canon law of the Catholic church. 
 Beware, young man, how you provoke the wrath of God 
 by incurring the censure of his church ! ' 
 
 Richard was pale and silent, with his eyes cast down ; 
 and his brother watched him anxiously, to see how he 
 would meet the prohibition of the church. At length 
 Richard looked up,% and when the doctor saw the settled 
 purpose in that look, and in his face, he drew a breath of 
 relief; for he wanted his brother to fight the battle on 
 his own resources. 
 
 Richard, in a calm voice, and in eloquent language, 
 gave the Brother a history of his life ; told him of the 
 impulse which drove him to study for the church ; his 
 hasty ordination, and later discovery of the fact that he 
 could obtain the woman of his choice in marriage. He 
 told of his sickness in consequence, and subsequent
 
 THE MAN OK THE PKIEST? 261 
 
 desertion of home and kindred in an endeavor to forget 
 the past, but without success. Finally he spoke of his 
 resolve to marry as the only solution he could find of the 
 misery he was suffering, which unfitted him for the 
 priesthood. 
 
 It was an eloquent and pathetic relation of a singu 
 larly perverted life during the past five years. The 
 Jesuit was a man, as well as a priest. He was visibly 
 affected by the narration ; but the zeal of his order, and 
 his habit of self-abnegation, stifled the man in him, and 
 he said: 
 
 ' While I deplore the circumstances which led you into 
 the priesthood, Father Gaston, I cannot see how you are 
 going to escape the consequences of the violation of your 
 vow of chastity. The church did not allure you to its 
 priesthood. You sought that of your own free will. 
 You cannot, in honor, recede, and the church will not 
 absolve you from your vow.' 
 
 ' Then,' said Richard, ' I will absolve myself.' 
 
 ' You mean,' said Brother Ignatius, ' that you will 
 violate your sacred obligation. Well, if you are so 
 determined, you will, of course, do it. The church will 
 not seek to trouble you, or interfere with you in any way, 
 but will leave it to God to deal with you.' 
 
 ' Then,' said Richard, ' I will look to God, who judges 
 the heart, and who will be more considerate to me than 
 the servants of His church seem inclined to be. I do 
 not fear the issue. I will seek to live as happily as I can 
 with the woman I love.' 
 
 ' I trust,' said the Brother, ' that your happiness here 
 may not entail misery hereafter.' 
 
 ' My good sir,' now spoke up the doctor, ' will you
 
 262 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 kindly tell me, in the first place, if you have any evidence 
 of a hereafter ; and, in the second place, what do you 
 know of it?' 
 
 'I will answer your questions, sir, briefly, and to the 
 point. I have evidence enough of a hereafter to satisfy 
 me ; and what I know of it is derived from the highest 
 authority on earth the Roman Catholic church.' 
 
 ' That is well answered,' returned the doctor, ' and an 
 answer of that kind might satisfy the general run of 
 believers in your church's infallibility ; but, in the light 
 of modern scientific thought, your answer is simply an 
 evasion of the question. Of course there is little else to 
 be expected from the priests of your church, or from 
 those of any of the churches who take the Bible for their 
 guide, but belief and assertion. If my brother thought 
 as I do about the matter, he would laugh at the illogical 
 idea of future punishment for present happiness.' 
 
 'Dr. Gaston,' said Brother Ignatius, 'you are an un 
 believer one of those who are wise in their own conceit. 
 I presume you deny even the immortality of the soul ? ' 
 
 ' I do, most emphatically. I also deny the inspira 
 tion of the Scriptures, and the infallibility of the Roman 
 Catholic church. And I do affirm that the supernatural 
 element of that religion and of all religions, in fact 
 is based on a fable ; and that it is sustained through the 
 superstition of the people, which arises from ignorance 
 of the laws and the phenomena of nature, which, in fact, 
 the priests themselves are ignorant of it is so much 
 easier for indolent minds to say that it is God's will, or 
 a dispensation of Providence, than to discover and define 
 the causes which lead to certain effects. The only true 
 basis of religion is the moral law, founded on the "golden
 
 THE MAN OR THE PKIEST? 263 
 
 rule," so called, which is much older than Christianity, 
 and will survive it. Now, sir, I may be, to your mind, 
 one of those who are wise in their own conceit ; but you 
 are, to my mind, one of those who are wise in their own 
 ignorance of the real things of this life. You are, no 
 doubt, honest enough in your way ; and a fine example of 
 the parable of the blind leading the blind. Then you 
 speak of your church not persecuting the backslider. It 
 is no doubt true. The lion of superstition, I am glad to 
 say, has had its claws drawn out by modern free thought 
 and its humane results, and it can now only roar to 
 frighten superstitious mankind. The time is fast coming, 
 too, I think, when, to use a Shakspearian phrase, it " will 
 roar you as gently as a sucking dove." I think, sir, we 
 have talked plainly to one another. My brother, though 
 still a believer in your church, has the courage to brave 
 its anathemas when he is satisfied he is in the right.' 
 
 'He may feel that way now,' remarked the Jesuit, with 
 a sneer, ' but the time may come ' - 
 
 ' Enough, sir ! ' interrupted Richard. ' I will not listen 
 to such conventional stuff. I thank you for calling on 
 me, and should you ever honor me with another visit, I 
 trust this subject will not be revived.' 
 
 The Brother now rose to take his leave. 'I will not,' 
 he said, ' trespass further on your time. I will not visit 
 you again, unless you specially request it. But I will 
 say this at parting : If you, Kichard Gaston, should ever 
 need my advice or assistance, I hold myself in readiness, 
 as in duty bound, to respond at any time to your call. 
 God be with you ! Good evening, doctor.' 
 
 When the Jesuit had departed, the doctor said : ' Dick, 
 perhaps I'm prejudiced, but I have a very strong feeling
 
 264 IN FETTERS: 
 
 against priests of all the orthodox denominations. To 
 my mind or feeling, I don't know which, there is some 
 thing crafty and mean about them all, with, perhaps, a 
 few exceptions, and I always feel, in dealing with them, 
 a desire to take them up by the slack of their breeches 
 and drop them out of a third story window.' 
 
 Richard laughed at this, and remarked that there were 
 noble men in the priesthood. 
 
 ' That may be,' said the doctor, ' but, to my mind, 
 ' " The trail of the serpent is over them all." ' 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ARRIVAL OF THE ROMAN GASTONS BEATRICE AS A FREE 
 THINKER MARRIAGE ACCORDING TO LAW. 
 
 The arrival of Dr. Vincent Gaston and his daughter 
 Beatrice was an event which, though it was expected, 
 created a flutter in the Gaston-Warden household. Miss 
 Gaston was a daughter of sunny Italy, with dark, lustrous 
 eyes, a wealth of raven black hair, a handsome face, with 
 much character in it; a rich glow on her cheeks; a large, 
 well-knit form, and magnificent bust. She looked and 
 walked like a queen. And why shouldn't she? Her 
 mother was of a noble Roman family, who could trace 
 their pedigree back to the time of the Cassars. But her 
 branch of the family was poor, like many of the older 
 Roman houses; but they were proud, and at first resented 
 her mother's marriage to an alien French doctor. This 
 lasted only for a short time, and the reconciliation was
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 265 
 
 hastened by the fact that the doctor was one of the 
 ablest men in his profession, especially in midwifery, in 
 which branch he was in great demand, and reaped a rich 
 harvest, so that at sixty-two years of age he was in good 
 circumstances. 
 
 Beatrice at once became a favorite with all the ladies, 
 and was especially liked by Agnes. The Roman doctor, 
 and Richard Gaston, senior, at once fraternized. It was 
 a curious fact that, while apart they greatly resembled 
 one another, when seen together that resemblance was 
 not so striking. However, they were soon warm friends, 
 and compared family pedigrees to such satisfactory 
 results that they became fully convinced of the existence 
 of a distant relationship between them. 
 
 Now that the Roman bride was arrived, preparations 
 for the double wedding were at once begun. 
 
 ' I wonder,' said Mrs. Gaston to Beatrice, that you 
 would choose such a positive fellow as my Tom for a 
 husband.' 
 
 'I like him,' said Beatrice, 'because he is strong and 
 positive. I detest these weak men whom a woman can 
 order about like a servant. If I had such a man for a 
 husband I would despise him and make a slave of him. 
 Man is by nature the aggressive element in humanity. 
 Woman though not the weaker, yet the more timid 
 element; because she is protected and provided for by 
 the man. If the man fall into the second place, the 
 woman assumes his functions, and hence becomes the 
 ruling element. To my mind such a condition is not 
 natural.' 
 
 'What do you think of Tom's peculiar ideas of 
 religion?' asked Agnes.
 
 266 IN FETTJiKS : 
 
 'I glory in them, they are so strong, so positive, and 
 so original with him/ 
 
 ' But are you not a Catholic ? ' asked Mrs. Gaston. 
 
 'O yes in name. It is simply a fashion with us in 
 Rome. We do not believe. It is only the pilgrims 
 who come to Rome who are believers. Native Catholics 
 are nearly all free thinkers; that is, all the educated 
 ones are.' 
 
 ' Then you do not believe in the infallibility of the 
 Pope and all that?' asked Agnes. 
 
 Beatrice laughed. 'Yes,' she said, ' we believe in it 
 in a material way. The Pope, as the head of the church, 
 is infallible in the matter of the church's business. As 
 to saving souls who can tell us of his success ? Who 
 knows if there are souls to save?' 
 
 ' Do you mean to gay that the Roman people generally 
 believe as you do ? ' asked Mrs. Warden. 
 
 <O yes; all the educated ones do. The ignorant are 
 still believers still have faith in the church, and think 
 the Pope infallible.' 
 
 'Are your educated people moral?' asked Mrs. Gaston. 
 
 'Yes, as the world goes. They are better livers, I 
 think, than the believing class. We look for scandal 
 and immorality in the church more than out of it.' 
 
 'To return to our boy,' said Mrs. Gaston. 'Why have 
 you chosen a doctor for a husband ? You know how 
 disturbed his time is. Tom is called up nearly every 
 night. I should not like such a husband as that.' 
 
 'My father is a doctor,' replied Beatrice, 'and what 
 my mother could put up with I think I can, especially 
 where love is in the case.' 
 
 ' Then you do love Tom,' said Mrs. Gaston.
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 267 
 
 ' I adore him,' said Beatrice. ' He is my beau ideal of 
 a man. He is outspoken, truthful, honest, courageous, 
 and gentle, as such men always are. When he says a 
 thing I know he means it. He is no diplomate, who tries 
 to conceal what he means in ambiguous phrases, but 
 rather tries to express himself in language that makes his 
 meaning plain.' 
 
 'He says he will not be married'by a priest or church 
 man,' said the mother. ' How .do you like that?' 
 
 ' That suits me. If we are married according to 
 human law, it is to my mind fully sufficient. I am tired 
 of the pomp, ceremony, and I may say the hollo wn ess of 
 church marriages. It often seems to me, like a sacrifice 
 offered on the old Pagan altars, when virgins were 
 immolated to appease the supposed wrath of some suppo- 
 sitious God. I want none of these church ceremonies. 
 My marriage to my husband is altogether in the .way of a 
 mutual agreement, and concerns us principally. All we 
 care for is the sanction of the civil law. That is simple, 
 and it is enough.' 
 
 Agnes heard this brave declaration with pleasure, and 
 it had a wonderfully enlivening effect on her mind. ' I am 
 glad to hear you talk so sensibly,' she said. 
 
 ' Well, sister,' returned Beatrice, ' I trust that we may 
 be able to illustrate in our lives and experience that 
 church rites are not necessary to human happiness.' 
 
 'You talk just like Tom,' remarked Mrs. Gaston. 
 
 'That is the way I like to talk,' was the reply. 
 ****** 
 
 The marriage of the brothers Gaston took place one 
 Friday evening, in the latter part of February, 1855, in 
 the parlor of the West End mansion. No one but the
 
 2b8 IN FETTEKS: 
 
 members of the family, two of Dr. Gaston's intimate 
 associates in the Medical College, and the justice of the 
 peace, were present. Neither brides nor grooms were 
 apparently dressed* for the occasion, the brides being 
 plainly attired, with roses and lilies in their hair. 
 
 To the mothers Mrs. Gaston and Mrs. Warden it 
 was a strange and curious scene, as compared with their 
 own well-remembered weddings; but they did not 
 express any disappointment, but wept in a quiet way 
 a kind of mutual condolence as well as mutual sympathy. 
 
 People, as a rule, are naturally conservative. They do 
 not like new things. No matter how extravagant or how 
 grotesque a thing may be, if it has been done before, and 
 is familiar has become the fashion it is accepted 
 without question as being all right. But any innovation 
 any new thing no matter what its merits may be, is 
 regarded with suspicion and even hostility. Why? A 
 horse traveling along the road will be frightened by the 
 movement of a piece of paper which is propelled by the 
 force of the wind. For what reason is he frightened? 
 Simply because he does not understand why a thing like 
 that should have life or movement, not because things 
 have not such attributes, but because he did know that 
 the movement was produced by a simple current of air. 
 
 The justice of the peace was one of those old-time 
 men who were brim-full of philosophy and good, old- 
 fashioned human nature. He did not know the circum 
 stances which induced the parties before him to choose 
 this form of ceremony; but he knew there must be some 
 good reason for it. He therefore thought fit to say: 
 
 'My friends, you have called for my services to 
 perform the marriage ceremony according to the civil
 
 THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 269 
 
 law. This is as sacred and as binding as if performed 
 by the highest ecclesiastical authority, for it is done 
 under the sanction of the great and glorious old state of 
 Massachusetts. 
 
 'Now, join hands. You, Richard Gaston, agree to 
 take this woman for your lawful wedded wife? ' 
 
 'I do,' was the response. 
 
 'And you Agnes Warden, agree to take this man as 
 your husband?' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' Then, by the virtue of the power conferred on me 
 by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, I pronounce you 
 man and wife.' 
 
 The same questions and similar responses were asked 
 and given in the case of Thomas and Beatrice Gaston, 
 and the ceremony was ended. 
 
 That was all there was to it. The thing was simple, 
 direct, and to the point, and was good in law. To the 
 contracting parties it was an engagement for life. To 
 the justice, it was a generous fee of ten dollars. 
 
 There was a supper, of course, and wine among other 
 things. Dr. Vincent Gaston and Richard Gaston, senior, 
 drank wine and made merry, but neither the grooms nor 
 their brides would drink any. 
 
 This was the simple marriage of the brothers Gaston, 
 just what the plain taste of the elder liked, however much 
 a different ceremony might have been preferred by the 
 mothers. 
 
 Before separation that evening the elder Gaston said 
 to his children : 
 
 ' My dear children, I have only this to say to you: In 
 your voyage of life be true to one another. Bear with
 
 270 IN FETTERS: 
 
 one another's peculiarities and oddities we all have 
 them. Above all, understand one another, and be not 
 over-exacting in your mutual intercourse. I am satisfied 
 that you love one another. Never let love degenerate 
 into jealousy, which is a mean thing, for it implies sus 
 picion of honest good faith. No true man or woman will 
 ever prove unfaithful to a good friend how much less 
 to a bosom companion, a partner and friend for life. I 
 hope, my dear children, that your lives may be happy, 
 and that you may live long to be useful in the world.' 
 
 Said Dr. Vincent Gaston: 'My dear young friends 
 and children, you will understand how much I regard 
 my daughter's happiness when, at my age, I have come 
 on so long a journey and at such an inclement season 
 to see her well and properly settled. I will say that 
 I am repaid this night to see her the wife of the man of 
 her choice not an unworthy one, I am convinced. I 
 have nothing to add to what my kinsman has said, 
 except to impress on you the necessity of courage and 
 forbearance in all the trials and vexations of life. Be 
 true to yourselves and to one another, and the problem 
 of life presents but few difficulties which cannot be 
 cheerfully and successfully encountered. May you be 
 happy, is my best and only desire.' 
 
 Thus ends the romance of four young people, now 
 entered into a partnership to continue the business of the 
 world. They have not started out with any flourish of 
 fashion's trumpets, but in a quiet and modest way, with 
 the determination of making the most and the best of 
 life. It was a proper and noble ambition of true and 
 earnest people. Shall we not wish them success ?
 
 THE MAN OK THE PRIEST? 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THIRTY-FIVE YEARS LATER EPITOME OF HAPPY LIVES. 
 
 My last chapter practically rounded out my story; but, 
 as this is an unconventional novel, I shall take the reader 
 into the households of the Gaston brothers in the year 
 1890, just thirty-five years after their marriage. 
 
 Richard Gaston, senior, and his wife had passed away 
 peacefully some fifteen years before. Mrs. Warden 
 survived them nearly five years. Both ladies died, as 
 they had lived, devout Catholics. 
 
 The brothers Gaston and their good wives had been 
 blessed with children. Richard was the father of five 
 healthy children three sons and two daughters long 
 since grown to manhood and womanhood, and all were 
 married. Dr. Thomas Gaston's Roman wife was the 
 mother of six children, all healthy and hearty three 
 sons and three daughters two of the sons and the three 
 daughters having been married early in life. 
 
 The comely wives of these brothers began some ten 
 years before to count their grand-children, and the 
 prospect is that the number will increase as the years go 
 on, and the Gaston tribe will not lack representatives in 
 the coming generations. 
 
 Thomas Gaston, a hale and young-looking man for 
 sixty-five, still continued in active practice, in Boston, 
 though his youngest son, Dr. Thomas Gaston, jr., 
 relieved him to the extent of answering unseasonable 
 professional calls. 
 
 Richard Gaston had prospered in business, at first in
 
 272 IN FETTERS: THE MAN OR THE PRIEST? 
 
 Boston, but in 1875 had moved to one of the Rocky 
 Mountain States, where he started in the business of 
 miners' supplies. He had been far-seeing enough to 
 invest in the city real estate, and this, together with his 
 mining interests, had made him a millionaire. 
 
 The married life of the Gaston brothers had been a 
 happy and prosperous one. No domestic cloud had 
 dimmed their day of life. Their children, who had been 
 carefully reared and nurtured, and taught the valuable 
 lesson of self-dependence, were their pride and comfort. 
 
 Neither Agnes nor Beatrice ever went to church. 
 Neither did the brothers. They lived the problem of 
 what they both believed to be true religion in their 
 homes and in their intercourse with the world, and both 
 were highly respected by all who knew them. 
 
 The children of these good people had been brought 
 up without the aid of church or Sunday school, and 
 taught that true piety consisted in upright conduct and 
 in the strict observance of the golden rule. 
 
 They had all received a good education, and were, by 
 temperament, culture, and habit, fitted to be the best 
 kind of citizens for a republic in which personal worth 
 should count for everything. 
 
 It may be added that Dr. Gaston had not, up to three 
 years ago, found his ideal church. He was still as 
 radical as ever in matters of religion. 
 
 He still sighed for his ' church of the future,' as he 
 was wont to call his pet conception, but it is doubtful if 
 he will realize it in his lifetime. He, however, enjoyed 
 the consolation of a feeling of personal freedom and self- 
 ownership, which, it is safe to predict, he will retain to 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-40m-7,'56(C790s4)444
 
 2196 
 _K63i 
 
 In fetters 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 PS 
 
 2196 
 
 K63i