Skip to main content

Full text of "The life and writings of the Right Reverend John Bernard Delany, D.D., second bishop of Manchester, N.H"

See other formats


^ THE 1 



anil Uritwga nf 

Ur i^C^_ 



IStglft 2UorrtJi 

n Umrarfc le latuj, I. 



(S. 01. I. 






All rights reserved. 

tn ite memnrg nf 



xaha riteil 
15, 1911 


Censor Librorum 


Archbishop of Boston. 

Htfr att& UrttmgB of 


Sii?hu;t of 


The Life and Writings of Bishop Delany have been 
published at the urgent request of his many friends among 
the clergy and laity. No attempt has been made at a 
formal biography. The memoir has been compiled from 
various sources', from the Bishop 's diaries, his home letters, 
from some of his editorials and public speeches, and from 
articles printed fi om time to time during his priestly and 
episcopal career. As much as possible his own words have 
been used, for they better than any others disclose the domi- 
nant idea of his life, and the principle that guided him at 
all times. Several events have been related by his intimate 
friends, and by those who labored with him in his sacred 
ministry. To these, and to all who have in any way assisted 
the present publication, sincere and heartfelt thanks are 

A special acknowledgment of gratitude is made to 
The Most Reverend Patrick Delany, D. D., Archbishop 
of Hobatt, Tasmania; 

The Most Reverend William H. O^Connell, D. D., Arch- 
bishop of Boston, Mass. ; and to 

The Right Reverend Joseph G. Anderson, D. D., Auxil- 
iary Bishop of Boston, Mass. 


A man often unconsciously reveals his soul when he sets 
a value, zvhether it be upon a painting, an accomplishment, a 
house, or even length of days. None of these things has an 
absolute fixed valuation. It depends upon how one likes 

Old age sheltered by the fire-side, the silvery locks, the 
calm dimmed eye, the resigned features; all these have for 
some a great fascination. They look upon a long life and a 
serene old age as a beautiful possession which they hope one 
day to be theirs. To them it is a treasure which must be 
obtained by dint of saving. So they save their energy, their 
emotion, their effort, their enthusiasm, for all of these zvear 
out the slender thread of vitality. They become parsimo- 
nious of their forces so, that they may last longer. And some 
have become atrophied of mind and heart long before 
nature's hour, simply that they may live long. They cease 
to do everything but live. To them that is enough. Their 
ambition is satisfied. They are proud, not of what they 
might have accomplished, but of being alive. 

That is one point of view. And, in a certain sense, to 
cheat nature of twenty years is something of an achievement 
not to be disdained. But there is another standard, as there 
alzvays is for most things. 

To many the picture of life at eighty or ninety is far 
from fascinating; indeed, it is looked upon with something 
akin to horror. To such, old age is not all silvery locks and 
calm eyes. It is sadly helpless, pathetically dependent, tire- 
fully reminiscent and dreadfully lonely. 

"Give me calm and longevity," cries one. "Give me an 
active and full life," says the other, "and when my working 
day is done, let me go zvhere I can begin eternal youth." 

Which is right? Whatever the academic answer may 
be, happily we cannot practically settle it. We shall, all of 
us, either zvork or zvait as God wills. But certainly there is 
something splendid and heroic in the sudden taking-off of a 

valiant soldier with his armor on, in the midst of the fight. 
And when the fight is for God and when the soldier dies on 
the field, what laurel wreath is green and beautiful enough 
to lay upon his bier? 

What my beloved friend, the sweet record of whose 
noble life is written here, thought upon the subject of old age 
I know not. But 1 do know that when he fell in the thick of 
the fight for Holy Church, he smiled. He was too young 
not to feel the human pathos of a death so early, so unlocked 
for. But he loved and trusted his King too completely to 
even ask Him why. 

He worked all his life as he had seen men ivork in the 
busy city where his youth sped by. There in the early morn 
the bell sounded to labor and again at night to rest. His 
brain was too active, his mind too vigorous, his heart too 
happy to ever know ivhat idleness meant. 

As a student he still studied when his task was finished. 
As a priest he still found or invented other duties when 
those allotted him were completed. As a Bishop he planned 
new labors when the end came. 

Would the calm, the inactivity, the inertia of age have 
ever attracted him? God knew best, and has forever silenced 
all questioning. He zvas a laborer in the Vineyard and he 
died laboring. Others will reap what he has sown. But the 
best seed he ever sowed zvas love of joyful work in the cause 
of, God and His Church. 

H. 'fltaniwTI, 

rjclrbtstT0p of Boston. 

In the life of any personage of note written for publi- 
cation, the reader naturally looks for the narration of the 
extraordinary incidents and events that made such a life so 
important as to be considered zvorthy of presentation before 
the public. 

Measured by this standard there is little in the life of 
Bishop Delany that could merit the mark of greatness. And 
yet, the lives of many who have passed this critical test are 
oftentimes wanting in those sweet, simple traits of character 
that appeal to the human heart or are gifted with such 
superior talents as to place them far removed from the every 
day life about them. When, however, they are found to be 
in sympathetic touch with and living our own simple ex- 
istence, their lives then appeal to us more forcibly than all 
their greatness of intellect or heroic deeds. Such a life is 
that of Bishop Delany, beautiful for its simplicity, loving 
for its gentleness of character, and inspiring for its noble- 
ness of mind, generosity of heart and earnestness of faith 
and seal. 

Though all too brief was his career as Bishop there 
^vere evidences of saintly seal and splendid talents, which, 
had he been spared, would have added lustre and glory to 
the Diocese of Manchester, which he ruled and God's church 
in New England, as judged by his few years' labor and by 
the apostolic seal and noble character of his whole priestly 
life. As an old class-mate and life-long friend, I pay this 
tribute of love for his many noble traits of character and for 
his genuine, sincere, and zealous devotion to God and the 
Church. May his life prove an inspiration to all who read 
it as his memory will always be to those who knew and 
loved him. 

^ firaeph <&. Jkndersmt, 

of Boston. 

Feast of All Saints, 1910. 








POEMS 430 


THE genealogy of the Delany family reads so like 
a page from Irish history that a few of its items 
cannot but be of interest in the biography of him 
who was always proud to trace his happy heritage of 
faith to the land of his parents' birth. Although 
Bryan and Thomas Delany, the grandfather and 
father of Bishop Delany were born in the County Gal- 
way, Ireland, their ancestors for centuries before had 
settled in the County Kilkenny, where they owned 
broad acres of land and "bent the knee to no human 
lord." The family history relates that they "were 
possessed of considerable substance, and pronouncedly 
different in character from the prevailing type of the 
neighborhood. The mental and physical difference 
was very obvious. The men were rather large and 
fair-haired; the women also. They seemed to have 
a lingering consciousness of some kind of gentility, 
marking them off from the families amongst whom 
they dwelt, and into which they intermarried. 

"About the middle of the eighteenth century the 
principal branches of the family tree took growth in 
the County Galway, a mile or two on the farther 
side of Ballinamore, and here in the West the second 
generation brought the pride and prestige of the 
Delanys to the highest point of collective distinction. 
It was the age of sensitive honor in Ireland. 


"Bryan Delany, the Bishop's grandfather, was a 
man of conspicuous personality, proud indeed of the 
untarnished honor of his family. He was in every 
way a typical Delany. * * * * As new genera- 
tions came on and the pride of the name thinned out 
with the inevitable deterioration, it saddened him to 
see the change, and he strove to fix the minds of the 
children about him on the fine old traditions of the 
family. He loved to enumerate the many names of 
his own and their kindred who had given their lives 
to the service of God in all periods of the Church's 
history, both men and women, in the Isle of Saints, 
as also in foreign lands, and his clear retentive mem- 
ory could recall and recount their lives and labors 
with wonderful interest and accuracy." 

Of the ten children born to Bryan and Mary Delany 
Thomas, the father of Bishop Delany, was the eldest, 
and like his paternal sire, was possessed of a strong, 
upright character, ennobled by family traditions. In 
1857 he left the land of his birth and came to Amer- 
ica. He settled in Lowell, Massachusetts, and though 
young in years, he started in the tailoring business, 
which he carried on with success up to the date of 
his death. As a citizen of Lowell he was highly re- 
spected for his clear and conservative views in all 
things relating to the city's welfare. He was a great 
temperance advocate, and for over a quarter of a 
century held the position of president of St. Patrick's 
Temperance Society, while all his life he was identi- 
fied with St. Patrick's Church. For years he was 
known as the oldest tailor of Lowell. He was one of 
the most highly esteemed residents of the city, a 
faithful and fervent Catholic, a man who won success 
by the strictest adherence to the calls of duty by an 


energy which overcame all obstacles and an integrity 
which gave him a reputation for the strictest hon- 
esty and surest reliability. 

His marriage to Catherine Fox took place shortly 
after his coming to America, and their union was 
blessed by nine children. Husband and wife were 
possessed of the rich inheritance of the most beauti- 
ful of Christian virtues which were reflected in their 
home, as in their lives, and brightened and blessed 
everything around them. 

Catherine Fox Delany, the Bishop's mother, was 
one of those valiant Christian women who are such 
only because initiated from their youth in the prac- 
tice of all virtues. She was a native of the beautiful 
little town of Ballatrain, in the County Monaghan, 
and came of equally sturdy stock as her husband, 
and of ancestors very remarkable for their longevity. 
Her calm gentleness and firmness, the symmetry of 
her character, her tender and solid piety were the 
happiness of her husband and the admiration of all 
who approached her. She lavished on her children a 
mother's most devoted tenderness. She was the soul 
of every good work of piety and beneficence in her 
neighborhood. Hers was a life unmarred by selfish- 
ness, by worldiness, by uncharitableness a life whose 
wellsprings were deeply sweet and pure that of a per- 
fect Christian. Her faith was strong in God, and her 
love for Him limitless, yet her faith and love centred 
not in Him alone, but went out to His creatures, near 
and distant. Hers was a life where deep Christian 
principles of charity and good-will combined with the 
sweetest native kindliness of spirit to make her very 
presence a harbinger of serenity, forgiveness, and 
love. She never harbored an unkind thought, being 


incapable of it, and as she loved all those who came 
to her, every one loved her. Her house was always 
a haven to young- people to whom her motherly love 
was a benediction. 

To the needy she gave not only of this benign and 
cheering 1 influence of her gracious spirit, but she was 
always ready with hand and purse to aid them as 
much as was in her power. Only the day before 
her death she went to see a sick woman for whom 
she had tried to make, as she said, "a little Christmas 
cheer," to try to have her forget her affliction. More 
eloquently, perhaps, than all words could tell, the 
deep reverence that her noble and distinguished son 
bore his mother, the gratitude he always showed for 
the true Christian principles she had inculcated in 
his mind and heart told her rare moral worth. When 
the bishop was consecrated he paid her the sweetest 
tribute that ever was paid a mother, the acknow- 
ledgment that he was her moral handiwork. "All 
that I am," he said from the steps of the sanctuary 
where he had just been crowned with the mitre, "I 
owe to the home influences which surrounded my 
youth." And descending the steps, he came to his 
mother, kissed her, thanked her, and gave her his first 
Episcopal blessing. 

"Like mother, like son," is an old saying, never 
more fully exemplified than in these two beautiful and 
fruitful lives, where the piety, the charity, humility 
and perseverance of the mother became intensified and 
multiplied tenfold in the character of her loving and 
devoted son. 



JOHN Bernard Delany was born on Aug. 9, 1864, in 
Lowell, Massachusetts. He was baptized on the same 
day in St. Patrick's Church, for it was an established 
custom in the family that as soon as possible after 
the birth of a child it should receive the waters of 
regeneration. He was solemnly consecrated to the 
Blessed Virgin on September 8, 1864, when he was 
just one month old. The ceremony of consecrating 
children to the Queen of Heaven was for many years 
a public one in St. Patrick's. Was not that consecra- 
tion in some way a presage of his Episcopal conse- 
cration that took place forty years afterwards on this 
same feast of our Lady's Nativity? He loved this 
special feast of our Blessed Mother, and he chose it in 
preference to all others, because of his devotion and 
reverence for the Mother of God. It was in his own 
mother's arms he first heard her sweet name, and 
that of her Divine Son; it was at her knee he lisped 
his first infant prayer; it was with her hand he first 
signed himself with the sign of Redemption; it was 
to her heart he always brought his childhood's joys 
and sorrows, and to it his own tender heart was 
inseparably united from his earliest days to the last 
sad solemn hour when his dying eyes looked in love 
upon her, and his failing voice said, "Don't cry, 
mother dear, I shall tell God all about you." 


When night after night the children gathered 
around the fireside for prayer and petition to God, 
surely the blessings of Heaven descended upon the 
family circle, and made it what it was indeed, a 
sanctuary of piety, hospitality and peace. 

John was a quiet, thoughtful boy with a heart as 
tender and affectionate as a girl's. His mother often 
related examples that plainly illustrated his delicate 
feelings. Mrs. Delany loved and admired everything 
that was true and good and beautiful, and she taught 
her children to see in nature the works of the Crea- 
tor, and to "look through nature up to nature's 
God." She encouraged the children to learn and re- 
cite passages from Scripture and little poems that 
served for pleasure and pastime during the hours of 
recreation at home. One of the children especially 
loved the familiar lines called "A Child's First Grief," 
and often recited them aloud to her indulgent listeners. 
The pathos expressed in these verses touched John 
so deeply that whenever his little sister began to re- 
cite them, he stole quietly from the room to hide the 
emotion they aroused in his tender, sympathetic heart. 
This act of his was noticed and commented upon by 
the others and John tried hard to conceal his feelings, 
but whenever an occasion presented itself for the 
recitation of the children's poems, John would look 
beseechingly at his little sister, and whisper "Don't 
say the sad piece, will you?" 

Still, even with his sensitive nature, he was a manly 
little fellow, so thoughtful and considerate of others 
that be was not only a favorite at home but he was 
greatly loved and admired by his companions. His 
docility and obedience were remarkable. His parents 
often said that they never knew him to hesitate for 


an instant in the fulfilment of any of their wishes, 
and oftentimes their unspoken desires were executed 
by him even before they were expressed in words. 

At the time of his death one of his teachers of the 
primary school wrote thus of him: "I remember 
Johnnie as a lad of more than the averag-e in scholar- 
ship, of much beauty of face; of a sunny, yes, of a 
merry disposition; entering- into the fun of life with a 
zest; yet ever courteous and gentle in his bearing; 
never condescending 1 to anything low or mean in act 
or conversation with a nature like his such thing's 
were impossible. John could not tolerate any act of 
injustice toward a fellow pupil; his great-heartedness 
prompted the quick defence of one whom he thought 
abused. As the years passed and new scenes and 
new duties came to us both, we lost each other. 

"When I heard that he was to be made Bishop I 
remembered so well the fine manly boy whom I had 
taught during 1 his first years at school, and I wrote 
to him my delight at the honor given him. In spite 
of the multitude of duties crowding round him he 
replied, sending me a note of joy that I had written 
him. From time to time, I have heard from him, 
and of his work so faithfully done. When the news 
of his death came, I sorrowed with you. I never 
think of him as 'Johnnie Delany' as his school mates 
of the old days called him, but as John, 'the gift of 
God,' the loving disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, 
the nearest and dearest to our Lord. 

"My sympathy for you in your loss is very great. 
The memory of the boy will be with me always. As 
the mother is, so is the boy; as the boy, so is the 
man; so is the strong 1 spirit translated from glory to 


"We do not know, we cannot see why he must go 
from what seems such a noble work here, but the 
Father has taken him to a larger life, and to the com- 
panionship of the blessed, even such as the beloved 
disciple whose name he bore." 

His boyhood days and years went by happily, holily 
and usefully. The seed was being 1 sown by skilful 
hands in his heart and mind, and it was taking- deep 
and noiseless root. All the sweet promises of the 
bright, pious, cheerful boy; the gentle, loving-, and 
docile son; the tender, manly, and g-enerous youth 
were realized in the rich fruits of maturer years. 

From the grammar and high schools of his native 
city John passed to further study at Holy Cross Col- 
lege, Worcester, where he remained for two years. 
He then entered Boston College from which institu- 
tion he was graduated in the class of '87. 

Speaking of his college days, one of his most inti- 
mate friends and classmates says: "The wholesome 
spirit of rivalry, naturally found to exist between two 
sister colleges, was not wanting between Holy Cross 
and Boston College in those days of our student life, 
even as they doubtless exist today. The boys coming 
from Holy Cross College within our borders were the 
cynosure of all eyes, and perhaps, for a time, became 
the unconscious victims of suspicion until the class 
passed favorable judgment upon their loyalty. When 
John came to our class in Boston College there was a 
singular departure from the ordinary manner of receiv- 
ing a new-comer. There was no chip on the shoulder; 
there was no gauntlet throw-down, for his free and 
open manliness straightway disarmed all prejudice and 
antagonism. His charming and attractive fellowship, 
more eloquent than the spoken word, seemed to say, 


'Now I have come to cast my lot with yours, not that 
I love H. C. C. the less, but you, B. C., the more' 
this it was that made him one of us from the first. 

"His very name, John B. I/. Delany, had in it a 
peculiar attraction in those days. The curious, see- 
ing him often thus sign himself, would ask the mean- 
ing of J. B. L. With a merry twinkle in his eye he 
would answer that he was the John Boston and Lowell 
Delany to distinguish him from all others. In conse- 
quence, among his intimates, he was frequently called 
John Boston and Lowell Delany. 

"A little alcove, of the old Boston Public Library 
was a favorite spot where he and others liked to 
gather after class each day to prepare the classics, 
or to absorb Father Russo's deep philosophy. From 
such frequent gatherings it became known as the B. 
C. corner and was considered a hallowed spot, where 
many a day and many a year success and failure 
were spoken of as among brothers with congratula- 
tions for the one, cheering words of hope for the 
other, and John B. Delany was the prince of the 

"The class of '87 was in many ways a musical one 
and it needed a piano player. Such a one, and, by 
the way, the only one, was found in John Delany. 
To his talents and patience and leadership was due 
the success of creating the best class chorus in those 
days. The musical program of our class reunions 
and festivities was the feature of undergraduates and 
seniors to emulate us. As such it seemed to draw 
the bonds of fellowship more closely among the mem- 
bers of the class, and was in no small measure re- 
sponsible for the continuance of class reunions and 
college spirit through succeeding years. 


"Beneath that quiet dignity, which was not by any 
means the least attractive charm in John Delany, 
there was ever found a deep and keen sense of humor. 
His laugh was infectious in its wholesomeness and 
genuineness. It showed how many sided was his 
beautiful life. It was the custom of the students 
coming into Boston by train each day at the North 
End of the city, to meet and walk to the college. 
In the party was a student of mammoth proportions 
and another as conspicuously diminutive. A dispute 
arose between the two one morning as we were on 
our way. The argument of words seemed to be in- 
effectual in settling the question; forthwith the two 
agreed to have it out in physical encounter later in 
the day, and the matter dropped for the time. The 
future bishop of Manchester, who was one of the 
number that day, casually began to relate the fable 
of the Ant and the Elephant. He elaborated it so 
well, gave such human shape to the ant and the ele- 
phant, marking the presumption of one and the bully- 
ing of the other, showed how ridiculously funny as 
well as unwise was the spectacle of such an encoun- 
ter, that all saw the application, with the result that 
the giant and pigmy made up, shook hands, and were 
fast friends ever after. 

"There may have been deeper thinkers and more 
profound writers in the class than John Delany, some 
reaching higher flights of imagery, others with occa- 
sional flashes of genius, but none more facile, none 
more luminous. The Dawn^ a paper established by 
the class and for a time issued every month, had in 
him an editor of great ability. Out of the success 
which came to us from that little class paper grew 
the desire among the faculty and student body of 


creating 1 a college paper, so was it the Boston College 
Stylus came to light. He was among 1 its first con- 
tributors. Scarcely any issue appeared without some- 
thing eminently good from his pen, and how proud 
we were to see him in due time becoming its editor- 

"The evening before his visit to the bishop of 
Manchester to offer himself for adoption, he said to 
me in my own home, 'Come with me to Manchester.' 
Had not my adoption already been determined with 
the Archbishop of Boston, I fear I would not have 
been found of such heroic and apostolic calibre as he 
was to break the strong 1 and sacred ties that bound 
him to kindred and associates. Wondrously strange 
are the ways of Divine Providence." 

The following 1 verses were written by the young 1 
collegian about this time: 


God of my waking 1 hour, 
Give me Thy marriage dower. 

Thy kindly ray. 
Light of the Heavenly Dove, 
Bond of a lasting love, 

Show me Thy way. 

E'en through the darkest night 
Thy hand cans't guide aright, 

If we obey ; 

My soul is dark within, 
Chase thou the clouds of sin. 

Show me Thy way. 


Free from Thy lasting wrath 
Keep these feet in Thy path, 

Never to stray. 
Guard me in deadly fight, 
Gird me with cause of right, 

Show me Thy wr.y. 

I will obey Thy will 
Though most unworthy still, 

Lighten my day. 
Lojd, I yield all to Thee, 
Do what Thou wilt with me, 

Show me Thy way. 

That the young 1 man was manifesting 1 even in those 
youthful years, the attributes of a leader of men, is 
evident from the beautiful tribute paid his memory 
by one of his teachers, Father Colgan, S. J., then 
a professor in Boston College. 

"It was my privilege," he says, "to be his pro- 
fessor in his freshman and sophomore years. It was 
then I learned to know, love, and respect the youth 
for his sterling 1 qualities of mind and heart. No place, 
perhaps, is more favorable for studying the future 
man than the arena of college life. The hidden and 
inner qualities of the youth gradually unfold them- 
selves to the careful eye of the observing- teacher, 
who can then study the calibre of the boy, 'father of 
the man' to be. Young- Delany was a boy of stead- 
fast purpose. You always knew where he stood, and 
he always stood on the side of truth and justice and 

"He was interested in what concerned the unity 
and general well-being of his class; and his influence, 
though quiet and unobtrusive, was potent in promot- 
ing and maintaining the esprit de corps which still 
exists in the class of '87. 


"'John B.,' as his classmates were wont to desig- 
nate him, was an earnest student, gifted with a fine 
literary taste, and having a full appreciation of the 
efforts of his masters to develop what was best in 
the students through the medium of Greek and Roman 
models, which were assigned for study in those years. 
This reverence for his masters, a trait not always 
characteristic of talent, was with him a mental habit, 
and to it was due in no small degree the continual prog- 
ress he made in the assimilation of classic thought. 
In manner, he was gentle and equable, not subject to 
moods; he held his impulses under wise control, but 
was social and sympathetic withal. 

"Quiet as he was, he had a quick sense of humor, 
which he exercised on several occasions for the enter- 
tainment of the class. One such instance I particu- 
larly recall. It fell to John's lot in his sophomore 
year to record in the class diary the events of a mid- 
year examination day in sight reading from Greek 
authors. The lad who had acquired facility in English 
versification, ventured to immortalize the heroes of 
the occasion including the examiner in a three-act 
tragedy in English verse, which would compare favor- 
ably with Saxe's parody on Ovid's 'Regia Solis.' The 
production, which was read in class the next day by 
the author, was a literary treat, sparkling with bril- 
liant flashes of wit and replete with fine satire. 

"John never lost his balance when things in school 
world went wrong. Ulysses-like he encountered the 
unrestrained Ajax who was bent on fomenting trouble 
in class circles. Even now I can hear him using his 
favorite expression to some mate who thought he had 
a grievance: 'Bosh! it isn't worth troubling yourself 
about!' Thus, with a word and a wave of his hand 


he cleared away whatever seemed to threaten disaster 
to unity and rest. He was a boy of simple, unaf- 
fected piety, and as I look back now on those youth- 
ful faces upturned to mine at morning lecture, I 
single out Delany by his quiet, attentive manner and 
his thoughtful eye, which expressed a depth of soul 
that must reveal itself in the future in mastering the 
larger problems of life. In the light of those days, 
too, when he neither suffered himself to be over- 
elated by success nor discouraged by apparent failure, 
I can solve what to many was a mystery unexplain- 
able, namely, the ease and composure with which be 
bore his high honors as Chief of the diocese of Man- 
chester, to which dignity he was called so early in 
his priestly life. 

"The class of '87 has lost its best. Crowley, Curtis 
Ford, Kelly, Quirk these went before and bade him 
welcome, we may be sure, to that reunion which it 
is our cherished hope that we, who remain, may one 
day meet all those college-day friends and brothers 
in our real Alma Mater." 

From his earliest years the boy had been bent on 
being a priest, but so carefully had he guarded his 
secret that when, after his graduation, he announced 
his purpose to family and friends, he was surprised 
to find them not at all astonished. Long after his 
ordination, one of his teachers, a Protestant, told him 
that she had always thought he belonged to God. 
Fond as he was of society and friends, of all the 
clean sports that manly youth enjoys, there was yet 
about him a certain modesty of demeanor, a reserve 
of manner, a seriousness of purpose that marked him 
as one of God's own. 

A few weeks after his graduation, accompanied by 


Edward Quirk, his classmate and lifelong friend, he 
called on Bishop Bradley at Manchester and asked 
for adoption to his diocese. This was the first meet- 
ing of the two who were later to be so closely united 
in heart and mind, who were to work in such happy 
union, and over whom God had so many special and 
sacred designs. In later years Bishop Delany used to 
tell of the feelings that took possession of him as he 
told his saintly predecessor his intentions and made 
his request. With all the warmth of a father's love, 
with all the depth of a shepherd's tenderness, Bishop 
Bradley welcomed the candidate and from that mo- 
ment took him to his heart as his favored child. 
He urged him to go Paris to make his ecclesiastical 
studies, and accordingly in September, 1887, he left 
for the Seminary of St. Sulpice, that famous institu- 
tion wherein hundreds of eminent ecclesiastics and at 
least two canonized saints have been trained to theo- 
logical virtue. 

For some idea of the trip crossing the Atlantic, 
while his heart and soul were all aglow with the 
desire and prospect of giving himself wholly to the 
service of God, we quote from a hastily written jour- 
nal kept by him during his days at sea: 



LA BOURGOYNE, Sept. 21, 1887. 

Dear Father and Mother and All at Home: 

Although two thousand miles at sea, no land nor 
sign of life beneath the dome of sky, my thoughts 
turn ever backwards to the one dear little nook on 
earth as the magnetic needle does to the polar star. 
Knowing-, too, your thoughts are of me, you will be 
interested, I am sure, in a little account of what has 
transpired since we parted. 

On our arrival at Fall River we met Mr. Q and 

with him, much to our surprise, was a young priest, 

Father S , who is bound for Paris to enter the 

Sulpician order. The trip to New York was very 
pleasant, the music delightful, the accommodations 
first class, and the weather all that could be desired. 
We arose early in the morning to see the beautiful 
sights of New York harbor, and were well repaid 
for the loss of a few hours' sleep. Our baggage at- 
tended to, we spent a few hours sight-seeing, then 
visited Fordham College. We had supper with Mr. 

Q who received us very kindly. A few hours later 

we were installed in our quarters on "La Bour- 
goyne." For what followed I will quote from my 


Saturday, September 17th. 

First day out and a glorious one it is. Spent last 
night aboard. Stateroom comfortable, though occu- 
pied by four. Our companions, not in arms, but in 
beds, are two Frenchmen. One speaks no English, 
the other, a little. The first returns to France to 
serve the prescribed time in the army a lot which 
befalls every Frenchman in every part of the world. 
The other crosses for the eleventh time, at least so 
he says. For a house warming we drank a health 
to "la belle France," received a promise from our new- 
found Boulanger, and his equally patriotic friend, to 
fight for Ireland if occasion demanded it. A third 
Frenchman, who came aboard to bid his friends 
adieu, grew so enthusiastic on the subject of "La 
Libert^" that he was in danger of losing that much 
prized commodity, at least for the night. So with a 
spread eagle gesture and a fiery eye we bade our 
new found friend "bon nuit et adieu." 

We had left the dock and had been towed well out 
to sea before we reached deck in the morning. The 
sun had not yet risen. The yachts Mayflower, Vol- 
unteer, and Thistle, of yesterday's race, revealed 
their shapely outlines, though we were unable to 
distinguish them at this distance. The sun soon 
rose like a great ball of fire, and as we moved down 
the bay with scarce a perceptible motion, the sun 
and ourselves seemed to stand still, while the shore 
scudded between us, a phenomenon which I never be- 
fore noticed. Close in our rear the Etruria, bound 
for Liverpool, and the Eider, a German steamer, 
bound for the Vaterland, sent up a column of smoke, 
shook off their little tugs, as if spurning their puny 
assistance, and steamed proudly out to sea. Two 
hours of lounging, and trying to talk to our Na- 


poleon XVI., then came soupe", which consisted of what 
its name purports, nor more, nor less. The pros- 
pect frightened us, and we contemplated a change to 
the cabin, but breakfast left us in a more contented 
mood. The arrangement for meals is somewhat pe- 
culiar. We have two "square" meals and three 
"round" ones, making five in all. The first at 7.30 
A. M., the last at 10 P. M. Frenchmen are deservedly 
celebrated cooks. They can cook a fish in such a way 
that Neptune himself could not recognize it. Will 
know more of their skill later on. 

Took luncheon at 1.30, dinner at 5, and my dinner 
went to the fishes. 

Miles covered up to noon, 86. 

Sunday, September 18th. 

"Beau ciel" as our "petit soldat" expressed it. The 
day has all the loveliness of yesterday, but the sea 
is somewhat rougher. No mass this morning, al- 
though we have two Catholic priests aboard, but 
neither has the necessary articles. Lounged about 
all day trying to shake off sea-sickness, which hangs 
close about my neck. When rough weather comes 
I do not know what I shall do. All day yesterday 
and to-day we have sailed directly east. The setting 
sun throws our shadows just in the direction of the 
boat. The wind, also, has not apparently shifted a 
single point. In the afternoon the path over which 
we passed was fairly blazoned with silver sunlight. 
Later the western sky put on its evening robe of yel- 
low and gold, the sun himself softened his glare to a 
rich mellow, and when he sank into the west seemed 
like a veritable golden gate. A sunset at sea must be 
seen to be appreciated. As we sat on the sheltered 
side of the deck in the dim twilight we could hear the 


steerage passengers below, in somewhat harsh, though 
not unpleasant strains, chanting the "Marseillaise." 
The poor fellows are a sad looking set, but they 
look forward to a glimpse of France as a vision of 
the promised land. With the going down of the sun 
the air became chilly, and extra wraps would have 
been needed, yet we were loath to leave the pure 
bracing air and the dome of stars, which seemed 
more numerous than ever before. We walked the 
deck with our little Frenchman, and he sang for us 
his national songs. He asked us to sing our Amer- 
ican national hymns, and we rendered "Old Mother 
Hubbard" and "John Brown's Injins." Poor chap 
does not know a word of English, so he never knew 
the difference. To hear us speak French would 
break your heart, and it is well that we are a thous- 
and miles from shore. Turned in and slept soundly 


Monday, September 19th. 

As fair a day as the preceding ones. Stomach in 
a somewhat dubious condition. We are now off the 
Banks of Newfoundland. It is a strange course we 
take. We sail North from New York though not 
out of sight of land until off Nova Scotia then almost 
directly across. The route of the ship is marked 
on a chart, and the distance shown by little flags. 
We sighted several fishing smacks to-day; near one 
three small dories danced up and down on the waves 
as a bob on a line. In the hollow of the wave they 
were completely hidden from view. The dreaded 
fogs so common in these parts were seen in the dis- 

We have made the acquaintance of the Father 
Provincial of the Order of the Holy Cross, who is on 
his way to Rome. A very learned man he is. He 


has been in nearly all parts of the world, and thinks 
he will be sent to India on a mission. His bag-gage 
is a hand-bag 1 . He keeps records of the days' events 
and sends them to his school in Canada, where his 
children from five to twelve years of age will be 
delighted to hear how "mon pere" spends his time. 
We have plenty of occasion to study our fellow pas- 
sengers, but it is hardly charitable, and I doubt if it 
would be interesting to you. 

Another beautiful evening 1 , another glorious sunset, 
another day nearer the end of our journey, and four 
hundred and ten miles from home and all the happy 
haunts of boyhood. But let it pass I shall be home 
again in God's own time. 

Tuesday, September 20tb. 
Sick. Latitude don't know, 
Longitude don't care. 

Wednesday, September 21st. 

Thursday, September 22d. 


Thursday Night, September 22nd. 

It is now Thursday night. The circumstances 
under which I write may be of interest to you. 
Well, Ed. and I are seated at a good sized table in 
the dining salon. To our right they are serving the 
evening luncheon, for it is 8.30. About a dozen French 
men and women are sipping their tea without milk 
and munching crackers it would take a hammer to 
break. Not one of the whole party can speak English 
and the jabbering they keep up reminds me of the 
gabbling of geese. The waiters are the embodiment 
of politeness. We have fared very well with them, 
and have managed to demolish a considerable amount 


of their cake. You should see the cake, it might 
be called a "gastric" poem. 

The steamer "La Bourgogne" is one of the largest 
passenger boats afloat. There are about three hun- 
dred men employed on it; one hundred are firemen 
and the rest are sailors and waiters. There are 
four masts and two funnels. The boilers require a 
ton of coal every two minutes night and day. There 
are only about four hundred passengers on this trip. 
The boat is fitted in the best of style. The state- 
rooms are comfortable, still we remain on deck as 
much as possible. Yesterday evening we had a little 
fog, and the fog horns were used with such a ven- 
geance that the night was hideous. We walked the 
deck and gazed on the stars; told stories of home 
until about eleven o'clock, when we went below and 
soon were "rocked in the cradle of the deep," con- 
fidently trusting that He who holds the ocean in the 
hollow of His hand will not forget His children. 

Friday night, September 24th. 

We are at our old post again in the "salon" and 
we again chronicle the events of the day, the last 
day of our voyage. We are to-night off the coast of 
Ireland, but will not see the "old land," as we are 
now several hundred miles from the nearest sham- 
rock. If I only had eyes like a telescope I might 
look right over Ballinamore Bridge, in the County 
Galway, into a fine slated house, upon a happy little 
family whom I think I could recognize. But such 
a sight is denied me, still, I hope Father will yet 
lead the way he remembers so well. 

This time to-morrow we will be, or expect to be, 
in Havre, and four hours afterwards in Paris. To- 
day has been a perfect one. Early this morning Fr. 


S awoke us to see a beautiful sight, a school of 

porpoises. We hastened on deck, and there they 
were in thousands leaping- out of the water and throw- 
ing up the spray on both sides as far as the eye could 
reach. This evening the moon came out beautiful 
and clear, and the sea is as calm as Boston harbor. 
One man aboard says he has not had such fine 
weather for a voyage in ten years. Is it in answer to 
your prayers? I will close these notes to-night so that 
I can send them from Havre to-morrow. They have 
been written in great haste and under many difficul- 
ties. But since they are just for my dear ones at 
home I need not make apologies to you who are so 
indulgent in all things. It is reluctantly I close, for 
it is like saying another good-bye. 

For a knowledge of what followed and of the first 
days of the young seminarian's life we continue the 
extracts from his own diary. 

ISSY, Oct. 19, 1887. 

It is just a month since the last item in the diary; 
yet this is the diary that was to contain a description 
of all the sights and happenings of the days just 
past. Well, I will again open an account between me 
and myself with the hope of better results. 

First of all, I must go back, for the days between 
the dates are by no means as blank as the interven- 
ing pages. So, ere first impressions have been cor- 
rected, and new found wonders have become common- 
place, I shall jot them down. Someone at home may 
find them interesting. If so, I have been amply 
repaid for the time and the labor spent. If not, 
well, I shall read them myself sometime for a pen- 


ance. One thing 1 more before I begin. I deny and 
denounce all attempts at a literary effort, though this 
effusion may become valuable as a curiosity in orthog- 

I have already detailed at length our way of living 
on shipboard, and have related the little events that 
occurred up to the day of landing. We were still 
abed when we heard the cry above: "La terre, la 
terre!" On reaching 1 deck we saw the rocky coast 
of Cornwall extending its fantastic shape far into the 
channel, like a giant sea-serpent. A little later the 
rugged cliffs of the mainland lifted themselves out of 
the water, and like a lowering cloud reached to the 
northern horizon. It is difficult to describe the emo- 
tion one feels at the sight of land after a sea voyage. 
Nor is the emotion peculiar to the first voyage, for 
the sailors, who, no doubt, saw these shores loom up 
a hundred times, watched the barren rocks with the 
same pleasurable excitement as any of the passen- 
gers who crossed for the first time. At sea, if any- 
where, one feels his nothingness. The expanse of sky 
and water on a fair day, compared to the ship is, 
almost, as infinity brought against a cipher. But 
change the scene let darkness settle over the face 
of the deep, the lightning flash, the thunder roll, the 
great ship toss as a chip in an agitated pool and 
one's insignificance is overpowering. 

On the re-appearance of the land, however, man 
again asserts his supremacy over the elements, and 
the passing from nobody into somebody may account 
for the agreeable sensation on the cry of " Land, 

While still in sight of England we took aboard a 
pilot. Though the day was as fair and the sea as 


calm as one could wish, yet the little boat was at 
times fairly lifted out of the water. After several 
attempts and a considerable wetting- the pilot was 
taken up, and, heading* across the channel, we soon 
lost sight of land. It is fourteen hours' journey from 
the time land is sighted until Havre is reached. 
About eight in the evening the bright beam of a dis- 
tant lighthouse told us we were within sight of 
France. From this time until landing 1 the hours went 
slowly by. Nothing- could be seen but now and then 
a light on shore. It was midnight when we reached 
the twin lights of Havre. Rockets were fired and the 
"siren" blown for a signal from the harbor. At last 
it came, and we were towed slowly toward the shore. 
The town seemed ablaze with lights. Electric lights 
of all colors, gas jets and lanterns in the hundreds 
lined the wharves and extended far inland. It seemed 
like a veritable Fourth of July, but we found as we ap- 
proached that the illumination was not for display 
but for use. The entrance is scarce wider than a 
canal, and passes through several bridges. We came 
so close to these that they seemed near enough to 
step upon. It was after two o'clock in the morning 
when we were made fast to the wharf, yet we went 
ashore, only just for a moment, to touch again "terra 
firma" and to greet "la belle France." 


In America we imagine the Revolution to have oc- 
curred about the time of the Flood, and the Landing 
of the Pilgrims to have taken place almost at the be- 
ginning of time. But on this side of the water it is 
different, for while the American Revolution was 
among the possibilities, and the Plymouth Rock was 


still unknown, this building had existence and might 
have been considered old. The old building, or 
chateau, there are two new wings is said to have 
been built by the wife of Henry IV. The same 
stone floor that we now use once echoed to the tread 
of Catherine de Medici and the "good" Queen Bess. 
I doubt not but what this spot has been hallowed by 
the feet of St. Vincent de Paul, for he was the direct- 
or of M. Olier, the founder of the Sulpicians. 

The structure is two and one-half stories in height, 
and is built of stone, with cemented surface. Its moss- 
grown tiled roof seems to have been pushed down 
from above, and juts out between the windows in far- 
projecting eaves. The old-fashioned portal is a mas- 
terpiece of its kind. It consists of two arches, each 
surmounted by a cross, and between them a statue 
of the Blessed Virgin and Child. Here the cement 
has been replaced, and marks the spot where several 
persons were shot during the Commune. From the 
casement above there are no windows in the house 
one looks down upon the Rue Victor Hugo, which 
stretches for fully a mile, without a bend, through 
a most beautiful country. Still further on the Seine 
winds its lazy length between the hills. Passing 
through the portal into the grounds proper a most 
beautiful prospect is opened up. Directly in front, 
in the middle of a fine avenue lined with hedges and 
flowers, is a small fountain ; in its waters are gold 
fish, so tame as to come to a call. Beyond, canopied 
by a spreading elm, rises the figure of our Lady of 
Mount Carmel. To the right and left are vistas, each 
terminating with a shrine. Here, too, is a grotto 
marking the spot where Fenelon and Bossuet held 
their memorable discussion on the rule of ascetic life. 
And here begins a tunnel of several hundred yards in 


length that was used for escape during 1 the last Com- 
mune. Passing under the street and through another 
vista more beautiful than the ones just left, you reach 
the chapel of Loretto, an exact fac-simile of the 
original, even to a crack in the wall. These are but 
a few of the many shrines about the grounds. Still 
one other must not go unmentioned. It has been 
called, in jest (though it might be named so in all 
seriousness), "Notre Dame des Bombs." The pe- 
destal, which is about four feet high and three feet 
thick, is made wholly of cannon balls and bullets 
picked up on the grounds after the last war. The 
figure of Our Lady, cast from the same metal, stands 
upon a high bomb shell, as we have seen her repre- 
sented standing above the world. From this rising 
ground a fine view of the city is obtained. It is 
surrounded by a continuous fortification. This is ac- 
knowledged to be a useless expenditure of energy, 
for the enemy lies not without, but within those walls. 
The first object that strikes the eye is the gilded 
dome of the Hotel des Invalides, the tomb of Napo- 
leon I. His body lies under a weight of a hundred 
tons a precaution to prevent his devoted subjects 
throwing it into the Seine. To the left, the Troca- 
dero, with its massive towers and golden goddess, 
forms a striking picture. In front of this, just above 
the common level, rises the base of the new Tower 
of Babel, which is being built for the Exhibition of 
'89, and which is expected to reach the height of 
1000 feet. Beyond is the Arc de Triomphe, with its 
record of a hundred battles. Still further on another 
line of fortifications, and then again the country. 
Such is a vague idea of our retreat, where 

"Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
We keep the peaceful tenor of our way." 



I say " our room " because it is occupied in com- 
mon with Mr. Quirk. At first we had separate and 
modern rooms, but when a chance occurred for a 
double room we took it. We are now in the old 
building, on the sunny side of the house, overlooking 
the park and fountain. The view from the casement 
is very beautiful, but the room itself can hardly be 
called so. Its dimensions are about 20 feet by 14 feet; 
small pentangular tiles are used for flooring ; the 
ceiling is covered with whitewashed rafters scarce 
their own width apart ; a large old-fashioned chimney 
and fireplace, two little iron beds, and one small cup- 
board describes the room as we found it. We have, 
however, made a few additions. Two large mats 
cover the stone and keep the dampness out; these, 
with two steamer chairs, a few maps, two brass 
coffee pots, and a roaring fire, give our apartments an 
air of sumptuousness which the simple Frenchmen 
here think surpassing fine. 

We are, as you know, our own chambermaids, and 
at the same time landlord and office boy. The one 
room answers for parlor, study, and chamber. For- 
tunately we have no visitors, or we would have to try 
some of the Mikado tactics. For instance, this side 
of the crack in the wall would be our parlor, behind 
the desk would be our private office, and over the mat 
would be our lodging. Under these circumstances, 
however, I fear the visitor would get mixed up. We 
have not yet decided who is boss of the house, but 
this causes no inconvenience, for Ed does as I tell 
him and I do as I please. We hold everything in 
common, and have order down so fine as to humbly 
ask, in the words of our old friend, " May we come 
out from under our bed?" 


Nearly every Frenchman has a little teapot in his 
room, with which, old-maid like, he makes his even- 
ing 1 potation. We are not behind in this respect, and 
have two little brass coffee pots, and serve the steam- 
ing beverage at three minutes' notice. " Chocolat " 
is very commonly used. We get no warm drink 
for dinner or supper, and so this little draught goes 
very well. 


We have but one holiday, properly so called, in 
the whole year, and that is the second of January. 
Every Wednesday, however, we have a walk and 
visit some places of interest on the outskirts of Paris. 
Sometimes it is the woods of Boulogne, a beautiful 
park of hundreds of acres; sometimes a bury ing- 
ground; then a castle, and occasionally a monastery. 
After reaching our destination we have a scatter for 
about an hour, during which time the walk is divided 
in groups of threes or fours who recite the office of 
the Blessed Virgin. Part of this is to be said kneel- 
ing, and it looks strange at first sight to see these 
little groups kneeling- here and there all over the 
grounds. On the walk home the rosary is said. The 
sight of such a number of ecclesiastics is by no 
means uncommon, and in passing 1 along the street it 
is totally ignored or scoffed at. By the roadside are 
dozens of beggars, mostly cripples, old hags and 
ragged children. I saw a poor fellow, who had but 
one leg and neither a crutch nor a cane; he hopped 
down the road after us, bare headed and squalid, 
and it seemed every moment as if he would fall. To 
avoid these annoyances each seminarian gives a sou 
or more to the almoner, who distributes the sum to 
the wayside unfortunates. Some interesting stories 


are told of these adventurers they are no less with 
stray ecclesiastics who happen into a rough part of 
the city. If they escape a beating they consider 
themselves fortunate. However, it is said, if a per- 
son speaks English he escapes many insults to which 
the poor Frenchmen are subjected. The reason is 
that every English speaking- person, especially Amer- 
icans, are thought to carry knives and revolvers, 
and those who offer the insults are the greatest 
cowards. We have experienced no unpleasantness 
beyond being crowed at by some little ones who shout 
"caw, caw, caw." Of course these are in no way to 
blame, for they have but learned the lesson from their 
elders. The only reason why things are so is because 
the very sight of these unoffending and holy men is a 
reproach to wickedness which its devotees cannot 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, Issy, pres Paris, 

April 2, 1888. 
My Dear Mother: 

Let this be your letter; yet I doubt if such, or any 

proof of my remembrance be needed. K 's letter 

arrived safely, and the good news it carries is always 
a source of pleasure for me. May it be so in the 
years to come. The papers were received, and the 
amusement they furnished was in good time. 

Lent is over and I know you would like to hear how 
we kept the holy season. Pretty much as at home, 
except every Saturday was a fast day and the last 
Thursday with the rest. Our ordinary breakfast, the 
whole year round, would be considered good fasting, 
for it consists of a kind of soup, or coffee and bread 
if you pay five cents extra. The only retrenchment 
we could make on this was to go without it, which 


we did for a short time. The rest of the fasting was 
fasting- from meat, that is about all. We have had 
beans in all shapes, except in the inimitable and never- 
to-be-forgotten k la mode Boston. We are on intimate 
terms with macaroni, and know, if not the name, at 
least the taste of every vegetable from a cabbage 
down to grass. But, for all this, you must not think 
we fare badly, for these dishes are made very palat- 
able, and more than once I have surprised myself in 
the middle of a very hearty meal on my old enemies. 
I think, on the whole, that the fast is as well observed 
in America as here. The Holy Week services were 
the same as at home, except that a hundred and fifty 
seminarians made up the choir and congregation. On 
Palm Sunday we had a very imposing procession 
around the grounds. The ceremony of knocking on 
the church door with the Cross, and demanding ad- 
mission in the name of Christ, is certainly very im- 
posing; it is a part of the liturgy for this Sunday. On 
the last days of the week we had Tenebrae, and the 
watch before the Blessed Sacrament all during the 
night. Easter came, and, as with Christmas, we 
scarcely knew our old friend. The weather was fine, 
the joy was general, but there was something wanting 
to make the day complete. We could hardly tell what 
it was. Perhaps it was the dear familiar faces and 
the accustomed hearty greetings, that are prized too 
late, and their loss is more keenly felt on occasions 
like these. Perhaps it was oh ! prosaic thought the 
missing ham and eggs ; for this feature of Easter was 
conspicuous by its absence. After Easter come the 
Grande Conges, or full holidays. These will put spurs 
to time, and carry us quickly on to vacation. The first 
one will be to-morrow, and all look forward to it as a 
kind of Fourth of July. The seminarians come from 


Paris, about two hundred and fifty ; these, with our 
one hundred and fifty, will make things lively. Mr. 
Quirk has received a baseball from home, and we 
expect to have a game. If we would be allowed to 
take off the cassock we would have a fine baseball 
suit: knee breeches, low shoes, etc., but the very 
thought of such a thing would shock a Frenchman 
to death, though in other things they are by no means 
sensitive. With their idea of propriety, I am afraid 
the ball game will be somewhat tame. 

But to return to our keeping of Holy Week. On 
Tuesday we visited Notre Dame. It would be useless 
to attempt a description. You have the photograph, 
and this will give the best idea of the place. Our 
visit, however, was not one of curiosity or of idle sight- 
seeing, but one of devotion and reverence for this 
deeply-hallowed spot. There is a treasury connected 
with the church, and here are shown church orna- 
ments and saintly relics representing all the periods 
of the Church's history. The vessels used by Char- 
lemagne, the gifts of St. Louis, vestments given by 
Marie Antoinette, the. coronation robes of Napoleon, 
and the simple garb of his saintly prisoner, Pius VII. 
are all to be seen. Here, too, are the ghastly me- 
morials of three bloody crusades against man and 
God, that of three revolutions. Among these are the 
pierced and blood-stained cassocks of three arch- 
bishops. The ornaments and vestments are most 
costly and complete, representing, no doubt, thou- 
sands and thousands of dollars. The relics have 
another worth, and, though not weighed in the sordid 
balance of this world's goods, are far above their 
price. It was not even these we came to see, but it 
was to venerate the instruments of the passion of 
our Divine Lord ; not to look upon the bejewelled 


diadem of a prince of this earth, but to behold the 
self-same crown of thorns that pierced the head of 
the King of Glory. Instead of a sceptre we saw a 
nail, and a piece of the Cross recalled the throne that 
was erected on Calvary. These precious treasures 
were discovered at Jerusalem by St. Helena, and their 
genuineness was attested by many miracles. A short 
time after they were found they were brought to 
France with great solemnity and deposited in a 
beautiful chapel built for their reception by Saint 
Louis. During the many storms that have passed 
over the city since that time they have been miracu- 
lously preserved, and are exposed to the veneration of 
the faithful during Holy Week. At other times 
during the year their whereabouts are unknown, 
except to the faithful who guard them with their lives. 
The thorns have been taken, one by one, from the 
crown, and at different times given to the various 
churches throughout the world, so that nothing 
remains but the twisted branches, and these are 
coyered with glass and bound in gold. The nail is 
affixed to the centre of a large cross, and is protected 
in the same way as the crown ; it is about the length 
of a finger, and looks cruel indeed. The piece of the 
Cross is about 6 x \% x 1^ inches. We were allowed 
to kiss the encasement of each sacred article. 

While I have been writing this, my dear mother, we 
have received a rather distinguished visitor the Holy 
Ghost. Not, however, the Third Person of the Blessed 
Trinity, but a director of the house who makes an 
official visit on this day, giving the "calls." It is for 
this reason he has received his title, for he tells the 
seminarians who are to receive orders from the 
Tonsure to the Priesthood. We were fortunate 
enough to be among the number, and, if nothing 


happens, will receive our first order, Tonsure, on the 
Saturday before Trinity Sunday. By the way, there 
are two or three men in the class that the Bishop will 
find it difficult to get any of their hair to cut, for they 
are even more bald than Ben Butler. 

The fine weather here makes us think of the ap- 
proaching- summer, and its coming- holidays are anx- 
iously awaited. We expect as "the wanton lapwing 
gets himself another crest," that our crest will be 
the neglected "beavers." Although a tall hat is not 
the regulation article for climbing mountains, still it 
will be hard on us if we cannot work it in one 
way or another. We have not determined on a pro- 
gram for the summer as yet, for we have the em- 
barrassment of choice. Most of the English speaking 
fellows go to the seaside in Normandy, for at least 
a short stay. They wear the cassock all the time, 
and it is needless to say, are thus deprived of the 
pleasures of the roller-coaster, flying horses, etc., 
etc., dissipations so freely indulged in at our fash- 
ionable watering places in America. They stop with 
some old French cur< in a little town by the sound- 
ing sea, take a pinch of snuff when asked, and 
let the old fellow beat in a game of chess. Another 
way to pass these days is at a convent on the coast, 
where the fare is good and the rate is reasonable, 

Mr. P , the third seminarian for our diocese, did 

this last year and found it most pleasant and the 
Sisters very kind and considerate. We have almost 
settled to first visit Lourdes, and then go to Switzer- 
land for a few weeks. The mountain scenery in this 
country is the most famous and most beautiful in 
the world. ******* * 

But I am drawing this letter out too far, and I beg 
you to forgive this conglomeration of events * * * 


Good-bye for awhile * * * * Love to Father 
and all at home, and to yourself, Mother dear, from 

Your dutiful son, 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, Issy, prbs Paris, 

June 27, 1888. 
My dear Sister : 

Several of your letters remain to be answered. 
The reason is that the examinations have intervened, 
and left me little spare time. All are over now, the 
year's work is finished, happily and successfully, 
thank God, and I hope the remaining ones may end 
likewise. Glad to hear all are well ***** 
It looks now as if it will be impossible for me to get 
to Lourdes this summer. Tommie will not be more 
disappointed at this than I am. For many reasons 
I feel it is better to wait until I am ordained, if God 
so wills, and then I can say one of my first Masses 
there. There is another shrine of our Lady of 
Chartres, about seventy-five miles from here, to which 
some of the seminarians make a pilgrimage on foot. 

This Mr. Q and myself intend to do about the 

first of August. Hope this will, in some measure, 
make up for our disappointment in not going to 
Lourdes. ******** 

This will be the last opportunity I will have to 
write at length before starting on my trip. The 
term closes on Thursday next, and while I write all 
the things are piled up in the middle of the floor. 
We intend to wait for the ordination of one of our 
friends, which will take place at the Foreign Missions 
on the 8th of July. 

We have not fully settled our route of travel, but 
think we will go to Switzerland, stopping at places of 


interest such as Fontainebleau, where Pius VII. was 
confined by Napoleon, and then to the great monas- 
teries of La Trappe and of Chartreuse. I will keep 
an account of my ramblings and send it home. I use 
the word "rambling" for that is what we are going 
to do. We are only going to take a grip-sack, sack- 
coats and flannel shirts, and rough it for a part of 
the time at least. ***** g av a 
special prayer for me during the vacation. Love to 
Father, Mother, and each one at home, and give a 
big share to my Baby. 

Your fond brother, 


Before the account of his ramblings were noted, 
there is a hastily penned article written in his diary 
on the subject of Foreign Missions, which reveals 
the spirit of zeal that even at this early period of his 
life burned in his own apostolic heart. It reads as 
follows: "To-day I have seen the foreign missionaries 
leave for their fields of labor. May the memory never 
grow dim; for such a sight in prosperity will temper 
joy, in adversity it will lighten sorrow, and at all 
times it will restore or awaken confidence! The 
departure of the missionaries is always looked for- 
ward to with much interest, and no one misses the 
opportunity to attend the exercises. The consequence 
is, that we, the students, must go in alphabetical 
order, and my initial placed me among the first to 

attend. Mr. Q was fortunate enough to find a 

place with us and so we went together. 

"A long walk of almost an hour brought us well into 
the middle of Paris, and to the Seminaire des Mis- 
sionaire Etrangers. Once inside its solemn porch, 
the bustle and noise of the city ceases and the placid 


quietude of a sanctuary pervades the place. The 
building 1 is a massive stone structure five stories high 
and flanking on two sides a neat little park. To the 
left of the main entrance is the Salle des Martyrs, a 
room devoted to the relics of their martyred ones. 
The room is about 25x25 feet, and the four walls 
with their cabinets are covered with the insignias of 
death and torture, the thorny path in which these 
holy men follow their Master up to heaven. Their 
martyrs number hundreds, and hundreds still await 
their turn with impatience, when they, too, may lay 
down their lives for the Faith. In the cases around 
the room are the crosiers and vestments of several 
bishops and apostolic delegates who met death in 
India, China, and the remote East. Here, too, are the 
knife, fork, and spoon of some poor missionary, the 
patched and ragged handkerchief of another, the well 
worn breviary, the piece of coarse habit, the chalice, 
the rosary of others. Beside these are the ropes 
with which forty martyrs were strangled, the chains 
with which they were bound, cotton saturated with 
the precious blood, a strip of carpet upon which one 
holy man was hacked to pieces; the death sentence 
of another written in Chinese characters upon a board 
which is driven into the ground before the victim ; a 
bloody scimitar near this shows how faithfully the 
sentence was executed. Here is the awful rack, a 
consummation of Chinese diabolical ingenuity. It 
consists of two sticks about eight feet in length, 
placed seven inches apart, with two braces in the 
middle and one at each end. The braces in the mid- 
dle fit about the neck of the unfortunate, and those 
at the ends serve as handles for the executioners. 
A hundred different torments, such as only Satan 
could devise, can be accomplished by this machine. 


The end is usually the wrenching- of the head from 
the body. Such are the treasures these men seek in 
the Orient. When weighed before God, these poor 
little scraps will be far more precious than the finest 
gold or fairest jewels that are found in the same 
sacred spot. "Pis here the future martyrs learn how 
to suffer and how to die. 

"At about three o'clock in the afternoon the exer- 
cises began. First, a large Chinese bell was struck 
with a hammer, and this summoned us to the lower 
end of the garden, to a beautiful little chapel of the 
Blessed Virgin. The bell is about five feet high, and 
was brought from China. It is struck only on occa- 
sions like this. The chapel is made of lattice work, 
and is sexangular in shape, having four of its sides 
open. It is dedicated to Regina Confessorum and 
Regina Martyrum. The statue of the Blessed Virgin 
stands above a hundred candles on a beautiful altar. 
The antependium was red, such as is used in the 
service for martyrs, and bore for symbols the rack 
and scimitar. Within the little chapel the ten mis- 
sionaries knelt, without there were at least three 
hundred ecclesiastics. They first sang a farewell 
song in French, those outside singing each alternate 
verse. I could only catch a few words: 'Adieu, mon 
cher, & la mort,' 'Farewell, my love, until death.' 
Those within the chapel then sang a kind of litany, in 
which they invoked three times 'Regina Apostol- 
orum ' and twice ' Regina Confessorum and Regina 
Martyrum.' After this they solemnly intoned the 
'Sub tuum praesidium,' or, 'We fly to thy patron- 
age,' and their voices rose like incense on the chilly 
air of this November afternoon. 

" The exercises in the large chapel then followed, 
and these were more impressive, if such could be 


possible, than the preceding ones. The body of the 
church was filled with ecclesiastics of all orders ; 
behind an iron grating 1 in the rear were the nuns and 
a few favored lay people ; above these were two galler- 
ies, the first was filled with friends of the mission- 
aries, and the second was occupied by a choir of male 
voices. A sermon was preached by a venerable old 
priest, who dwelt upon the holiness of their vocation, 
their apostolic spirit, their martyred predecessors, and 
their crucified Lord. After the sermon they advanced 
and stood upon the lowest altar step, facing the people. 
It was at this time we obtained our best view of them. 
They were ten in number, and apparently between 
thirty and thirty-five years of age. Nearly all were 
above the ordinary height, well proportioned, and 
handsome. All had full beards, some thin, just re- 
vealing the oval outline of their lower features, and as 
they stood for a moment motionless, with their arms 
crossed upon their breasts, their jet black locks 
brushed back from their broad, noble foreheads, their 
large meek eyes downcast, they looked for all the 
world, as we have seen represented, their sanctified 
predecessors, St. Francis Xavier and St. Vincent de 
Paul. This physical perfection of the missionaries is 
attained and preserved by a course of training, exer- 
cise, and diet, and only the strongest men are chosen 
for this work. 

"While they stood upon the altar step the long train 
of ecclesiastics filed up before them, and each one knelt 
and kissed their feet, then rising, gave an embrace 
peculiar but common to these parts. It consists of 
placing your left cheek against theirs, and then the 
right. Each one whispered to us as we passed some 
parting word, as, 'Priez pour moi,' 'Adieu, mon 
ami' 'Pray for me,' 'Good-bye, my friend.' When 


some dear friend gave this last embrace it was touch- 
ing- to see the affectionate clasp, but they always 
parted with a smile, while those about could not 
repress a tear. 

"During this time the choir sang a canticle and 
psalms most appropriate for such an occasion. After 
each stanza those in the body of the church added the 
refrain, ' Going into the world, teach all nations. ' 
Thus the choir sang ' He hath raised up a horn of 
salvation to us in the house of David his servant. ' 
The people, 'Going then into the world, teach all 
nations.' The choir, 'And thou, child, shalt be called 
a prophet of the Highest, for thou shalt go before the 
face of the Lord to prepare His ways.' The people, 
'Going then, etc.' The choir, 'To give knowledge 
of salvation to His people, unto the remission of their 
sins. ' The people, ' Going then, etc. ' The choir, 
'To enlighten them that sit in darkness and in the 
shadow of death ; to direct our feet into the way of 
peace. ' 

"This ceremony over, Benediction was given by the 
Vicar Apostolic of Siam. In the presence of the 
Blessed Sacrament the missionaries knelt, and, in- 
voking their crucified Lord, the Queen of Martyrs, St. 
Peter, Prince of the Apostles, and St. Francis Xavier, 
Apostle of the Indies, they made a solemn promise 
to perform the mission intrusted to them. With 
Benediction the exercises closed and the people dis- 

"On their way to the station the little band was 
followed by a large crowd eager to receive their 
parting blessing. Mothers brought their children, 
the sick and the lame dragged themselves to the 
spot where they knew the missionaries would pass, 
and prince and beggar alike esteemed their last 


"After contemplating- such heroic devotion, who 
would say that the Society for the Propagation of 
the Faith asks too much in the few pennies it re- 
ceives from the faithful?" 

The memory of the Foreign Missionaries never grew 
dim in the years that followed, for they made an in- 
delible impression that day upon the heart and soul 
of the young seminarian. In after life he was often 
heard to say that it would have been his delight to 
labor in distant lands, and that it would be deepest 
solace for him to work among those "who sit in dark- 
ness and in the shadow of death." But God was fit- 
ting him for labor elsewhere, and he resigned himself 
to what he knew to be His will. 

In July of this same year he says in one of his 
letters, "You may be somewhat surprised that this 
letter is dated from Paris, although it is the 17th- of 
July. Well at the close of the term the weather was 
too cold to go either to the mountains or to the sea- 
shore, and as we had considerable to arrange we put 
up in town with the lady of whom I spoke in my ac- 
count of New Year's Day. The place is quite removed 
from the busy part of the city and there are six or 
eight other ecclesiastics in the house. The lady is very, 
very kind and thoughtful, and the place is the nearest 
to home that we could have possibly found. We have 
passed the time in sight seeing, for during the nine 
months of seminary life we see no more of Paris than 
you who are so far away. Many of the common sights 
of the city we did not see until now. We have wit- 
nessed the celebration of the 14th of July, which fte 
corresponds to our 4th. The principal features were 
a review of about fifty thousand soldiers and an illum- 
ination of the city. The latter far surpasses anything 
of the kind in America, but the fire-works are inferior 
to ours for they did not have a single set piece. The 


celebration was very quiet very different from the 
bedlam of our Fourth. We saw, perhaps, the only 
attempt at any disturbance. In the Place de la Concorde 
there are several statues representing- the different 
provinces of France. Among- these is one of Alsace 
Lorraine, the province taken by Germany in the last 
war. While all the others were gaily festooned this 
one was draped in mourning and guarded by a com- 
pany of police. As we stood looking at the statue, a 
small party of Boulangists made a rush for it, but 
were repelled without difficulty by the police. The 
strangest part of the celebration was that there was 
dancing- all night in the middle of the roads of the 
principal boulevards, sometimes to the music of a hand 
organ and sometimes to the rasping- of an old fiddler 
perched upon a barrel-head in a convenient corner. 
The fire-works were sent off from the great tower 
that is being built for the Exposition of next year, 
and which is already an enormous height." 

For an idea of this first vacation in Europe, some 
details from the seminarian's own diary, written from 
day to day as he journeyed on, often amidst many 
difficulties, cannot but be interesting and instructive. 

July, 1888. There are many ways of making a 
trip through Switzerland; on foot, by rail, pay as you 
go, or go as you pay. We chose the last. It may 
seem a little paradoxical, but it simply means that 
we bought a round trip ticket and of course had to 
go as we paid. Our ticket included Paris, Bile, Lu- 
cerne, Interlaken, Berne, Lausanne, Geneva, and 


A sudden change in arrangements gave me Mr. 

H for a traveling companion instead of Mr. Quirk 

who decided to make the trip in the Fall on his way 


to Austria. A more genial fellow than this friend of 
mine could not be found. On nearly all subjects we 
are a unit and my only fear is, that the law of mating 
unlikes not being observed, it may result in some 
unforeseen complications. 

The few of our friends remaining in town came 
with us as far as the "Gare de Test" to wish us God- 
speed and give us a "college send off." This latter 
part of the program had to be dispensed with, as 
the bulky form of the railroad guard interposed and 
demanded tickets of the whole party or no admission 
to the enclosure. So with a quiet good-bye we took 
our places in the train. We were fortunate enough 
to secure a compartment with but two others a 
very desirable arrangement on a night trip, for it 
gives a chance to sleep. After a few words in French, 
one of our neighbors asked us in the plainest Yankee 
dialect, from what part of America we came. The 
other, arriving a few minutes later, began some in- 
quiries in French but soon dropped it for his mother- 
tongue, which revealed him to be an Englishman. 
This was an additional good fortune, and before the 
train had started we had become fast friends. When 
the conversation began to flag and night had shut 
out from view the beautiful country through which 
we passed, we made ourselves as comfortable as 
possible under the circumstances, and were soon in 
the land of Nod. 

The first gray streaks of dawn revealed to our 
sleepy eyes a considerable change in the country 
through which we passed. At first it became undu- 
lating, and later rose in well defined hills. A short 
time after we passed the enormous fortifications of 
the French frontier. These were mostly earth-works, 
raised to a great height, and many of them planted 


with forests. While yet the moon held her own 
against the encroaching 1 day we breakfasted at a 
little station on the roadside. The fare was plain 
and wholesome, and a good sample of a Swiss break- 
fast. It consisted of coffee, bread, cheese, and honey. 
This, after the luncheon furnished by our thought- 
ful hostess at Paris, filled up pretty well the void 
made by the night. Another hour brought us to 
Bile or Basel, by which latter name it is known to 
its inhabitants. Here commenced the trouble of Babel; 
German, French, and English all talking at the same 

Bile is situated in the northwestern part of Swit- 
zerland, and is the capital of its canton, with a popu- 
lation of about seventy thousand people. It was here 
we caught the first g-limpse of the Rhine, beautiful 
as a dream and hallowed by song and story. At 
this point it winds from out interminable hills, and 
in a half circle sweeps through the town. It is 
about two hundred yards in width, its waters are of 
a blue-green color and its current fully five miles an 
hour. Four fine bridges span its breadth. 

The most conspicuous edifice of the town is the 
Miinster, which was formerly the Cathedral of the 
see of Bile. It occupies a most magnificent site, on 
a kind of parapet rising from the river to the height 
of one hundred and fifty feet. The building- is of 
a peculiar red sand-stone and is built in Gothic style, 
with two tapering towers. The Miinster dates from 
1010 to 1500. The work of restoration is going on 
at present and the new tiles, white and yellow, in 
diamond shapes, make a sad contrast to the som- 
bre pile beneath. The interior of the church ten 
cents to enter is cold and bare as a barn. The 
elevation for the altar is now occupied by rows of 


beaches facing 1 the body of the church. Around the 
sides are several tombs of bishops, built into the 
walls, with a reclining- figure in relief. The nose, 
ears, fingers, etc., are always missing- from these 
figures, and a sorry sight they present. One of the 
pillars bears the tombstone of Erasmus. It was in 
this Cathedral that the council of Basilius was held 
for the ostensible purpose of the "reformation of the 
church in head and members." The council was 
dissolved and its members excommunicated by Pope 
Eugene IV. in 1448. A mediaeval collection of curios 
occupies three floors in a building adjoining- the 
church. We found the old musical instruments most 
interesting 1 . Among- these were several harpsichords 
that tinkled like jews-harps. A head connected with 
the clock tower at regular intervals stuck out a long 
red tong-ue. The original Dance of Death is exhibited 
on stone or plaster fragments about one metre 
square. They once adorned the wall of the Domin- 
ican burial ground and were painted early in the 15th 
century. Among- the church articles were several 
missals about four feet long- and the same in width, 
and having- the notes on vellum the size of large dice. 

A beautiful cloister of the 15th century is con- 
structed on two sides of the church. It was used as 
a burial place. It is covered by a pitched roof, and 
through the handsome Gothic and g-lassless case- 
ments a fine view is had of the river beneath and 
the Black Forest beyond. 

The attendant who showed us about the place was 
a queer compound. He spoke a little French, less 
English, and a great deal of German. He accosted 
us in such a way that I thought we were going to 
be arrested. He g-esticulated, pointed, talked all the 
while, and finally pulled out some tickets and de- 


manded a franc. We gave him one, and he gave us 
a ticket and immediately took it away again, for he 
was ticket taker as well as ticket agent. In showing 
us the curiosities he would stop suddenly in the 
middle of a sentence of German and French and say 
"sword, "lest we might take that weapon for a pick- 
axe. We would say "Vraiment?" and he would add 
"Yah, Oui, Yes." 

Just beneath the walls of the terrace was a ferry 
plying back and forth across the river. The boat, 
with a small canopy for the stern, was attached to a 
single cable that reached from shore to shore. No 
oar or paddle of any kind was used, and, for a long 
time, we were at a loss to know what was its pro- 
pelling power. Finally we discovered that by a 
simple application of a well-known principle of physics 
the current is utilized for this purpose. It is like 
this : An iron rod is attached to one side of the 
prow of the boat, and this is connected with the 
cable, causing the boat to make an angle of about 
thirty degrees with the direction of the stream. 
Then the pull of the chain up the stream towards 
the cable, and the force of the current in the oppo- 
site direction, causes the boat to move in the line of 
the resultant of the two forces, or across the river. 
To return, the iron rod is but shifted to the other 
side of the prow and the angle made in the other 

At Bale there is a picture gallery, but we failed to 
gain admission to it. Its most noted pictures are 
those of the two Holbein. 

The University occupies several buildings of con- 
siderable size, but, like all European universities, it 
makes no pretentions to beauty. 

One of the wprks of the Renaissance affected us 


more than the rest. It was the sight of an old 
church, immense in its proportions, and not bad in 
its design, converted into a dirty storehouse for 
butter, lard, etc. A lone stork perched upon the 
shattered spire would at first be mistaken for a 
weather vane. 

We saw little else of the town and took the train 
for Lucerne, a ride of about four and a half hours. 


The Swiss train is very much like our own, and 
consequently differs from those of France and Ger- 
many, which are made up of compartments. Our 
neighbors on this trip merit description. Across the 
aisle was a party of Americans, four young- men from 
about fourteen to forty. I say young, for the one of 
forty wore a kind of lawn tennis suit, and felt as 
young as the youngest. The one of fourteen was 
old-fashioned enough to be included in the category. 
There were also five or six ladies in the party, but 
these we could not see owing to the high back seats. 
Our vis-^-vis was a little sandy-haired French abbe 
and his mother. We had met them a few hours pre- 
vious and, having inquired the direction of the church 
we struck up an acquaintance. True to his promise 
the little abb<5 had hunted us up, and, through no 
fault of ours, had found us. He was about thirty 
years old, short, and as lively as a cricket. She 
looked too young to be his mother, and I never saw 
anyone so delighted as she was when we told her 
that we thought she was his sister. They were a 
most affectionate pair. He would sometimes pat her 
on the cheek at some precocious trait she told of him, 
and call her his "bonne mere." He was too busy, 


however, with the scenery about to catch all the 
good thing's she said of him. Among the rest, she 
said she still had to support this "horrid boy" of 
hers, as he gave all his money to the poor. And I 
really believed her, for he seemed the best-natured 
of men. As the train wound in among the valleys 
and the great hills rose into mountains, Monsieur 
1'Abbd's enthusiasm heightened accordingly. He was 
on all sides of the car at once, bareheaded and field 
glasses in hand. " Voila une belle eglise !" " Mag- 
nifique !" " Mon Dieu, sublime!" Thus he went 
through the whole vocabulary of exclamations, and 
his rapture knew no bounds. In striking contrast 
with this was the "sang froid " of our countrymen 
across the way. They leaned languidly back and dis- 
cussed the baseball situation at home, scarcely deign- 
ing to bestow a single glance on the magnificent 
spectacle before them, as if wishing people to infer 
they had in their country such sights as this in their 
back yards, or that it was only the vulgar who ex- 
press admiration for the most stupendous works in 

Here and there the road skirted the shores of a 
placid lake, whose surface reflected every cloud per- 
fectly, as in a mirror. 

On the opposite side we caught the first sight of 
the eternal snows, so like the silver cloud that hung 
above it seemed a part of it, and, as if tired of its 
aerial wanderings, had descended there to rest awhile. 
The day was very hot, and while actually suffering 
from the heat it was hard to realize that snow and 
ice were within range of our vision. 

It was dusk when we reached Lucerne. 



The first view of Lucerne is one of surpassing- beau- 
ty. Directly in front spreads the lake for several miles 
in all directions. To the left is the Rigi, covered with 
verdure to its very summit. To the right the Pilatus, 
black and frowning as that judge of old, pierces the 
very clouds, while in the arena of the amphitheatre 
thus formed lies the quaint little city. Our small par- 
ty soon found accommodations and the first care of 
M. 1'AbWs mother was to examine our beds, and 
make them ready for the night. A few minutes later 
and we all dined together. It was the most pleasant 
meal I had for months. A stroll through the town 
after night-fall completed the evening's program. A 
storm had been gathering for some time, and though 
the rain did not yet fall, the thunder fairly shook the 
ground we stood on, and the vivid flashes of lightning 
showed the outlines of the impending mountains. This 
gave us an idea of a mountain storm, and when the rain 
came down, not in drops, but in sheets, we could pity 
any belated travelers on the heights above. 

The principal monument is the "Lion of Lucerne." 
In a grotto in the face of a cliff is a dying lion, trans- 
fixed by a broken lance, and sheltering between his 
paws the Bourbon lily. It is hewn from the natural 
rock, and commemorates the death of twenty-six of- 
ficers and seven hundred and sixty soldiers of the 
Swiss Guard who fell in defence of the Tuileries, 
Paris, Aug. 10, 1792. Their names are on the rock 
about, and in front is a small pool and fountain. 

Several large and beautiful hotels command a fine 
view of the lake, and on the hill sides about are 
many "pensions," which give life to the scene. The 
town, for the most part, is quite modern, but pre- 
serves several relics of the past, as the old cathedral. 


Then, too, in the middle of the Reuss, or water-way, 
that shoots out of the lake like an arrow, is a tower, 
said to have been a lighthouse (luccrna), whence the 
name. Its cap is for all the world like the snuffer 
of a candle, which has extinguished that light for 
ever. An old-fashioned bridge crosses this stream at 
an angle. It is of wood, covered with tiles, and 
decorated by diamond-shaped paintings, hardly dis- 
cernible now, of their patron saints. Another relic 
of "ye ancient days" is the wall and watch towers 
that surround the town. These are, of course, in a 
dilapidated condition, but show considerable skill, and 
a little attempt is made at ornament. The city is 
now on both sides of the wall, its gates stand open, 
and it winds a tortuous ascent between the houses 
up and down the hills, like a dying serpent. 

The morning after our arrival we climbed a neigh- 
boring eminence, from which the whole country 
spread out as an enchantment, and there we said 
the morning "office." Never before did I realize the 
beauty of these lines. " Lsetentur cceli, et exsultet 
terra, commoveatur more et plenitude ejus; gaude- 
bunt campi, et omnia quae in eis sunt. * * * 
Montes, sicut cera fluxerunt a facie Domini; a facie 
Domini omnis terra. Annuntiaverunt coeli justitiam 

" Let the heavens be glad and the earth rejoice, 
and let the fullness of the sea be moved, and let the 
fields and all things which are in them be joyful. 

* * * The mountains have flowed out like wax 
before the face of the Lord, the whole earth before 
the face of the Lord. The heavens have proclaimed 
His justice." 

When again we descended to earthly considerations 
the lines of Goldsmith, written from just such a 


place as this, borrowed a force and beauty they never 

koew before. 

"Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 

No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 
But winter lingering chills the lap of May; 
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 
Yet still, e'en here, content can spread and charm, 
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut. his feast though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all." 

The cathedral, to which we paid a visit, is a very 
rickety concern. On the wall outside is a sculpture 
of the "Agony in the Garden," so old and coarse it 
looks as if it might have been done with a pick-axe. 
The canons were chanting- the Office; some, old men 
with high, cracked voices, others with the resonance 
of a tunnel; little boys with dirty surplices over 
yellow breeches, for they wore no soutanes, and all 
paying more attention to us than to their prayers, 
was what we found here. 

In our rambles early in the evening we wandered 
on board the little steamer that plys to and fro on 
the lake, and which was lying for the night at its 
moorings. It was about eight o'clock, and a few 
German officials explained to us that the boat did 
not leave again that night. We pretended to under- 
stand the contrary, and were settling ourselves when 
another was sent to try French on us. He told us 
that the last boat left at five, and although it was 

quite dark Mr. H innocently asked him if it were 

yet five. The question almost staggered him, but 
the offer we made him quite revived him, and in a 
few minutes we were on the best of terms. He told 
us he had been in Paris sometime, and how enthusi- 


astic he grew over the beauties of the metropolis ! 
So much so, in fact, that he spoke half-contemptu- 
ously of his own cloud-capped mountains and heaven- 
reflecting lakes, and longed for the city again. Few, 
he told us, of the bumpkins about had been so sin- 
gularly favored as himself, and seen so much of the 
world. We learned a few particulars of the Swiss 
military service. The number of available men is 
about two hundred thousand. All have to serve a 
term in the army, though it is considerably shorter 
than in the French army. The commander-in-chief 
is the only Swiss official who retains his position for 
life. The President is elected for one year, and can 
fill two successive terms, after which he is ineligible. 
The soldiers wear clothes two or three times too 
large, and carry equipments heavy enough for a 
mule. Besides a knapsack of bearskin, an overcoat, 
and an ammunition box, they have several good-sized 
tin pans on their backs. They are solemn as under- 
takers, but are not bad looking, and of a good 

After leaving the boat landing we wandered along 
the water edge, that was lined with trees and well 
lighted by electricity. Above on the heights was, 
here and there, a villa or hotel brilliantly illuminated, 
and having the mountains for an inky background. 
We followed the direction of music in the distance, 
and soon came to the "Kursaal," where there was a 
light opera going on. It was in French, the singing 
was quite good, and the piece reminded me very 
much of "Victor, the Bluestocking." 


The ride is about an hour. The steamer is large 
and very gracefully shaped, and makes very good 
time. There must have been several hundred on 


board, and sheltered by the awning from the hot 
rays of the mid-day sun, with a gentle breeze blow- 
ing-, and so magnificent a panorama spread out before 
us. Once on the way we got a better view of the 
town. The high parapeted walls and slender towers 
lift themselves above the surrounding buildings and 
mark distinctly the outlines of the ancient city. 
Along the shores of the mountain side are dozens of 
little villages. The houses are always picturesque, 
usually of two or three stories, with a low, far-pro- 
jecting roof, and all of wood. These little habita- 
tions number about twenty houses, and every one of 
them has its little church and church-yard, where 

"Each in his narrow cell forever laid 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." 

There was little sign of life about the place How- 
ever, at one point approaching nearer the shore, we 
did see some indications of it, and a hard life it was. 
In a quarry on the open face of a cliff, among the 
laborers, we saw a woman breaking stone, and be- 
side her, in a rude baby carriage, was an infant. If 
such a conjunction is necessary, God help them both. 

Hills closed in behind us, as others rose before, so 
that neither inlet nor outlet was visible at the dis- 
tance of half a mile, and the scenes were ever varied 
and never repeated. All too soon we reached Alpnach. 
It is a town scarce larger than those we saw along 
the shore, and nothing more than they, except it is 
now the terminus of the mountain railway which was 
finished this spring. Formerly a diligence plied be- 
tween here and Brienz, in fact our tickets were 
marked so as to make the trip, but the completion 
of the railroad was a deathblow to the diligence line. 
A party we met in Paris had the good fortune to be 
on the last coach that ran, and described it to us. 


The carriage was draped in mourning- and the 
horses wore black plumes, making 1 up a funeral cor- 
tege for the old dead line that thus went out of 
existence. We would rather have made the trip by 
diligence, but we found that what the railroad missed 
in romance it made up in sublimity. 


The mountain railway, I think, is very much like 
that of Mount Washington and other mountains at 
home, so scarcely needs a full description. The rate 
of speed on the grade is about five or six miles an 
hour. The higher and higher we went the more 
sublime and awe-inspiring the scenery became. The 
road is built almost on the face of the cliff, and 
gives an excellent view of the valley beneath and the 
mountains on the opposite side. Sometimes we rattled 
over a chasm hundreds of feet deep, in the depths 
of which a maddened torrent dashed along. We got 
a fine glimpse of several of these ravines from the 
platform of the car. Sometimes we passed beneath 
an overhanging precipice, and again right through a 
corner of the cliff. About half way up we stopped 
to make some connections, and had an opportunity to 
see a picturesque group of natives, six in number, 
three of them women, though the first glance would 
not tell you that. They were raking a few handfuls 
of hay on a scanty plot. All wore the same high 
straw hats. They were dressed much after the 
same fashion, and the women were barefooted. As 
the train stopped all came to a shoulder-arms atti- 
tude with their rakes and remained perfectly motion- 
less in a file, like six scare crows. 

The higher we got the broader the view became, and 


numerous snow mountains rose on all sides. The 
effect at first is peculiar. When suffering from the 
intense heat of the sun, and the verdure of summer 
under your feet, it is difficult to realize that there above, 
those silver streaks that fleck the mountain's side are 
not a part of that scudding cloud, and you watch in 
expectation to see it rise and betake itself on its aerial 
journey. But no, there it remains, stable as the ermine 
mantle just above, that came into being "when the 
hills were brought forth," and nerer yet has felt one 
kindly ray of the summer sun. 

At the highest point of the road we made a halt and 
had a little refreshments, or "restauration" as the sign 
called it. It was here we saw, for the first time, 
the picturesque costume of this canton, worn by the 
waitresses. Though some of them were rather old, 
this "gentil" dress was not as unbecoming as would be 
expected, yet these women had the appearance of being 
"made up." 

The descent was made in about the same time as 
the ascent. By little and little the objects in the val- 
leys beneath assumed their proper proportions, the 
miniature villages became good-sized settlements, and 
the waterways that seemed small enough to step across, 
turned into moderately large rivers. A spin of about 
a half an hour on the level ground brought us to 
Brienz. This town has nothing more to boast of than 
a dozen little houses, and a charming situation in an 
arm of the lake of the same name. The lake, owing 
to the high rocky mountains that rise abruptly from 
its shores, seems but a few hundred yards in width, 
though in reality it is a mile and half. The steamboat 
crosses to theGiessbach, the most copious waterfall that 
we saw, and which, in view from the steamer, leaps 
over its seventh cascade and falls into the lake beneath. 


There is an ingenious railroad arrangement here for 
the hotel on the summit. Two cars are used; one 
ascends while the other descends; the gravitation of 
the latter, weighted with water, forms the motive power. 
A good story is told of a fidgety old lady who, when 
riding on one of these mountain railways it might 
have been this one was very much concerned for her 
safety, and annoyed the conductor every time he passed 
by inquiring what means they had to stop the train 
in its downward rush, should it become detached from 
the engine. "Oh!" said he, "we have a system of brakes 
which could do that." "Well, what if they should 
break?" "There is a second set, independent of these, 
that could be used." "What, if they would not work?" 
she insisted. "Then there is a rope and tackle that 
would answer the purpose," said he, getting somewhat 
impatient. "But if this would fail," she continued, 
"where would we go?" " Well," replied he, "Madam, 
that depends on how you have lived." 


A ride of ten minutes on the railroad brought us 
to Interlaken. It was growing dark and chilly when 
we reached our destination, and we willingly sacrificed 
our grip-sacks to an obliging porter, and followed 
whither he led, we knew not where. The hotel proved 
to be a rather rustic concern, though clean and tidy 
apartments were given us for the night. At supper we 
were much interested in an old fellow that sat a few 
seats below. He was a typical "deutsche." He was 
a little beyond the middle age, his hair was long and 
turned in at the end, and a fore-lock hung down on 
one side. He wore heavy iron-bound spectacles, read 
a newspaper, smoked a large pipe, the bowl of which 


he held in his hand, and between the puffs he supped 
his beer from a large mug. Such a picture of con- 
tentment is seldom met. Our lodgings, after the first 
day, were just in front of the hotel on the bill, in a 
little Swiss cottage, with no obstruction between us 
and the lovely Jungfrau. The principal street is about 
a mile long, sheltered by fine walnut trees and for a 
great part of its length, lined with magnificent hotels. 
Perhaps the only object of historic interest about 
the place, is an old monastery and convent, dating 
from 1130. The buildings are now used for a hos- 
pital and prison, and the church divided for three 
religions. It is to the Augustinian monks who first 
came here that the town owes its existence. They 
performed the herculean labor of draining this valley 
between the lakes, making a channel for the waters 
of the lake of Brienz, which is twenty feet above 
those of the Lake of Thun, and transforming the 
bottom of a lake into a smiling valley. The buildings 
must have been admirably suited for the purpose for 
which they were intended; the old church tower is 
perhaps the only relic left intact, and is a monument 
to its builders. As to the site, there is, perhaps, no 
spot in the world better suited than this in which to 
chant, as those monks did, their orisons to the 
Almighty, Who declares *'with Me is the beauty of 
the field." The monastery was suppressed during 
the time of the Reformation. 

On Sunday we assisted at Mass, and heard the 
sermon preached in German and French. In the 
afternoon we took a ramble on the Kleine Rugen, a 
beautiful wooded hill a short distance from the town. 
After a good climb we reached the summit, and 
were more than amply repaid for the effort. From 
this point, through a clearing in the trees, we could 


see the whole valley Bodeli and both the lakes. From 
the hillside opposite us, and several miles away, we 
heard music and laughter, and now and then the 
rattling of a wag-on over the road, but could see 
nothing owing to the dense woods. As we descended 
the music appeared to come nearer to us, and we 
determined to find it, but it seemed to elude us, and 
like a cricket's chirping was first on one side and 
then on the other. The longer it avoided us the 
sweeter it became, and the more resolved were we 
to find it. At last it was just beneath us, and down 
the hillside we sped, in imminent danger of breaking 
our necks, and fairly burst upon a poor one-legged 
organ-grinder, working his instrument for dear life. 
Well, for a few minutes we were in doubt whether 
to break the machine or give the poor fellow a few 
sous for the joke. We did the latter. Later, a little 
girl of seven or eight years, with bare arms, a tow 
head, bright blue eyes, and a skin of tan, came 
running after us with a bunch of mountain flowers 
in her outstretched hand. We took a few of them 
and gave her some pennies, which she did not seem 
to expect, and off she scampered up the hill again. 
I am sorry there was not some Edelweiss among the 
flowers, if there were I would send it home. It is a 
great favorite here, and is worn by all. It resembles 
a small star fish, is of an ash color, and grows at a 
great height too high for me to climb for it. The 
children here are the picture of health; they wear no 
sleeves, are always bare-headed, often bare-legged, 
and form a striking contrast to the doll-like babies 
met in Paris. Our new quarters in a Swiss cottage 
gave us an opportunity to see how the Swiss people 
live. First of all, they are very clean and tidy. The 
women, at least, have to work hard, even to menial 


labor. I had forgotten to leave my shoes at the 
door, and when I inquired for a blacking brush the 
next morning a stout, strapping damsel rolled up her 
sleeves and told me to stick out my foot, that she 
was the bootblack. She seemed more offended at my 
refusal to permit her than an American girl would 
be if I asked her to shine them. At table all were 
very polite, and your neighbor never forgot to wish 
you "a good appetite" when sitting down, and "a 
good digestion" when leaving the table. On the 
roads, too, young and old would touch their hats and 
bid "good-day." 


The road from Interlaken, like that to it, is by 
rail and steamboat. The second lake is more beauti- 
ful than the first. The hillsides, well cultivated with 
grain and vines, slope gently to the water's edge, and 
here and there a ruined tower and a modern chateau 
give variety, if such be needed. In the far distance 
a range of snow-capped mountains replace the Jung- 
frau. The water of the lake is a bluish-green tint, 
and specked here and there with very pretty boats. 
One, nearer to us, carried a bright-colored awning, 
and was rowed by a woman, who seemed to be pilot- 
ing a party of pleasure seekers. Our fellow passen- 
gers were much the same as those we had met be- 
fore, talkative women, men with outlandish suits 
and the inevitable Alpine stick. Perhaps two-thirds of 
those on the boat spoke English, and each one supposed 
he was the only one, and that he could say what he 
pleased. An Englishman behind me was correcting 
a French lady for using the word "prospect" in 
describing a view. "Hi might 'ave a 'prospect' of a 
'undred thousand pounds," said he, "but you can't 


say 'prospect' of a country." He evidently knew 
more about pounds than compounds, and tha only 
prospect he knew was the only one he cared for. 

While I stood watching- the distant hills through a 
pair of field glasses I noticed a gentleman at my 
elbow whom I had heard speak English. He, like 
the rest, thought he was the only English-speaking- 
person aboard, so for the fun of it I turned sudden- 
ly and asked him if he wished to look through the 
glasses. He stammered "Oui, yes, no, I didn't 
know you spoke English." He proved to be an 
Irishman, and we were soon talking Home Rule, a 
subject that was very near to his heart, and in the 
cause of which he was a warm supporter. 

The town of Thun, from a distance for we did 
not go very near it is of a very mediaeval build. It 
is on a hill, and counts many chateaux with high 
towers and conical caps. 

From this point the train leaves for Berne. 


Berne is a city of about fifty thousand inhabitants, 
and is the seat of government of the Swiss confeder- 
ation. Of all the cities of Switzerland it has best 
preserved its mediaeval appearance. There are four 
or five quite large streets, and their width is in no 
wise impaired by their sidewalks, as these latter are 
formed by arcades. These arcades are a distinguish- 
ing feature of the town, and no doubt are the proto- 
type of those of the Louvre at Paris. They are, 
however, low and heavy, and usually between the 
arches are two stone benches, which serve for diverse 
purposes, from resting a weary tramp to the work- 
shop of a cobbler or the display of wares. The 


store windows are at a disadvantage here, but not so 
at the Louvre, where the same idea is better carried 
out. It seems a perfect solution to the problem of 
street widening in large cities, though I have heard 
the idea was ridiculed in Boston. Through the 
middle of the street runs an open sewer of perhaps 
two feet in width, and at about every hundred yards 
is a fountain. The escutcheon of Berne is a shield 
with the figure of a bear, and the old bruin is 
found at every turn, mostly in effigy, yet not always, 
for a bear pit is kept here at the expense of the 
city. On the principal street there are several clock 
towers of ingenious arrangement, by which a crow 
announces the approaching hour, after which bells 
are rung and a procession of little bears file around 
a sitting figure. During the day there is hardly any 
traffic in the streets, but the early morning finds it 
busy enough. The whole road is covered with 
stands, mostly for vegetables, and the people that are 
not selling are buying. They do not shout their 
wares, and a better-natured gathering would be hard 
to find. It is a rare thing to see a horse in the 
street, and men and women in a kind of harness 
seem to answer the purpose. The principal building 
of the town is again a cathedral, and, again, most 
beautifully situated, but in the same sorry plight as 
those we saw at Bile, Lucerne, and Interlaken. 

I am sending you a picture of Berne and the 
Bernese Alps. I have never seen anything in my 
life so majestically grand and sublimely beautiful as 
those hundred miles of silver heights that sparkled 
in the afternoon sunlight. Such a scene is perhaps 
not so awe-inspiring as the Pilatus, shrouded in a 
thundercloud like another Sinai, while the voice of 
the Almighty shakes the ground you stand on, and 
yet, as Ruskin remarks, "it is not in the broad 


and fierce manifestations of elemental energy, 
nor in the clash of hail, nor in the drift of the 
whirlwind, that the highest characters of the 
sublime are developed. God is not in the earth- 
quake, not in the fire, but in the still, small voice. 
They are but the blunt and low faculties of our 
nature which can only be addressed through lamp- 
black and lightning. It is in the quiet and unsub- 
dued passages of obtrusive majesty, the deep, and 
the calm and the perpetual; that which must be 
sought ere it is seen, and loved ere it is understood, 
things which the angels work out for us eternally; 
which are to be found always, yet each found but 
once; it is through these that the lesson of devotion 
is chiefly taught, and the blessings of beauty given, 
those visions of silver palaces built 
about the horizon, and the voices of moaning winds 
and threatening thunders, and the glories of colored 
robe and cloven ray, are but to deepen in our hearts 
the acceptance and distinctness of the simple words, 
'Our Father who art in Heaven.'" 

We found here a legal requirement that was evi- 
dently intended to do away with one species of pro- 
ceedings not the least interesting on the legal docket, 
that of breach of promise. It was a number of 
printed promises of marriage, posted in a public 
square, in great large letters. In the evening we 
visited a kind of casino and saw a German comedy. 
The piece was very well set and the acting quite 
good, but the plot of the play remains a mystery to 
this day. 


On our trip from Chillon to Geneva we skirted the 
shores of this beautiful lake for almost its entire 
length, a distance of about fifty miles. The view ob- 


tained from this shore is considered one of the finest 
in the world, and a French writer ranks it with the 
Hellespont and the Bay of Naples. Unfortunately, 
we could but form a very imperfect idea of its beauty 
owing to the wet weather. The mountains on the 
opposite shore seemed but blackened clouds, and the 
blue waters of the lake were beaten into white-capped 
waves, while the picturesque luggers were nowhere 
to be seen. 

The day was wet and chilly when we left Lausanne 
and the rain set in, in earnest, before we reached 


The castle is situated almost at the extremity of 
the Lake of Geneva, near the little town of Vil- 
leneuve. The castle was formerly the stronghold of 
the Duke of Savoy, who, about the beginning of the 
sixteenth century, made war against the republic of 
Geneva. Lord Francis Bonivard, who inherited a 
rich priory near Geneva, warmly espoused the cause 
of the republic, and thereby incurred the relentless 
hostility of the Duke. After various fortunes of war 
Bonivard was taken prisoner and confined in the 
chateau of Chillon, where he remained from 1530 to 
1536. He died at the age of seventy-four. The castle 
was subsequently used as a state prison, and later 
as an arsenal. Such is the history of the place, but 
Byron has invested the spot with greater interest by 
the poem, "The Prisoner of Chillon." At the time 
the poem was written, Byron did not know of the 
history of Bonivard, or he would have, as he himself 
has said, dignified the subject by an historical basis. 

The first sight of the castle is by no means awe- 
inspiring, as the structure is not massive and is 
built on the level of the lake, while the mountains 


around and above it mock any attempt at the "gran- 
diose." The building- was formerly joined to the main- 
land from its isolated rock by a draw-bridge, but 
now the space between is dry land. It is not high, 
but so solid that one does not wonder that it stood so 
well the ravages of time. We, with a party of six or 
eight others, were shown through the place. The 
principal apartments above ground are a council 
chamber the ceiling of which is in panels fully 
two feet thick and a kitchen with a fire- 
place large enough almost to hold a room. The 
dungeon is, I should think, a little below the surface 
of the lake, about fifty feet long and seventy feet 
wide; its floor and one wall is the naked ledge, upon 
which the whole structure rests. The roof is vaulted, 
and seven Romanesque pillars and arches as seen in 
the dim light admitted through the long, narrow loop- 
holes, give the place the appearance of a crypt, and 
for which purpose it was undoubtedly intended. The 
sixth column from the entrance is the one of which 
Byron speaks. There is still a heavy chain and ring 
attached to its base, and the stone floor is here worn 
to the depth of three or four inches. This pillar 
is inscribed with hundreds of names of visitors, 
among which we deciphered that of Byron, Victor 
Hugo, J. J. Rousseau, G. Sand, and others. In fact, 
every available inch of the walls through the whole 
building is covered with names. Adjoining the main 
apartment of the dungeon is a small chamber of tor- 
ture, in the middle of which is a whipping-post with 
rope and tackle attachment by which the unfortunate 
was raised from the ground, and, as the guide said, 
hot irons applied to the soles of his feet. Nearby 
was the bed of stone, sharp and jagged, upon which 
the condemned spent bis last night on earth. Lastly 


we were shown the manner of disposing of the vic- 
tim. He was told to pass through the Door of Lib- 
erty a black hole in the floor and that freedom 
was his. Just below in the darkness was a balanced 
plank, from which be was dropped upon knife blades, 
and then into the lake beneath, which at this point 
is three hundred feet deep. Such is the blood-curd- 
ling recital to which we were treated by the guide, 
who has repeated the story so often that she now 
firmly believes it herself. 

At the railroad station we had some time to wait 
for the train, and so we amused ourselves by read- 
ing the names and reflections on the walls. Among 
the rest we found those of Grover Cleveland and 
William Gladstone, inscribed by some accommodating 
friends. It still rained; the chilly, dreary weather 
lent an additional gloom to the old castle, while the 
waves, now quite large, beat sullenly against its 
dungeon walls, and we took a last look, like Bonivard, 
at the mountains with 

"their thousand years of snow 
On high * * * * their wide long lake below." 

and later we saw 

"the little isle, 

Which in his very face did smile 
The only one in view. " 


Lausanne is a city of considerable size but of little 
historic importance, and consequently less known than 
most of the other places along our route. A few words 
of it will suffice. A climb up its steep and irregular 
streets lined with tottering houses, and a flight of a 
hundred steps brings one to the terrace of the Cathe- 
dral which lifts itself from the vulgar town to gaze 


upon the eternal mountains and the fair expanse of 
Lake Geneva. From this point the graceful little steam- 
boat, far out upon the lake, seemed like a swan, while 
the sailing 1 boats with their peculiar lateen sail seen 
only on the Mediterranean glide over the surface of 
the blue waters, for all the world like a butterfly. 
The Cathedral, built in the thirteenth century, was 
once a magnificent structure, but now is in a most 
sorry plight. Of the hundreds of fig-ures that graced 
the portal and the niches about, there is not a sound 
one remaining. It is true the work of restoration is 
going 1 on, but the new part is wholly destitute of the 
elaboration and profusion that characterized the period 
to which the church belongs. The interior is no bet- 
ter than a barn, and the admonition in large letters, 
"No smoking," is all that saves it from this profana- 
tion. At the door there were a half dozen persons 
quarreling- and arguing as loud as possible about the 
fee of two cents. A poor ragg-ed girl of perhaps 
eighteen, with an old shawl over her shoulders, 
advanced with us as far as the altar steps, and there 
sat down, munching a crust of bread, and waited to be 
engaged by us to explain the tablets and the tombs 
about the place. One of the most remarkable of these 
latter had over it the reclining- fig-ure of a chevalier, 
from which the hands were missing-. The girl explained 
that the chevalier in life had been deprived of these 
members for having lost a judicial duel. The appear- 
ance, however, does not warrant such an explanation, 
for they seem to have been broken off with his toes 
and nose. Two little hands on a cushion symbolize 
the ban under which he suffered. Here is also the 
monument of the Duke Victor Amadeus VIII. of Savoy, 
elected Pope by the Council of Bale, under the title 
of Felix V., died 1451. 



Geneva is the most important city of Switzerland with 
over sixty thousand inhabitants. It is situated at 
the southern extremity of the lake which bears its 
name, at the point where the Rhone, after traveling 
fifty miles through the waters of the lake, emerges 
swift as an arrow. The beauty of the city is so well 
known that I shall not .attempt any description. Its 
history is full of interest. It was here that Calvin 
came, a refugee from Paris, in 1536. Two years 
later Geneva refused him shelter. He returned and 
soon exercised almost sovereign dominion most tyran- 
ically and intolerantly. In 1559 he founded the Geneva 
Academy and in 1564 he died. Another citizen of 
whom the town boasts is Jean Jacques Rousseau, 
to whose influence may be inscribed in a great measure 
the worst features of the French Revolution. At the 
instigation of Voltaire his works were burnt by the 
hangman as being "temcraires, scandaleux, impies, 
et tendants a de'truire la religion chre'tienne et tous 
les gouverneraents. " 

Geneva and its surroundings were the scene of the 
labors of the gentle St. Francis de Sales. He found 
but seven Catholics at his entrance to the city, and 
at the end of six years his flock numbered forty or 
fifty thousand. This great saint was made bishop 
in 1599. 

It was evening when we reached Geneva, and by 
gas-light the town presented a very lively appearance. 
A stroll over the long bridge, in the direction of the 
crowd, brought us to a brilliantly illuminated garden, 
where a military band was rendering its sweetest 
music, it seemed, to the whole population of Geneva. 
This was much more than we expected, for we had not 
sent word of our intended visit. Besides this, there 


were many boats, gaily festooned with Japanese lan- 
terns, and in the pauses of the music we could hear 
applause far out on the lake. All this was too good to 
last, and the elements threw a damper on the whole 
affair in the shape of a heavy thunderstorm. 

We stayed three days waiting for fair weather to go 
to Mont Blanc and Chamonix, almost a day's ride by 
diligence, but all to no purpose. 


In itself, it would be difficult to find a less interesting 
place than Paray le Monial. It is three hours' ride 
from Macon, on the slowest railroad in France. The 
accommodations are poor, and the whole town bears the 
stamp of squalidity. The little stream that passes 
through the place is almost dry, and forms in places an 
unhealthy marsh. The only historical feature of the 
town is the tower of St. Nicholas, dating from the ninth 
century. So it is easily seen that it is not the natural 
advantages which Paray offers that attracts hither 
yearly thousands of pilgrims from all parts of the 
world. No, it is better than that, for it is the place 
sanctified by the visible presence of our Divine Lord. 
It was here, in the little chapel of the Nuns of the Vis- 
itation, that our Saviour revealed to Blessed Margaret 
Mary the treasures of His Sacred Heart, and promised 
to all Its precious gifts. These visions extended over 
a period of almost twenty years 1671-1690 that is, 
from the time this favored soul entered the convent, un- 
til she went forth forever to the immediate possession 
of that Sacred Heart she loved so well. The promises 
then made are too well known to be repeated here, and 
the story of the life of Blessed Margaret Mary, with its 


beautiful lessons of continual prayer and faithfulness to 
duty, is familiar to all lovers of that thorn-crowned, 
wounded Heart. 

The chapel of the Nuns of the Visitation is quite 
small, not holding 1 perhaps five hundred persons. It 
is of Gothic style, without, however, any pillars. The 
walls within are covered with marble tablets bearing- 
inscriptions of thanksgivings for favors received. Hung 
about are many banners from all parts of France, 
brought and left here by bands of pilgrims. The 
sanctuary is very beautiful, and besides the main altar 
there are several others. On the epistle side, and in 
front of the main altar, is the reliquary of Blessed 
Margaret Mary, containing a life-size figure clad in a 
nun's garb and having a sweet angelic face. Behind 
the altar, and hid from view, is the choir of the nuns, 
where they chant, at canonical hours, the office of the 
Blessed Virgin. We assisted at the Holy Sacrifice in 
the morning. The chapel was well filled, and Masses 
were celebrated at all the altars; these were followed in 
quick succession by others, so that I think fully fifty 
Masses were offered during the course of the morning. 
The nuns were chanting the Little Hours very slowly, 
and as we caught the sweet refrain from that unseen 
chorus, "Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto," 
it seemed as if Heaven's gates had been left ajar. 
In such a band, and in this very place, might 
Blessed Margaret Mary have been found, and even 
now, no doubt, she joins the sisters in the heavenly 
song, for with her dying breath she murmured "I 
will sing the mercies of the Lord in eternity." We 
waited for several Masses, and in such a place, amid 
such surroundings, I trust we said a fervent prayer. 
It was reluctantly we left the spot, but we brought 
away more than the memory of its deep devotion and 


the consolation of knowing- we had knelt in the place 
sanctified by the Feet of Jesus. Yet the Sacred Heart 
will keep that secret. 

Thus ends the diary of the first summer abroad. 
Its last words linger with us, for they seem to be 
the key-note of the warm and tender devotion to the 
Heart of Jesus that so strongly characterized the 
young- seminarian's future life. That Sacred Heart 
visibly fulfilled its consoling- promises throug-hout his 
entire career, and from It abundant blessings were 
bestowed upon all his undertaking's. It alone was 
his secure refug-e in life and death. 

The opening- of the next scholastic year, and the 
chang-es it necessitated, are told in the following- 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Oct. 12, 1888. 
My dear Sister: 

It is longer than usual since I have written, but I 
hope you are not at all anxious on my account. The 
reason of my delay is, as you know, a chang-e of resi- 
dence, and the retreat, during- which time we neither 
wrote nor received any letters. All is over now, and 
we are once more settled down for another year's 
study. ******* of course you want 
to know "how I like my new boarding--house." First 
rate, and that is saying- a great deal. I will give you 
an idea of the place. It is right in the middle of the 
city, a larg-e five-story, stone building-, built in the form 
of a hollow square. It is perfectly plain, very angular, 
and bound in by four streets. The grounds are very 
much less than those at Issy, and beauty did not 
enter into the contract. The little space there is is 
surrounded by high walls, and the only evidence we 


have of the busy life around us is the hum of the 
city life that blends with, and is as continuous as 
the falling- of water. All this gives a solitude than 
which a Trappist could not desire more. But I must 
tell you of my own luxuries, and how much more 
I boast of this year than I was able to do last year. 
First of all, I am nearer Heaven by three stories, 
and when I am a hundred steps above the ground 
I am chez mot. We used to smile when father would 
enumerate among the sumptuous fittings of a house 
in Ireland a slate roof. Well, perhaps you will laugh 
now when I boast of a board floor, a plastered ceiling, 
and a little stove. I am afraid if I go on you will 
not believe me, so grand a picture do I draw. But, 
in fact, all this is considerable over here. There 
is still more to be told. I invested in a rocking chair, 
an excellent thing for one who likes to be always 
on the go, and never gets far. You would be sur- 
prised to know how rare such an article of furniture 
is in France. Many of the seminarians never saw 
one before and to watch them throw up their arms 
when they swing back is truly ludicrous. Moreover, 
I bought a guitar and some music, and although I shall 
have but little spare time during the school year to use 
it, still I hope to do something. The first tune I tried 
to play was "Home, Sweet Home. " 

For further particulars of the house: there are two 
hundred and sixty seminarians here, and one hundred 
and sixty at Issy. There are nine Americans, and 
about the same number of Irishmen and Scotchmen. At 
Issy there are two for the diocese of Providence, one 
for Boston, and one for Manchester. This last one had 
a letter of introduction to me from Bishop Bradley. 
With such a gathering it is not likely that we will get 
homesick. Mr. Q has left for Innsbruck * * * 


Just while I am writing- this a domestic thinks he has 
solved the riddle of the rocking chair. He pronounces 
it a boat arrangement for taking 1 exercise. A thing- I 
forg-ot to mention in connection with my room is the 
window. It is more than six feet from the floor, and 
is about a foot and a half long-. This gives me a view 
of the sky only, which, although 

"it is glorious and fair 
Is looked up to the more 

Because Heaven is there." 

Our classes have already begun, and promise, one 
in particular, to be very interesting-. I think this is 
all there is to tell of my new quarters. It only remains 
that some of you should see them. I do wish that 
Father or some of the folks would come across, if only 
for a week * * * Continue your prayers for me, 
and be assured I do not forget any of you in mine. 

Your fond brother, 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Oct. 28, 1888. 
My dear Mother : 

The letters and clipping's came safe and sound, and 
I found all very interesting-. It really seems as time 
goes on, instead of getting indifferent as to what is 
happening at home, I am the more anxious and im- 
patient to hear all. So that, if a letter should be de- 
layed, although I know it is a bother to you to write so 
often, yet I begin to fancy something may be wrong, 
until I am reassured by the good news to the contrary. 
But, be not alarmed at a little thing like this, for is 
it not a natural thing to desire to hear from you, 
Mother dear, and from those I love best? I have to 
smile at the wonderful importance of Baby . He is 


spoken of as "coming- down to spend the day with us. " 
I suppose this little chap of three months brings his 
mother with him, though no mention is made of the 
fact. ****** 

There is nothing new going- on here at present. The 
weather continues to be very fine, like the month of 
September at home. The leaves, however, do not turn 
to the red and golden tints of our Autumn, but become 
deathly yellowish, and a single puff of wind breaks 
them from the trees. Our holidays have been pleasant 
and we go to Issy for a walk. The other day we had to 
betake ourselves to the Prefect of Police, and be in- 
scribed among the other foreigners, in compliance with 
a law just passed to that effect. The law requires that 
every foreigner in France will appear before the Pre- 
fect of Police, identify himself and be inscribed. I do 
not know why this is done, but from the enormous 
number of names inscribed, it seems that the French 
are justly concerned about the excess of foreigners, 
who in case of war would be of no help and much in the 
way. One French paper said that the number of 
strangers here at present is, not including visitors, 
180,000. Just think of it! There were among our 
party Armenians, Arabians, Brazilians, Turks (Irish 
ones), Scotchmen, etc. 

Well, Mother, in looking over what I have written, I 
find, although intended for you, there is little else but 
the first three words that can be called yours. I know 
you will forgive my seeming disregard in writing in so 
general a way, and believe that the lack of endearment 
is in expression only. * * Love to Father and to 
each one at home, and a great big share for yourself. 

Your affectionate son, 



Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Nov. 18, 1888. 
My dear Baby : 

Your nice long- letter came to me several days ago, 
and I was much pleased with it. I am sure you took a 
great deal of pains with it, and you succeeded first-rate; 
too well not to write more frequently. I was glad to 
hear of the good rank you got in school. Why, you 
must be a marvel in French. I am sure if marks were 
given here I would not get half a hundred. By all 
means write me a letter in French just as soon as you 

can, even if it is only a page. Try to beat K , who, 

I suppose often reads the little "Imitation " I sent her. 
If you have any difficulty with the language that cannot 
be decided on that side of the water, let me know, and 
I will lay it before the French Academy over here. I 

hardly recognize C at the end of the letter, but I 

suppose you are getting to be a big girl now and 
want a big girl's name. Well, that is no harm, dear, 
but the bigger you grow, the better you should be, and 
the way to become better is to do all that Mamma tells 
you, and never quarrel to have your own way. You 
know that your patron saint was Queen of France, and 
all over here have a special claim on her, so I will pray 
to her for her little namesake on the other side of the 
waters, and she will pray for me. I know my Baby 
does not forget me, and I send her and all at home 
fondest love. * * * * 

About this time an answer to a friend's letter that 
touched on some subject of annoyance was given in 
the usual kind and charitable manner. 

"As to the affair of which you write, let me say that 
I think it better not to discuss these matters at all, not 


even among 1 those who are concerned in them. Do not 
blame any one, let this be the glory of thy tong-ue, that 

'Falsehood's honey it disdained, 
And when it could not praise was chained, 
If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke. 
Yet gentle concord never broke 
That silent tongue will plead for thee 
When time unveils eternity.' 

"I do not mean this for yourself, for I never heard you 
speak an uncharitable word, but some of those who 
have suffered under the trial might tell the truth, still 
this is not always to be spoken. Pass over all in 
silence, and let all be forgiven and forgotten. " 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Jan. 8, 1889. 

My dear F : 

Many thanks for your thoughtfulness and g^ener- 
osity. I prize your gift very much, but I fear you 
have bankrupted yourself in sending me such a re- 
membrance. You tell me you are fond of reading 
history, and here is a list of what I would recom- 
mend to you. ****** i would advise you, 
also, to take notes on what you read, short ones, of 
course, and in another letter I will explain a system 
that I use. Study hard, but do not fail to take 
recreation, for you will study the better after it. 
Then, too, keep an eye open for little jobs you can 
do outside of school hours, such as giving some 
assistance in father's store or running- on errands 
for mother. Be very faithful to your religious exer- 
cises, and go often to Holy Communion, and pray 
for me. 


To a little suffering- friend the following- lines were 


Jan. 15, 1889. 

I am glad to see that you have such confidence in 
the Blessed Virgin, and I know it will not be disap- 
pointed; for although you should not get the par- 
ticular favor that you ask, you will have her aid in 
another way. You are old enoug-h now to realize that 
even if others may help you with their prayers, the 
granting of the request depends in a great measure 
upon your own dispositions. So you should first try 
to be the best boy possible. Then, ag-ain, you should 
not expect nor ask for an extraordinary miracle like 
a cure in a moment. To be sure this would be most 
welcome, but it is too much to expect for the little 
claims we have. No, should the cure come in time 
and in the ordinary way, we will not be less thank- 
ful to the "Comforter of the Afflicted." I shall be 
most happy to join you in the novena to our Lady 
of Lourdes. I hope the water from her favored shrine, 
which I sent you some time ago, has reached you 
long* before this. 

Now, the last question you ask me, dear , is 

one that I cannot decide. Do not make any rash 
promises. You must consult your confessor, and do 
then what he thinks best. If you decide to consecrate 
yourself to God, consider that the yoke of the Lord 
is sweet and His burden is light. Pray and reflect 
before making any promise, for such a one is binding, 
and must be fulfilled. ********** * 
Be a good boy, and trust that the Lord and His 
Blessed Mother will soon make you well. * * * * 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Jan. 28, 1889. 
My dear Sister: 

Your letter was by no means the thunder-clap that 
you expected it would be, for I had long- surmised and 
expected that your vocation was that which you seem 
just now to realize. I did not dwell on the subject 
before, for I knew if such were the Will of God, it 
would sooner or later be made manifest. Another 
reason why I passed the matter over in silence, was 
that you might be wholly free, and that no influence 
whatsoever would be brought to bear upon your decision. 
This is an important consideration in the final choice 
of one's vocation, and when you are fully persuaded 
that no such human motive urged you to take the 
step, the finger of God is easily recognized, and sweetly 
and safely followed. 

I can readily believe that your decision, dear, was 
only reached after serious consideration, for you realize 
what it costs; the almost total loss of all your present 
endearments, and that for aye. Yet, you are not un- 
acquainted with the life you propose to lead, for your 
school years give you a very good idea of it, and you 
must know in a manner how it would suit your tem- 
perament. You did right in consulting your confessor, 
and should follow his advice most implicitly, for such 
is the means God has given us to know His Holy Will, 
and as long as we are under such guidance, we cannot 
go astray. So, if he advises you to go, go by all means. 
It does not mean that this absolutely settles your vo- 
cation, and once the step is taken that there is no 
turning back. By no means. It is simply that you 
believe such is the Will of God, and that you go to 
the novitiate to await His final sanction, which, if it 
should not come, you will always have a home ready to 


welcome you back, and you will even have the consola- 
tion of knowing- you did your whole duty, and the happi- 
ness of having- spent some time, be it long- or short, 
in the service of the Master Who most amply rewards. 
So do not get too much frightened at the prospect. 

Now, as to telling- father and mother. I am sur- 
prised that you did not confide in mother, for I 
know so well you have never kept anything- from her. 
Yet, I know how you feel, and how you shrink from 
causing- her any pain. But now that you have decided, 
tell her by all means, and I am sure, much as she will 
feel your loss, she will be willing- to suffer it for the 
greater glory of God, and for your own reward. Father 
too, will do the same, depend upon it, and you need 
have no hesitation about telling him. 

I might go further, dear Sister, and enter into sen- 
timent on the subject, and tell you how little you 
lose in the choice you have made and how much awaits 
you in return; but I prefer to leave it to your own 
sound judgment and common sense. Yet I cannot 
but add one word that will comfort you when weary, 
and console you when oppressed, it is the promise of 
our divine Saviour, that, "every one that hath left 
home, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother 
* * for My name's sake, shall receive a hundredfold, 
and shall possess life everlasting." Write to me soon 
again, and do not be afraid to mention it in your reg- 
ular letters. You ask for my unworthy prayers, but, 
dear, I have not waited for the asking-, nor do I stop 
with it, if that be any consolation to you. May God 
and His Blessed Mother direct you. 

Your affectionate brother, 



Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Feb. 16, 1889 
My dear R : 

*****! had received a letter from N- 

on the subject you mentioned, and answered it before I 
received yours, so perhaps by this time you know my 
sentiments regarding it. I can realize your solicitude for 
N - in such an important step, and I hope you will help 
her to do her full duty whatever it may be. It is not a 
wholly unfounded notion she has got, or any particular 
fondness for her own way, it is the advice of her con- 
fessor and her own convictions, and such considerations 
cannot be disregarded without great danger of sin. 
Yet, as you say, there are other things to be considered. 
I know the risk she runs in mistaking a vocation, and 
the humiliation she would have to suffer, which an 
unthinking and selfish world is ever ready to visit upon 
a few, whose only fault is, that they were but too quick 
to do what they believed to be the will of God. I see, 
too, that it is to spare her such sufferings that you 
would have her wait a little, until her own convictions 
are more settled, and you have greater proof of their 
stability; in which case I am sure not one of you 
would put an obstacle in her way. I cannot see any 
great injustice in asking her to wait a little, if you are 
unwilling she should go at once but do not ask two 
years, one will be enough, and even this will be a 

sacrifice for N , who, in the fervor of the moment, 

will count any delay too long. She will not refuse to do 
this for those who have made so man)' sacrifices for 
her, and who have her welfare and happiness so much 
at heart. Though her inclinations should be other- 
wise, and her impatience be great, she will have the 
more merit for the delay. In the meantime consider 
the heroic sacrifice she will have to make, and help 
and encourage her as you only can. 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

Mardi Gras, 1889. 
My dear Sister: 
I would have written before, but I thought that 

the letter I sent R would set your mind at ease. 

Be mildness itself but firm in your purpose, and 
all will go well. If father insists on you waiting 
a little do so, and you will gain more merit by the 
delay than by following your own inclination. Mother 
will, of course, be loath to let you go, but you 
need not feel at all concerned, she will not hesitate 
when convinced such is her duty. Their only 
thought is for you and your future happiness. Con- 
sider, dear, how much you leave behind, and how 
much you will have to put up with. You have never 
been away from home, and in the change you will 
not find another such as yours has been. You have 
always had your own way and liberty, and this will 
be so no longer. This is one of the hardest things 
to which you must submit. To go here or there, to 
do this or that, and all without a question or a mur- 
mur, comes hard at first, I assure you. Then in a 
community you will find all kinds of persons, with 
all kinds of dispositions. Many among them may 
not be to your liking, perhaps even those you will 
have to obey will not be congenial to you, and this, 
again, is not the least annoyance to be met with. I 
mention these few things, not by any means to dis- 
courage or deter you, but rather the contrary, that 
you may begin now to look conditions in the face 
and to prepare yourself to meet cheerfully the sacri- 
fice when it comes. I do not dwell upon the conso- 
lations you will get in return, such as the conscious- 
ness of duty done, and a security for your salvation; 
these will, no doubt, occur to you of themselves. 


But my advice to you is to think over the matter 
seriously, and to follow what your conscience dic- 
tates and your confessor approves. There is one 
recommendation that I would make. It is to get for 
your spiritual reading- "The Introduction to a Devout 
Life," by St. Francis de Sales. It is one of the 
most practical books I know of, and is very interest- 
ing besides. It was written to St. Jane de Chantal, 
the foundress of the Visitation Nuns. Her canoniza- 
tion shows how sound are its maxims, and how 
faithfully she observed them. Tell me from time to 
time how you like it. 

Mardi Gras, 1889. 

I believe that the American baseball players are in 
town, and will play a game on Thursday. Our pros- 
pects for seeing it are not very bright. At Rome 
the clubs were received at the American College, and 
the students attended the game in full force. The 
Frenchmen's idea, however, of the "convenable" 
could hardly be reconciled with such a vulgar affair 
as a baseball game. ******* 

The three days preceding Ash Wednesday are 
ones of special devotion, offered in reparation for 
the sins that are committed during this time of 
merrymaking outside. We have Exposition of the 
Blessed Sacrament and a solemn procession, so there 
is ample opportunity for prayer. The Lenten regu- 
lations are much the same as at home for ordinary 
people, but in the seminary, according to the un- 
changing and unchangeable usage of St. Sulpice, 
Saturday is added to Wednesday and Friday in 
which to make thin "faire meaghre," as they call it. 
I guess we will survive this thinning process, and 
come out upon the grand conga's after Easter all 
right, and none the worse for it. 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, Paris, 

May 1, 1889. 
My dear Sister: 

Many thanks for the pretty Easter presents you 
sent. The cards were indeed nicely painted, and 
they, with the other gifts, have been very much ad- 
mired. But the egg-s I guess that is what was in 
the separate package must have been hatched on 
the way, for there was hardly a particle of shell left 
when it reached here. * * * * 

I know you would like to hear something of our 
Easter services. There is one ceremony at which 
we assisted during Holy Week which impressed me 
very greatly, it is that of the Veneration of the Relics, 
which takes place at the Church of Notre Dame. 
These relics consist of the real Crown of Thorns, a 
piece of the true Cross, and one of the Nails used 
in the Crucifixion. There can be no doubt as to 
their genuineness, for they have been many times 
authenticated, and during these hundreds of years 
piously guarded and miraculously preserved from 
loss or desecration. It is conducive of solemn 
thoughts to be brought so near the very instru- 
ments of the Passion and Death of our Saviour. 

On Tuesday last we visited the Chapel of St. 
Lazare, to venerate the relics of St. Vincent de Paul. 
It was here he conducted his immense charities, and 
founded an order of priests and also the Sisters of 
Charity. A figure of the good old Saint is in a 
handsome reliquary above the altar. In the house 
are shown many of his effects, which have been re- 
ligiously preserved, and among them is his old 
umbrella. The Lazarists have a Salle des Martyrs 
like that of the Foreign Missions. It consists of 
such mementos as ropes by which their mission- 


ariea were strangled, cotton soaked in their blood, 
their ashes, etc. These are a few of the sights to 
which we have access, and which, as you may 
imagine, are more conducive to wholesome thoughts 
than the great Exposition, with all its wonders of 
human ingenuity. 

We have had several grand conge's, which were 
spent very pleasantly at Issy. We leave here at six 
in the morning and return after supper, and if the 
weather is fine the day is most enjoyable. 

The approach of vacation Las put several schemes 
on foot as to how it should be spent. There has 
nothing definite been settled yet, but what is most 
favored is an extended bicycle, or rather, tricycle 
trip, first into Germany and then down the French 
sea coast. The exercise would, no doubt, be very 
beneficial after a sedentary life of nine months, and 
one could see the country much better than from a 
railroad train or on foot. The great difficulty is to 
get a machine at a reasonable price. In Normandy, 
by the seaside, there are several good-natured cure's, 
that take in, now and then, stray seminarians. Per- 
haps we will pay them a visit during the summer. 

May, 1889. 

I suppose you get all the news of the Exposition 
that is now being held. About the only evidence we 
have of it is that which we get, like yourselves, through 
the papers. It is out of the question to visit it until 
school closes, and we have received a sound lecture to 
that effect. The consequence is that it is almost im- 
possible to get permission to leave the house for any 
purpose whatever. Still, though we have not been to 
the Exposition ourselves, we have seen many who have, 


and they tell us that the American exhibit is very good. 
One of the most striking features is a statue of Venus 
of Milo, full size and in a rich brown stone. A large 
sign warns the visitors not to touch it, and on ex- 
amining it more closely one sees the wisdom of such a 
warning, for the statue is made of chocolate, and any 
contact with it would soon detract from its shapeliness. 
A soda-water fountain passes for almost .a curiosity. 
They tell us, also, that there are genuine Boston 
baked beans to be found there, and this makes us a 
little impatient. The tower looks quite graceful now, 
notwithstanding all the hard things that have been said 
about it. I may be able to say more of the Exposi- 
tion later on. 

June 18, 1889. 

We are almost on the eve of vacation. There is 
but one more holiday. I am writing this at Issy, for 
it is the day of our walk. This morning we had a 
little address from His Eminence, the new Cardinal 
of Paris. He is now in the Cardinalate, but has been 
Archbishop of Paris for years. Judge Hadley called 
at the seminary, but unfortunately I was at Issy. I 
am sorry to have missed him. 

My dear Sister: 

I am very glad that all is so pleasantly settled in 
regard to your leaving home. I was always persuaded 
that father and mother once convinced of the will of 
God would not, for a moment, stand in the way of its 
accomplishment, though submitting to it might, at 
first, cause some pain. I know that mother will feel 
keenly your going away and that she will miss you 
every hour, and your absence will make her very 
lonesome; still, her sense and reason will tell her it 


is all for the better. Her only care is for your own 
sake, and yet, what more could she desire for you 
than that which is in store. Where could be found 
a spouse like Him whom you have chosen. If it is 
an honorable position in life she would ask for you, 
why to serve God is to reign. If it is your eternal 
happiness she seeks, where can this be better assured 
than where you are going? These considerations, 
with the help of God, will, I know, aid her to let you 
go, and more, even to make the sacrifice cheerfully. 
Am glad to hear that you will not have to postpone 
your departure further than January, for protracted 
delays dull one's feelings and cause needless anxiety. 
You have my continued prayers for the fulfillment of 
God's will in your regard. 

Your affectionate brother, 


Paris, July 9, 1889. 
My dear Father: 

The vacation has begun pleasantly, and I have no 
doubt but it will continue so. The one thing that 
will increase its enjoyment will be to feel that you 
and mother and all at home are spending some of the 
summer weeks at the beach. 

I am at Issy trying to do a little of our vacation 
work and get it off my hands before starting on our 
tour. It is very pleasant here, and we have consid- 
erable liberty. ******* 
There is a pious custom among the seminarians that 
may interest you. The first night of vacation is 
spent at the Church of the Sacred Heart on Mont 
Martyre, which was erected by a national vow after 
the commune in 1871. The Blessed Sacrament is 
continually exposed, and perpetual adoration is carried 


on day and night. The seminarians are furnished 
with mattresses, and watch an hour in their turn. 
Mass and Benediction are sung- at 5 A. M., and a con- 
secration is read to the Sacred Heart. As you may 
imagine the whole affair is inspiring- of devotion. The 
spot itself overlooks the city, and as its name the 
Mountain of Martyrs indicates, has a holy significance. 
It was here that St. Denis, the apostle of France, 
and his companions, were put to death. The church 
is not nearly completed, but it will be in fact is so 
already one of the most noted edifices in Paris. It 
is built wholly by subscription and stone is sent from 
all parts of France to make it a thoroug-hly national 
church. In the morning we found another interest- 
ing- chapel at the foot of the hill, one that is not 
generally known. It is the sacred place where St. 
Ignatius and St. Francis Xavier and Blessed Rodri- 
guez and a few others founded the Society of Jesus. 
It is now in the possession of a little community of 
nuns who have for their mission "to work, to suffer, 
and to pray for the souls in Purgatory." Another 
favorite shrine here in the heart of the city is Notre 
Dame des Victoires, but of this I will tell you later, 
I have been to the Exposition, but have not as yet 
mounted the tower, which is, of course, the feature 
of it all. The grounds are immense. There is a 
railroad for the different parts of it. The buildings 
are very artistic, and it is difficult to say which is the 
finest of them. In the United States exhibit Edison's 
lights and phonograph have the greatest space. Among 
the most attractive features of the French display are 
two pieces of Gobelin tapestry about thirty feet by ten 
feet. In design and color they surpass anything I 
have ever seen. The Italian statuary is very fine, 
also, and many of its pieces are already sold to Amer- 


icans. There are frequently 200,000 persons on the 
grounds, and tickets are sold for nine or ten cents. 
From the seminary grounds the evening illumination 
is beautiful. I wish you could be here to enjoy all 
with me ****** 

Your dutiful son, 



In the Summer of 1889. 
"Such stuff as dreams are made of." 

It is a well known axiom in philosophy that nothing 
is in the mind which has not come through the 
senses, but no philosopher has ever yet succeeded 
in laying down a principle to explain the different 
combinations of those impressions once received. Nor 
is it strange when we consider what such a principle 
would have to cover, from the airy fancies of a day 
dream to the hideous ravings of a nightmare. How- 
ever fantastic these may be, it is often interesting 
and amusing to trace them back to simple ideas and 
to compare these with the image that the dream pre- 
sents; but seldom are these gnomes of dreamland 
capable of perpetrating a joke. Yet such was the 
case with me the other night. 

It is now November; the summer days have long 
passed; the smiling fields, the glistening sea and the 
sweet breath of the kine have given way to the four 
stone walls of the seminary cloister, a little patch of 
leaden sky and the cold-in-the-head and chill-all-over 
Parisian fog. The events of the summer had become 
a worn out topic of conversation; we had even ceased 
to think about them. This night of which I speak, 
I dreamed I was talking to some one about the close 


of the Universal Exposition, and he mentioned many 
attractions that were to crown its last days. Among 
them, a man was to jump from the top of the Eiffel 
Tower to the ground. "With what hope of success?" 
said I. "Why does he think he can jump from the 
height of a thousand feet to the ground and live?" 
"Oh!" said my somnambulistic informant, "he is a 
bicyclist." The explanation seemed to satisfy me 
perfectly, and I felt that if anyone in the world could 
perform so terrible a leap, it was a bicyclist. 

I could not but smile audibly, as they say, in awaken- 
ing, and the remembrance of two twisted elbows, a 
scraped shin, and a sore back, marked the places 
where these impressions entered, caused as they were 
by a bicycle. Well, I thought, after all there was 
some truth in the dream; "some method in the mad- 
ness." But I am anticipating matters. Let us com- 
mence at the beginning. It was the morning of July 
14th, the Frenchmen's "Fourth," and this happened 

to be Sunday. Mr. H and myself took the six 

o'clock train for Trouville Sur Mer. We arrived in 
time to hear Mass in a large, though plain, church, 
situated on a high hill overlooking the town and visi- 
ble from quite a distance to the sea. The interior 
was decorated with gaudy banners and streamers of 
yellow, red, and blue; the singing, for it was a Solemn 
Mass, was done principally by the congregation and 
some dozens of school children. And such singing! 
A saw when it encounters a nail in a plank is sweet 
music to such discordant sounds. Organ, choir, chil- 
dren, old salts, all had a different key and each his 
own time. It was difficult to keep a straight face, 
but all about us looked serious enough and seemed 
rather entranced by the dulcet strains. If these good 
people wish to so honor and praise le Bon Dieu, well 


then, "soit," as they say, we have no reason to com- 

The town proper bears the stamp of antiquity, and 
the principal business of the place seems to be fish- 
ing 1 . The old hulks with their blackened sails, lined 
one side of the main street which lies along 1 a little 
inlet. Invariably they bore some religious emblem: 
as a cross on the mainmast, or a little statue of the 
Blessed Virgin on the prow. The usual contingent 
of loungers and old salts, with their weather eye 
peeled, hung around to see that no one ran off with 
these "greyhounds of the deep." 

But such were not the attractions that brought us 
hither. There is besides quite a fine beach. A few 
miles of a stretch of golden sand is marked off by 
two long piers that stretch far out to sea. Along the 
shore is a light-house, some fine large hotels and cafe's; 
behind these, among the trees and rising above them, 
are many picturesque villas. On one side, a steep 
bluff, and on the other an inlet or river runs well 
into the townj and at high tide admits the boat from 
Havre. On this high bluff that overlooks the sea, the 
beach and the town, is a handsome bronze crucifix, 
which forms a striking figure against a background 
of clear sky. 

We spent a few days here quite pleasantly, our 
principal occupation being to watch the myriads of 
children, for this seems to be a children's paradise, 

"Build their castles in dissolving sand, 
To watch them overflowed, or following up 
And flying the white breakers, daily left 
The little footprints, daily washed away." 

Yes, these little "parlez vous," with their shovels 
and pails and nets, worked like corals all day long. 


One thing 1 remarkable about the bathing 1 here is, 
that the women and men have separated portions of 
the beach. We were forcibly reminded of this, when 
sauntering along 1 we were accosted by an old fellow 
who gesticulated furiously and ordered us off the 
place, for we had unconsciously gotten within the en- 
closure for women. Unless they are good swimmers, 
the women are usually accompanied by a hired bather, 
sometimes a woman, sometimes a man. 

I will not stop to describe our landlady; suffice to 
say that she was the most thrifty and stingy person 
I ever met. She measured everything, from our appe- 
tites to our candles. A great shanghai bonne, as long 
in doing- anything as she was in stature, completed 
the manage. 

For several days back, I had been trying to per- 
suade Mr. H that he was a born bicyclist, and 

that all he needed was a machine. At first he would 
not listen to anything like a bicycle trip, but one day 
in examining some machines, we suddenly struck a 
bargain and agreed to take a tandem in the morning 
for a trip of a week. 


The loungers along the old quay this morning might 
have seen two hardy cyclists in flannel shirts and 
crush hats, a bag, two overcoats, and an umbrella 
strapped on behind, move down the principal street 
at a rather cautious gait, with a kind of weak-kneed 
motion, and in a somewhat uncertain course. It was 
not without some difficulty that we managed to steer 
clear of houses and wagons, but we did so, and once 
on the highway we had the road to ourselves. I will 
not attempt to describe the figures we cut; suffice to 


say it was mighty hard work and not very graceful. 
The pedal movement resembled more the turning- of 
a grindstone than the working of a bicycle. A pain 
in the knees made us slow up and we soon became, 
so to speak, most accurate levels, so that an imper- 
ceptible incline in the road would bring us to a dead 
stop. The sun beat down unmercifully upon us, and 
every passing w.igon gave us a mouthful of dust. 
Sometimes an old fellow along the roadside would 
cry out that the one behind wasn't doing any of the 

work. Then, of course, I would give Mr. H a 

talking to and tell him I thought it went rather hard, 
until the next swain would say it was the man behind 
that was doing all the work. Then it was Mr. 

H 's turn at me. But for all that, we were more 

than repaid for the fatigue. It was a glorious ride. 
The road lay along the sea, and now and then from 
the top of a hill offered a most magnificent prospect! 
The sunbeams dancing on the waves, the shadow of 
the clouds giving different colors to the water, and 
one chasing the other; the sails now flashing in the 
sunshine, now hiding in the shadow ; the sky seem- 
ing but another sheet of overhanging water; all was 
most charming, and now and then a cool, refreshing 
breeze came from the sea. 

At one of the turnpikes was an antique chapel. 
We descended to make a visit to the Blessed Sacra- 
ment. The building, a most antiquated structure, had 
been recently restored. On the inside of the porch 
were the names of a hundred or more nobles who 
accompanied William the Conqueror in his conquest 
of England. He was born hereabouts. The chapel 
stands quite alone and there was no one who could 
give us any information about its history or import- 
ance, and I feel it has both. 


Such was the road we followed until we reached 
Carbourg, a little after noon. Here we had dinner, 
and after we had stretched our lengths upon the sand 
we determined to push on as far as Caen. Things 
went along smoothly for awhile, but after the exercise 
of the morning we soon wilted. Evening found us afoot, 
dragging the machine after us, and sorry, that, since 
we had to walk we had not left it at home. We had 
expected that the machine would carry us, and here 
we were carrying the machine. At length, the spires 
of Caen appeared, and we mounted again to make a 
triumphal "entre," but the first pavements we en- 
countered gave each particular bone a voice, and down 
again we had to come. We found a hotel, we were 
not "difficile" at that moment, and after a hasty supper 
made for bed. We had covered fifty-four kilometres, 
or about forty miles from 10 A. M. to 7.30 p. M. It 
was not a bad run for the first time, but we paid for 

it afterwards. Mr. H could not stand up and I 

could not sit down. "Few and short were the pray- 
ers we said," and sleep never came quicker nor was 
ever sweeter than that night. 


Caen is a fine old historic town of about forty thou- 
sand inhabitants; and was the favorite seat of William 
the Conqueror. Several old churches date from his time 
(llth century) and though somewhat dilapidated, their 
graceful spires still rise majestically and present a 
charming view from a distance. The most noted of 
these are Abbaye Aux Hommes where William was 
buried. (William died a horrible death, suffering and 
alone. When placing his body in the sarcophagus in 


the church, the place was somewhat narrow. A few 
attendants jumped upon the coffin to force it into place, 
when it burst and the putrid remains of the conqueror 
were scattered over the floor. The stench drove the 
people from the church. At the time it was regarded 
as a punishment from God for the evils he had caused 
the church.) The Abbaye Aux Dames is a monument 
to his wife. The characteristics of these churches 
seem to be their high and pointed vaulting and their 
extreme narrowness* The house of Charlotte Corday 
is also shown. A character not quite so celebrated 
as any of those mentioned, yet not without some in- 
terest, is the little light-haired Monsieur 1' Abb, whom 
we met last year in Switzerland, and who is stationed 
here at the Church of St. Pierre. Unfortunately he 
was not to be found, or we would have had a pleasant 
time with himself and his Mamma for Auld Lang Syne. 
We were more refreshed in the morning than we 
had expected, and in the middle of the forenoon 
headed westward. But not before we had sent all our 
baggage back to Trouville, as we found enough to do 
to carry ourselves. 


Once limbered up a little and relieved of our bag- 
gage, we made quick work. The national roads are 
simply magnificent, straight as an arrow, even and 
broad, and shaded by rows of trees on both sides, 
and hills, for the most part, quite gentle. Along we 
sped, working "like niggers" uphill, and letting our- 
selves go at full speed down the other side. It was 
most exciting and enjoyable, but, as we found, most 
reckless. Those who have never been on one of these 


machines cannot realize the speed they attain; I am 
sure a runaway horse does not go so fast. We had 
toiled up a hill, it seemed as if we were almost an 
hour in doing- so and hard work it was, but we prom- 
ised ourselves a glorious "coast" on the other side. 
At last we came to the top; not a soul was in sight 
and a fine stretch of road lay before us. There was, 
however, near the foot a covered wagon drawn up on 
the roadside which served as a habitation for some 
wandering tinker or gypsy. This was soon well out 
of our way and down 'we started. Faster and faster 
we went. I was in front, not a word was spoken, 
and we both held on for dear life. Down, down we 
went with the speed of a railroad train. Noiselessly 
as we descended, we were not unperceived. When 
nearing the covered wagon a little imp of a dog started 
across the road, barking-. He mistook our velocity. 
I tooted the horn and shouted; but it was no use; we 
struck him squarely, ran over him and then here 
is a picture of what happened. The front wheel, 
bent like a cobweb, turned to the side of the road, 
into a hedge and ditch we went and "spilled"; that 
is the best word I can use to express the toss we 
got all over the ground. I was thrown off to one side 
and covered several metres on my back, while Mr. 

H took a somersault over the brake. As soon as 

we got our breath, each inquired if the other was 
hurt, and both set to work to find broken bones. 
Thank the Lord, none were found. The damage con- 
sisted of only a breaking of the skin here and there. 
The bicycle was a sad-looking wreck. The hind wheel 
would turn, that was all. By the time we bad made 
this examination, the owner of the dog and his wife 
came along to sympathize with us. What we could 
not say to the dog we said to his master, and in no 


measured terms. Of course it was no fault of his, 
but rather our own recklessness that put us in such 
a plight. Here we were, way in the country, eight 
miles from a railroad and but a few farmhouses in 
the vicinity, with a worse than useless machine, and 
almost broken leg's in the bargain. I will not linger 
on the details of what followed; how we dragged the 
machine several miles along the road; how the village 
blacksmiths shook their heads they could shoe a 
horse, but a horse like that they had never seen 
before; how all the "gamins"' in their wooden sabots 
trotted after us, before us, and around us. At length 
there was but one thing to be done, get to Bayeux, 
twelve kilometres away, and try to find some one to 
fix us up. Off we went in a tip-cart, machine and 
all. It was now evening, and the long, cold drive was 
anything but agreeable. Our Jehu, however, gave us 
some interesting news on the state of religion here- 
abouts, and simple countryman as he was, showed that 
his few years in the army had relieved him of what- 
ever religious ideas he once might have had. He 
never, of course, suspected that we were ecclesias- 
tics. I hope the poor country cure's have few parish- 
ioners like this fellow. 


Bayeux's halcyon days are long gone. It is a dull, 
dead, dirty town of about ten thousand inhabitants, 
but it boasts of a real gem of a cathedral, one of the 
five chef-d'ouvres of Europe. It ranks with that of 
Amiens and Chartres. It has lately been restored, 
and is in excellent condition, but I fear that the chill 
penury of the public funds froze the genial currents 
of the architect's soul, for the profuse ornamentation 


that marks its school is sadly wanting in its restora- 
tion. A musical chime struck the quarter-hours, and 
in the stillness of night produced a pleasing- effect. 

Longfellow has feelingly described the emotions that 
these sweet midnight bells arouse and the fond mem- 
ories they awake: 

"Perchance a sleepless wight 
Lodging- in some humble inn, 
In the narrow lanes of life, 
When the dark and hush of night 
Shut out the incessant din 
Of daylight and its toil and strife, 
May listen with a calm delight, 
Intermingling with the song 
Thoughts that he had nourished long, 
Hears amid the chime and singing 
The bells of his own village ringing, 
JP 1 And wakes and finds his slumbrous eyes 

Wet with most delicious tears." 

Sunday we assisted at Mass here, and were struck 
by the emptiness of that beautiful temple. The na- 
tives of the place know the value of their church, but 
have learned it from strangers. In speaking to a hotel 
keeper who was lauding the work to the sky, we asked 
him about some little detail. This he could not tell, 
and acknowledged that, although living here ten years, 
and this being the principal monument of the place 
to say nothing of the claims of religion he had never 
been inside the door. In a little museum is kept a 
piece of tapestry, the most authentic account of the 
history of the Conquest of England by William the 
Conqueror. It is made of coarse linen, 230 feet long 
and 20 inches wide, and was worked by Queen Matilda, 
his wife. It seemed to me to have more historic than 
artistic value and looked like a child's sampler. 


ST. Lo. 

After a tedious delay of three days at Bayeux, we 
got away, and this time we were not a little cau- 
tious. It was a pleasant, easy road, and part of it 
ran through a deep forest, which is extremely rare 
in France. Long before we got within some distance 
from the town, we met dozens of wagons coming from 
the fair. It was always the two-wheel "carriole," 
as they call it, though more like a tip-cart than like 
our wagon of the same name. In the town all was 
hurry, and bustle, and noise; the streets and places 
were lined with booths and crowded with people. 
What do you suppose the principal commodity was? 
No less than human beings. It was "Domestics' day," 
when all the servants, both men and women, for miles 
around, come hither once a year to seek employment. 
The women, of course, look their tidiest; they dress 
mostly in "the customary suit of solemn black" with 
a neat little lace cap about the size of one's hand, and 
have all their earthly effects in a bandanna handker- 
chief. The men wear a frock of shiny blue stuff. 
The "paterfamilias" you can easily recognize him 
by his aldermanic proportions and bon-homme swag- 
ger looks over this human live-stock as he would a 
cow or a horse and offers a price for the year's ser- 
vice, which is usually about sixty dollars. There they 
barter away, and if a bargain be struck, off they all 
go in the inevitable carryall. There was, however, a 
conveyance that amused us more than this. It was a 
little donkey with a woman on his back, and a child 
in a hamper on each side. 

It was dusk when we left St. Lo, and we determined 
to make a night ride to Coutence. A trip by night 
was at least a novelty, and the cool of evening allowed 
us to make up some of the time we lost by accident. 


In climbing some of the steep hills we hitched on to 
a dray and talked politics with the bumpkins. It was 
amusing to hear their appreciation of General Bou- 
langer and the Republic. We found them mostly 
Monarchists. The Normandy accent became more 
and more noticeable; that is, they pronounce oi like 
ai, and it is sometimes puzzling-, though they under- 
stand the proper pronounciation without difficulty. 

We came very near passing Coutances in the dark, 
but fortunately found some late birds about, who put 
us on the right track before we got far astray. It 
was midnight when we climbed the steep streets of 
the town. After a cup of tea we rolled in. 


Some people are famous for the places whence they 
come; thus, the meanest slave from the antipodes, or 
the country of Emin Bey, would be of considerable 
interest in the United States. Others impart a fame 
to the place, which but for them would find no record 
in the book of fate. But for Shakespeare we would 
never have heard of Stratford-on-Avon, and, had not 
Goldsmith sung "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the 
plain," would be drowned in a thousand other little 
towns upon a railroad map, or some stage-coach route. 

The Cur of Grimoville is by no means the black 
from the Antipodes, neither is he quite a Shakespeare, 
yet, to him Grimoville owes a fame, that without him it 
would never acquire. You would look in vain upon 
the map for this place; the sign-posts on the road for- 
get to mention it; yet there has not been an English, 
Irish, Scotchman, or American in St. Sulpice for some 
years back, to whom Grimoville has not been the Utopia 


of vacation. Naturally enough, being- in this part of 
the country we had some curiosity to see the place, 
though we feared we would scandalize the Curd, for 
we looked more like two tramps than two seminarians. 
We wore sack coats, flannel shirts, and had not shaved 
for three weeks. 

It was about noon as we wound in between the little 
shanties with their mud walls and thatched roofs, per- 
haps fifty in number, that constitute the town of Grimo- 
ville. The street in fact there was but one was as 
crooked as a ram's horn and yet the little ones would 
tell us "Tout droit, Messieurs! Tout droit. " With our 
accustomed body-guards of gamins, all that were in 
the town, I doubt if one was missing we came to 
the neat little house, beside an old Norman church 
and separated from it only by the small burying 

The Cure' was not at home. His prim little house- 
keeper, in the regulation lace cap and monstrous jaw 
strings, received us good naturedly, and fired a volley 
of questions at our heads. Among the first "Were 
we not seminarians?" No prevarications would do, 
so we finally confessed. She came to the gate to see 
our bicycle. You should have seen the children run, 
helter-skelter, and such whistling and cat-calls as they 
scampered off, and she shaking her fist and calling 
after them. A poor, deaf curate showed us about the 
place and kept us company until the Cure arrived. 
He did so shortly, and with him a seminarian from the 
Irish College. They had been fishing, and, with ac- 
customed success, had caught one fish between the two. 
(In fishing, the Cure' never used a hook, perhaps he 
did not want to hurt the fish. The bait consisted of 
about a half-dozen worms tied in a knot with a string. 
This was thrown into the water, and when the bite 


was felt, it was drawn carefully to the side of the boat, 
then a sudden jerk given, and if the bait was tangled 
in the teeth or stuck in its throat, the fish was caught. 
This manner of doing things may account for his 
success.) The first sight we got of him was very 
disappointing. We expected a jolly, little fellow, and 
here he was lank, lean, and as solemn as a judge. We 
had scarcely recovered when we sat down to dinner. 
It would require Dickens or Washington Irving to 
describe that meal. There was the old Cure in the 
middle; opposite the deaf curate, M. 1' Abbe as they 
called him; atone end of the table the madame, prim 
as ever, and at the other end an old salt, le capitaine, 
with clean shaven face and throat whiskers, who looked 
for all the world like Micawber; we were distributed 
between these around the table. Mine host did the 
honors right royally, clad in a shiny soutane, a huge 
napkin around his neck, a pair of blue spectacles always 
on his forehead. Anon he pinched from a gigantic 
snuffbox, or struggled with two cats or the dog for 
the possession of his napkin. There was a quiet streak 
of humor in the old man, yet he never laughed and 
seldom smiled, but no one enjoyed a good story more 
than he. And what was most strange, he never turned 
his head when he spoke, but looked at one out of the 
corner of his eye. He told us of his trip to Rome, 
no one had ever been to Grimoville who had not heard 
that story, once at least. 

In the middle of an enthusiastic description of St. 
Peter's, the old, deaf Monsieur 1' Abbe', who heard not 
a word, would suddenly break in and declare that the 
price of cider would go up next year. The madama, 
too, ventured a correction now and then, and Monsieur 
Capitaine always came in with a "conQrmatur" when 
his mouth was full. Thus all went merrily, the more 


so as the dinner went on, and from the clock over our 
heads a little cuckoo crowed ten quarter hours before 
we left that table. 

I could fill many pages with the drolleries of the 
rest of that day and evening-, but I must hurry on. At 
six in the morning we assisted at Mass in the little 
rickety church, and to our great surprise we found 
the Cur^ singing Mass, with the deaf vicaire for a choir, 
and but one poor old woman for a congregation.' The 
choir was not always happy in the responses, for he 
the choir followed only the motions, and heard not a 
word; so if the Cure would draw himself up and cough, 
the choir would respond "Deo Gratias." The Cure, in 
his turn, served as choir for the vicaire, and thus there 
were two chanted Masses every morning. 

The Cure' had an old, deaf sexton, who thought that 
everybody in a soutane was a priest and a cure'. One 
morning an American seminarian came into the church, 
and as soon as the old man saw him he started to 
ring the bell, thinking he was going to say Mass. Mr. 

M caught him by the arm, and told him that it was 

not time for Mass. The old fellow looked at him a 

moment and started for the bell. Mr. M caught 

him again, and shouted that it was not time for Mass, 
but no sooner had he released his hold of him than 

off he went for the bell rope. Mr. M put after 

him this time, bellowed into his ear that he should 
not ring for a half hour yet, but seeing even this made 
no impression he took out his watch showing that it 
was now eight o'clock, and when the hands should get 
around to 8.30, then he should ring. The old fellow 
looked at him with disgust, and said laconically as he 
walked off "II fallait le dire!" "Why didn't you say so?" 

It was reluctantly that we bade the Cure good bye 
towards the middle of the afternoon. With many 


thanks for his kind hospitality, and most pressing in- 
vitations for an early return, we said not "adieu" but 
"au revoir. " 


It was a delightful road that we followed; for a 
considerable distance it ran close to the sea, and a 
bracing- breeze from off the water helped us to make 
good time. At almost every cross-road a crucifix was 
to be found, a sight very common through Normandy, 
but hereabouts they were more artistic than any we 
had yet seen. The cross and the figure were both 
cut from the same stone and stood about fifteen feet 
high. A little plot of grass and neat curbing at the 
foot formed inviting halts for the tired wayfarer. A 
few miles outside of Granville we struck a magnifi- 
cent military road, straight as an arrow, level as a 
table, and for the most part on a high plateau over- 
looking the sea. The heavy clouds had begun to 
gather, and as we sped along we could see their shad- 
ows chasing each other over the waves, and now and 
then a white sail, scarce visible before in the shade, 
would flash into the sunshine, and again drop into 
the shadow. 

"Now dark in the shadow she scatters the spray, 

As chaff in the stroke of the flail; 
Now white as the sea-gull, she flies on her way, 
The sun gleaming bright on her sail." 

It was evening as we wound slowly down the ser- 
pentine road that descends to the town. For the space 
of several hundred yards the high bluff had shutout 
the sea from view, but of a sudden, just at the foot 
of the hill, a rent in the rock, about fifty feet wide 
and spanned by a slender bridge, formed a frame- 


work for the golden sunset; bright waves, dotted 
here and there with a snowy sail, and near, a little 
strand with variegated bathing tents and fairly brist- 
ling with activity. I never remember seeing a scene 
more charming. It was more like a picture than a 

There are two parts to the town, the old and the 
new. The former is very picturesque. It crowns, 
as a kind of citadel, a huge rock which overlooks the 
sea, and in the center rises the spire of an antique 
church. It is surrounded by a massive wall and the 
approaches are drawbridges and portcullis. 

We had plenty of leisure to enjoy the beauties of 
Granville, so much, in fact, that for a time they lost 
all their charms for us. For, like Moore's ship that 
"sailed gallantly on, but from which at eve the waters 
were gone," so were we stranded. The Vanderbilts 
and Rothschilds of this town would not cash our notes; 
then, one sent to Paris, owing to a mistake, had to be 
sent to London, and in the meantime, down, down, 
went our finances, until we had but one sou a cent 
between both of us, and a week's board bill to our 
account. Is it any wonder that Granville lost its 
charms? A pawnbroker in English is commonly called 
"My Uncle," in French it is "Chez Ma Tante"; an- 
other day and we would have made her acquaintance. 

At last the money arrived. What a change came 
over the face of the place ! The sun seemed brighten 
the sky bluer, and the grass greener since we got 
some money in our empty pockets, and we proved to 
ourselves, that, after all, the appreciation of beauty 
is, in no small measure, subjective. 

We had flattered ourselves, of late, that, in such a 
rig as ours, with an air as nonchalant as possible, 
we could pass for natives, but alas! One day while 


passing 1 through a side street, a little girl frorn an 
upper window called to a companion, "Pauline, Paul- 
ine, venez-voir deux biftecks." ("Come and see two 

Pleased as we were to get to Granville, we were 
the more so to get away. 


In the arm of a beautiful bay, scarce less beautiful 
than that of Naples, at a distance of about a mile and 
one half from shore, Nature has let fall a gigantic rock, 
and there it has stood unmoved, unshaken by the waves 
that beat and the tides that for centuries have come 
and gone, and which are to it but as time is to eternity. 
Such a work is a monument to the Creator. But later, 
upon this there arose another, the work of human 
hands; it was a temple worthy of the true God. Per- 
haps in this wide world there is no more fitting spot, 
nor one better suited to express God's supreme do- 
minion over the land and over the sea, and all things 
therein, than this. Mount St. Michael is one of the 
most celebrated monuments of architecture in Europe. 

The cathedral has for its foundation this solitary 
rock that rises three hundred feet from out of the water. 
About its base and leaning against the rock is a little 
town, kept from being swept off with the sea by a ram- 
part flanked with towers. A single street that never 
echoed to a horse's tread follows the wall, and is all 
the town can boast. Many of the houses are of the 
Middle Ages. The population is not large, yet almost 
to a person turns out en masse as the tourist comes 
in sight, and such a hubbub and pulling here and there 
by men and women, was never seen. We afterwards 


discovered how it happened that we were so well(?) 
received. A watch is stationed on the rampart above 
and at the approach of a victim, gives a sign by a 
horn. Formerly the only approach to the Mount was 
by a boat or over the beach at low tide, but a few years 
ago a road was built, much to the disgust of artists 
and archaeologists. 

The sea-bed here is very flat and shallow, and the 
tide comes and goes very quickly; within a few minutes 
the space of two hundred miles square is covered with 
water. At low tide a circuit of the island can be made 
on the sand, but over a few places one is carried by 
a bare-legged, long-haired, eccentric individual in a 
Tarn O'Shanter hat and red sash, who calls himself 
the Count of Somewhere and lives alone on a solitary 
isle in the bay. 

We arrived in time to accompany the last group 
through the building. A few words of the history of 
the place may give additional interest to what we saw. 

This Mount has always been considered as a sacred 
spot. As early as the sixth century, St. Pair, Apostle 
of this country, founded a monastery here. In the 
year 708, St. Michael, Archangel, appeared to Aubert, 
Bishop of Avaranches, and bade him raise to him a 
sanctuary on this spot. Child bert III. confided to St. 
Michael the protection of his kingdom. Hither nearly 
all the kings of France have repaired, among them 
Charlemagne and St. Louis. Numerous pilgrimages 
from the surrounding countries flocked thither. These 
were always on foot; they came chanting hymns and 
sounding trumpets, and decked out with medals, shells, 
etc., which were preserved as relics of the holy place. 
At the crowning of St. Michael in 1877, twenty-five 
thousand persons were present. From the begining 
of the century until 1863 Mount St. Michael was a 


prison of state, during 1 which time it was almost de- 
stroyed as a monument of architecture. From 1865 
to 1886 it was under the jurisdiction of the bishop of 
Coutances. At this latter date it was turned over to 
the minister of Beaux-Arts. 

The building- is a massive affair, consisting of three 
parts, quite distinct in every respect and placed one 
above the other. 

The rock on which it is built protrudes into the 
center and gives the structures there irreg-ularity. 
The side that is shown in the picture I am sending 
is called "La Merveille". Here are two vast apartments 
on each side of the three landings, supported by grace- 
ful Gothic columns, which give them the appearance 
of a church. Thus they have remained during six 
centuries, as a monument of religious and military 
architecture of the Middle Ages. Here is shown a 
huge wheel, about twenty-five feet in diameter, which 
served as a treadmill, and was used to lift provisions 
to the prisoners. It is regarded as a new Ixion's 
wheel for the torture of unfortunates, and consequent- 
ly has attached the usual number of blood-curdling 
tales. The wheel was worked from the inside by the 
weight of the men; six or eight could enter at a time. 

The "Salle des Chevaliers" is perhaps the best part 
of the building; almost a hundred feet long, it could 
go at once. It dates from the fifteenth century, when 
were founded the Knights of St Michael, in honor of 
him "qui pour la querella de Dieu victoricusement 
batailla coutre le Drag-on, ancien ennemi de nature 
humnine et le trebucha du ciel." 

The cloister, or rather "le cloitre," which does not 
mean precisely the same thing-, is a charming- piece 
of work. I am sending- a view of it. Open in the 
center to the sky, its Gothic roof is covered with tiles 


of different colors, and supported by a double row of 
polished granite pillars, each of which is crowned by a 
graceful rosette, and no two are alike. Through the 
long, narrow slots in the outer walls a glimpse of 
the sea and sky is obtained. Beneath all this are the 
"cachots," or dungeons. Black and dismal holes they 
are! One of them about four and one half feet high, 
and arched, about three feet deep and five feet long, 
was closed with an iron grating, and called The Cage. 
It would not permit one to either stand or lie. Again 
the usual number of tales. 

As I have said, at low tide you can make a tour of 
the isle on the sand. In doing so you will meet dozens 
of fisherwomen with their nets on their backs, their 
dresses tucked up almost to their knees, their bare 
legs browned by the sun. At the extremity, on a few 
rocks, is the hermitage of St. Aubert, who began the 
present building in honor of the archangel. After 
having made the tour once, it is a relief to get free 
from chattering guides and importunate venders, and, 
in the rich glow of the setting sun from the parapet 
beneath to watch the changing light and shadow upon 
the grand old pile. 

We lingered here till night came on, and one by one 
the stars came out. Though the queen of the heavens 
did not lend her enchantment to the scene, still the 
soft starlight and a clear sky hung like a canopy over 
all, while the pinnacles of the church above, softened 
by the gathering darkness were lifted heavenward, like 
hands clasped in prayer. 


From St. Malo we doubled on our tracks and re- 
turned to Trouville without stopping, and the day 


following- we started for Sassetot which is a little town 

north of Havre, on the coast. Mr. H had a laugh 

at my sea going- qualities in crossing- the indentation 
to Havre. A trip that costs but seventeen cents and 
takes but an hour, yet so rough that many of the pass- 
engers could not contain themselves I among- the rest. 
It was nevertheless amusing- to hear on all sides 
"Lapriste'I parbleu! Voila un brave matelot," as, one 
after another like Sir Joseph Porter, K. C. B., would 
"seek the seclusion that the cabin grants." When 
taking- the train at Havre at noon, an individual, with 
a child in his arms was trying 1 to pass the guard by 
showing a ticket for Paris althoug-h this train was 
bound north. Each time he was put back, the g-uard 
telling- him he would have to wait three hours, but 
the poor fellow understood not a word, and each time 
replied in broken Eng-lish, "Boot, my vife iz on zat 
train." The other answered "a trois heure et demi," 
"a trois heure et demi." We afterwards found out 
that this poor chap was a German-Swiss coming- all 
the way from California to Switzerland with a wife and 
five children. He was a laborer and had then been 
three weeks on the road. 

But for Sassetot we were bound, to make a little 
unexpected call upon some half dozen of our friends, 
who in this quiet nook 

"Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife," 
whiled the summer days away. We found them at a 
little villag-e inn, comfortably installed and enjoying- 
themselves immensely. The surprise over, we settled 
down for a while at least with our friends, for Auld 
Lang- Syne, and enjoyed the genuine hospitality of 
true Scotchmen. 

It is a charming- spot. Far from the hurry and 
bustle and noise, the people preserve their simple 


customs and manners while the great stream of inces- 
sant change sweeps by almost unnoticed. Another 
"Sleepy Hollow," it is like those nooks of still water 
which border a rapid stream where we may see the 
straw and bubble riding- quietly at anchor or slowly 
revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the 
rush of the passing current. No shriek of the loco- 
motive, no hum of busy industry breaks in upon its 
Sunday stillness. At morning 1 , noon, and eventide the 
chapel rings out the Angelus and scatters blessings 
over all the place as a priest does with the hyssop. 

A quarter of an hour brings you to the shore, 
making bold front to the sea in high, perpendicular 
white chalk cliffs. 'Twas hereabout we spent the days 
upon the beach or in a little cabin that we could call 
our own. The hours were truly sunny ones. Some- 
times even here the tolling of the church-bell reached 
us to claim a prayer 

For some souls' serene release, 
That the weary spirit may be at peace, 
When the tide goes out. 

You can tell, too, by the ring-ing 1 whether it be a man 
or a woman or a child that is "in extremis." 

I have said there reigns a Sunday stillness here, yet 
on every day but Sunday. This is market day, and 
long before we were out of bed in the morning 1 we 
could hear from beneath the window always in the 
same sing-strain, "Quatre sous la livre, la grande livre! 
Voici Mesdames, quatre sous la livre, la grand livre!" 
Here were the butcher, the baker, the fruitier, the 
whatnot, each in his little stall along the street banter- 
ing away with the thrifty housewives for the next 
week's goods. We soon made the acquaintance of M. 
le Cure' and found him very agreeable. He dined with 
us one day, and we had the indelicacy to beat him in 


a game of billards. The fact that it was the curd's 
first game accounts for his beating. The first Sunday 
we were there the cure put a cope on me and decked 

Mr. H out in a soutane and a surplice, although 

we both had beards of considerable length. Mr. H. 
took up the collection and got the handsome sum of 
7^ francs, about one dollar and fifty cents. During 
the week my birthday came around and the boys in- 
sisted on celebrating it as a double of the first class 
with an octave and we did so. 

Although I felt inclined to prolong my stay at 
Sassetot, a letter I received showed it would be im- 
possible. I had previously made arrangements to meet 

Mr. B and Mr. M at Cologne on the twentieth 

of August, and that day was at hand. So off I went 

leaving my old friend Mr H. to enjoy a little longer 

the quiet of the country and the cool sea-breeze. 


I arrived at Amiens towards evening, but had to 
wait until midnight for a train for Brussels. 

The cathedral of the 13th century is perhaps the 
choicest little gem in France. Its distinctive feature 
seems to be fineness of detail. The front is pierced 
by three deep portals most elaborately sculptured. 
Within, behind the altar, is a figure of a weeping 
cherub "enfant pleureur " on a mortuary monu- 
ment, which is said to be worth its weight in gold. 
At night I spent a few hours at the circus, and 
found it so interesting as to almost miss the train. 

I got to Brussels about five in the morning, found 
a church without difficulty, and already a good num- 
ber of pious souls were awaiting Mass to begin. 


The streets at early morning 1 present a curious 
sight. There are dozens of little carts filled with 
brass milk cans and drawn by dogs. They are in- 
variably attended by women, and go from house to 
house quite by themselves, they know the route so 
well. The palace of the King and the Government 
buildings, with their domes and massive marble 
columns, occupy an elevation, and are seen from 
almost every part of the town. The streets are 
broad and beautiful, scarce less so than the principal 
ones of Paris. 

I was very anxious to visit the Field of Waterloo, 
which is about ten miles from here, but found I 
could not do so and reach Cologne on time. All that 
is to be seen there, however, is a large mound with 
a lion on the top of it. It is a Belgian, not a British 

Namur is about four hours ride on an omnibus 
train from Brussels, and it is a city, I should judge, 
of about fifty thousand inhabitants. Found the 
mother-house of the Sisters of Notre Dame without 
any difficulty, and called for an American sister 
whose name I had. I must have scared her half to 
death. It was about five minutes before we got well 
started talking. She seemed to think every moment 
I was going to ask her for something to eat, nor do 
I wonder, for I looked like a tramp. I wore a 
flannel shirt, hammock hat, a green overcoat, a 
broken umbrella, a month's growth of a beard, and 
was wet as a rat. When I told her I had been over 
here several years she was more non-plussed than 
ever. After some time, to relieve her I told her that 
I was making my studies with the Sulpicians at 
Paris. "Ah," said she, visibly relieved, "then you 
are in good hands." She seemed to think that if 


anyone could do anything- for so hopeless a case it 
was the Sulpicians. It is thirteen years since she 
was in America, and her English gave proofs of the 
fact. She was sorry that, owing to the sisters' 
retreat, she could not show me about the place, nor 
the tomb of Mother Julia. I think, however, that 
she was a little ashamed of me, nor do I in the least 
blame her. Never saw so many sisters at a time 
in the street, on the train, everywhere and every 
kind. I began to realize what this g-ood sister told 
me that although Belgium is but the size of the 
State of Rhode Island, there are more Sisters of 
Notre Dame in it than in the world beside. 


Passing through Belgium you hear the country peo- 
ple speak a language that resembles French very 
much; it is the Flemish, and although unintelligible 
to me, it was far more agreeable than the harsh gut- 
tural of Deutschland, where little by little I was 
reduced to absolute silence. 

It was evening when I reached my destination; then 
came the hunt for my friends. My first move was to 
find the post-office to seek further directions. But 
how was I to get there? The plan I had of the town 
was too small to be intelligible, and although I could 
manage enough German to inquire the road, I could 
not make out the directions given. What was to be 
done? Suddenly a la bonne heure a mail-wagon 
hove in sight. Now the mail-wagon and the post-office 
ought to have some connection, so here 's a go. Off 
I put after the wagon. It was no easy matter to 
keep it in sight, but I managed to do so for some 


time, long- enough, alas! to find it was leading- me 
somewhere into the country; it must have been coming 
from the post-office, not going- to it, so I was farther 
off than ever. Well, I found a hotel, and postponed 
the search until morning-. By the aid of the clerk I 
found the post-office and the instructions necessary, 
and a few minutes later, my two friends. Here I 

cast anchor; my troubles were over. Mr. B spoke 

Dutch like a native. I will not attempt to describe 
the town, Baedeker does that. The photograph I am 
sending is a view across the river. The bridge is 
built on boats, and may be opened to pass steamboats 
and barges through. We bad intended to go up the 
river in a row-boat, but found the stream so strong 
as to render such a scheme utterly impossible. 

Besides the Cathedral, there are several churches 
of note; the most famous is that of St. Ursula, which 
contains the bones of this Saint and her eleven thou- 
sand virgin companions, who were martyred by the 
barbarians when returning from Rome. In the church 
itself, besides several altars full of these bones, there 
are sarcophagi, equally full. One room, about thirty 
feet square, is decorated and frescoed in the most 
fantastic style with these human relics. The picture 
enclosed will give an imperfect idea of the arrange- 
ment. The busts are in brass and contain skulls; 
the case in the center holds the relics of St. Ursula. 
I think it was Mark Twain who wanted the guide to 
come down a little on the number, but he wouldn't 
take off a rib. 

In the Museum is the original portrait of Queen 
Louise, who, by her charms and beauty, tried to 
soften the heart of Napoleon and to obtain favorable 
terms for her conquered country. The picture is 
that of a young woman descending a few steps; she 


is clad in a Grecian robe, the hair bound by a fillet, 
and a large star above the forehead. Even in a photo- 
graph, it makes a beautiful picture, but the warm, 
rich colors of the original make a painting, that, for 
my taste, has few equals. 

The Cathedral is, of course, the greatest feature of 
the place. It is esteemed as the finest Gothic church 
in the world. In it seem to be united all that is beau- 
tiful and sublime in art. The slender fluted columns, 
the majestic vault, airy lightness, and imposing sta- 
bility, well lighted from above and beneath by immense 
windows the roof is supported by the flying abut- 
ments, leaving the walls scarcely more than windows 
all show to what perfection this style may be 
brought. From without the building is no less impos- 
ing, and may be seen for miles around. The front 
has three portals; around and above these, like the 
pipes of an organ, taper tiers of slender, Gothic pin- 
nacles, until they terminate in two most graceful 
spires. High Mass is sung here every day at eleven, 
and the best possible order preserved, which is not 
the case in the churches of France. The town is 
almost entirely Catholic, and the processions of the 
Assumption were the most elaborate affairs. Thou- 
sands of men, women, children, priests, religious, and 
bands of music and choirs filled the streets. Bene- 
diction of the Blessed Sacrament was given in many 
places on an altar erected in the middle of the street. 
The houses were decorated, and all was carried on 
with the greatest decorum and religion. 



"A blending of all beauties; streams and dells 

Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, cornfield, mountain-vine, 
And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells 
From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells." 

Childe Harold. 

The first view we got of the river was from the 
Cathedral tower. At this point the Rhine is more 
majestic than beautiful. It is over four hundred yards 
in width; its waters of a bluish green hue, and the 
current is very rapid. The country about is flat and 
uninteresting. A few particulars will help the better 
understanding- of a Rhine trip. The most picturesque 
and most frequented part of the river is between 
Mayence and Cologne, a distance of about one hun- 
dred miles. Going down the river the trip is made 
in seven and one-half hours, while it takes twelve to 
go against the stream. The steamboats are large and 
fast; the price of transportation is moderate. 

After leaving Cologne the river bank begins to rise 
gradually, and a little further on, about opposite 
Bonn, swells into proportions pretentious enough to 
be called the Seven Mountains, though a Swiss would 
hardly so designate them. The hill sides are green 
with the vine, the low lands yellow with corn. On 
the river, here and there, is a huge raft of logs, a 
trim little steamboat, or a ferryman making amid- 
stream to put aboard or to land a passenger. 


The "Dragon's Rock," rising almost a thousand 
feet above the river, and crowned by a dismantled 
ruin, looked so inviting that we determined to climb 
it, and so left the boat at Konigswinter. At the foot 
of the hill are half a dozen little donkeys, in bright 


saddles and bridles, ready to give the lazy a lift, and 
bare-legged urchins with a good-sized stick are ready 
to coax them over the road. We took "shank's 
mare." When about half-way up an amusing inci- 
dent happened. We were straggling along the road, 
I happened to be ahead, when one of those 

* * * peasant girls with deep blue eyes, 
And hands which offer early flowers " 

(though in this case it was not flowers that she 
offered, nor would I swear that her eyes were blue), 
came out from a little house on the roadside, bearing 
a number of crowns of oak leaves, and before I could 
realize it she had it on my head. Then she started 

to crown Mr. M , but he had seen my fate, and 

wanted none of it. To say I felt sheepish in such a 
decoration is putting it mildly, and I doubt if Caesar 
refused that kingly crown as promptly as I did this 
one of leaves. The girl took it back reluctantly, and 

Mr. B , our interpreter, said she felt hurt, but I 

did not recover my own equilibrium in time to soothe 
her ruffled feelings. What this crowning operation 
meant I will never tell, but I have often been sorry 
since that I did not keep it for a souvenir. For a 
crown like this how the poets and heroes contended! 
It was the only one that Apollo wore, and it is the 
only one that I will ever get. It was a nobler 
insignia than the leather medal my prowess once 

The view from the summit is the finest I ever saw. 
The hills around us, the river beneath, the fields, 
villages, and cities beyond, above us a mellow sky, 
while nearer the horizon hung heavy clouds whose 
edges were of gold and soft fleecy whiteness. Now 
and then the sunshine burst through a rift like 
a glory, and threw, like a benediction, a streak of 


light over hill and valley. Even while we looked upon 
this delightful scene the picture changed. A storm 
arose out of the west, its path was distinctly visible. 
Wider and wider grew its circle of sheets of rain; 
over the river it came, and the waters seemed to rise 
to meet it in little white-capped waves; in another 
instant it was down upon us, and we had to put for 
shelter. The ruin on the highest point is nothing 
but a few walls. The descent was made on the 
inclined railway. The better to put ourselves in 
conformity with the surroundings we had a little 
bottle of the Drachenblut, "dragon's blood," for 
supper, and put up for the night. 

"The castled crag- of Drachenfels 

Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 
Whose breast of waters broadly swells 

Between the banks which bear the vine : 
And hills all rich with blossomed trees, 

And fields which promise corn and wine, 
Are scattered cities crowning these, 

Whose far white walls along them shine, 
Have strewn a scene which I should see 

With double joy, wert thou with me." 

Childe Harold. 


I confess it was neither the poetry of the name 
nor any famed scenery 'of the place that influenced 
us to make a stopping here. It was but the curiosity 
to see the establishment of the "Apollinaris Company, 
Limited," and which, after all, we did not see. It 
must, however, be an immense concern, as fifty 
thousand bottles are filled daily. Here we had a 
good laugh at the expense of our guide. On landing 
we were surrounded by some dozen hotel porters, 
each urging the advantages of his own hotel. We 
gave them no encouragement, and two or three near 


by began to pass remarks among- themselves not 
very complimentary to us. Our guide would not 
stand that, so up he posted to the nearest one, and, 
glaring at him, asked (translating the French idiom 
into German), "Was haben sie?" "What have you 
got?" meaning "What is the matter with you?" The 
man addressed touched his hat, looked sober as a 
judge, and replied, "Wir haben goodes beer von 
fass " "We have good beer on draught." 

What attracted and took up our attention was a 
handsome little Gothic church on the summit of 
the hill. Along the path leading to it are stations of 
the cross which terminate by a calvary in front of the 
church. Around, there are several grottos such as 
the "Agony in the Garden," the "Taking down from 
the Cross," etc., and shells of many colors and de- 
signs form a work of great patience and ingenuity. 
The church is quite new and admirably kept. The 
head of St. Apollinaris is in the crypt. One could 
almost divine that none but patient, plodding monks 
could have and keep a place like this, did not a large 
statue of St. Francis on the summit of the rock, and 
here and there a moving figure like unto that, betray 
the secret of owners. 


Coblenz is a town of considerable importance and 
prettily situated at the junction of the Rhine and the 
Moselle. The most striking feature of this place is 
the fortification of Ehrinbreitstein perched like an 
eagle's nest on an almost inaccessible rock. It was 
from here that we got a splendid view of the surround- 
ing country. We could trace the windings of both 
rivers far in among the hills and fertile valleys, and 
could count a score of towns. The waters of the 


Moselle are much darker than those of the Rhine, and 
so gently does the former creep along the bank, that for 
fully five miles after their meeting 1 their waters are 
quite distinct. In a square in front of the church of 
St. Castor, dating from the twelfth century, is a mon- 
ument that was erected by the French in 1812, and 
bears the inscription, "Memorable par la campagne 
centre les Russes." Two years later the place was 
taken by the Russians, and the commander, with 
exquisite irony, added to the inscription, "Vu et 
approuvi par notre Commandant Russe de la ville de 
Coblenc, 1 Jan., 1816. The monument itself answers 
equally well for both, being- but a square kind of 

We had intended to make a little excursion up the 
Moselle, as recommended by a friend, but at this 
time there was no boat running- up the river, so we 
contented ourselves with a row, more to test the 
force of the current than for any enjoyment that 
could be g-otten out of it. The experiment convinced 
us that had we started up the river in a rowboat we 
would still be at Cologne, or more likely twenty 
miles the other side of it. 


Lurlei, so famed in song and story, is an imposing 
rock a little beyond St. Goar, and rises about 
four hundred and fifty feet. Here the river is 
narrowest and deepest seventy-six feet. A sunken 
ledge, over which the water rushes and seethes, 
forms a miniature whirlpool, and at this point a pilot 
is needed to take the boat through. The legend is 
that a nymph dwelt on the rock, and, like the sirens of 
old, lured sailors and fishermen to their destruction in 
the rapids below. Heine (,1823) is the author of the 


ballad " Loreley," so justly popular. Almost opposite, 
visible at low water, is a ridge of rocks known as 
the Seven Virgins, said to have been seven fair 
maidens of the Schonburg, who were condemned by 
the river-god for their prudery to this metamor- 


The summit of almost every hill on both sides of 
the river has its crumbling, ivy-grown ruin, some 
scarce better than a battered wall, others still show- 
ing the outline of their original dimensions. Any of 
these chiefless castles would, if alone, make a most 
charming picture, and, in fact, when seen for the 
first time, are most striking, but these beauties are 
strewn with so profuse a hand that the marvel wears 
off, and one hardly deigns a second glance at what 
yesterday ravished him. So does the commonplace 
callous our sensibility. These castles, for the most 
part, belonged to feudal lords, and were often held in 
lief by the neighboring bishop; many, too, were 
monasteries and religious asylums. Among those 
commonly pointed out is one derisively called the 
"Mouse," in distinction to one on the opposite side 
of the river called the "Cat." The possessors of 
the latter were the counts of Katzenellenbogen, /. e., 
"Cat's elbow," which surname was given them 
according to Washington Irving as a compliment to 
a peerless dame with beautiful arms. The Rheinfels 
is the most imposing ruin on the river. Its vicissi- 
tudes of sieges, victories, surrenders, date from 1245 
until it was blown up in 1812 and sold for five 
hundred dollars. It now belongs to the Emperor of 



It was not without some anticipation that we 
looked forward to Bingen. Certainly there were 
many places along the river of more historic interest, 
and not a few that surpass it in natural beauties, 
yet what neither chronicle nor superficial charms 
could do one touch of Memory's finger did. Who 
amongst us does not remember the touching story 
of the soldier "dying in Algiers, where the yellow 
sunlight shines on the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair 
Bingen on the Rhine." 

In the evening, in the clear starlight, we wandered 
along the river bank or stopped now and then to 
watch some boat drop quietly down the stream. The 
season, the place, and the hour, called up a thousand 
reminiscences. "Our guide" was sentimental, "our 
philosopher" turned moralist, and "ourselves" par- 
took of a little of both. With the thought of home 
rose the picture which this hour used to bring, and 
brings yet, though seen dimly from afar. 

"It is the hour when with angels children speak, 
While we, all unmindful, our worldly pleasures seek; 
Eyes upturned, the babes on heaven call, 
All at the same time beseeching heaven's throne, 
Hands joined, feet bare, they kneel upon the stone, 
For us asking pardon from the Father of us all." 

English is spoken quite commonly hereabouts, in 
fact, it seems more so than French, and not badly 
spoken either. Next morning was Sunday, and we 
had no difficulty in finding a church. We assisted 
at an early Mass, and so crowded was the place 
scarce a seat was to be found. The church was a 
queer old structure, and the walls were hung with 
gaudy banners. The women were separated from 
the men. At times during the service the congrega- 


tion sang, then recited a decade of the Rosary, then 
sang- again. At the moment of the elevation one of 
the congregation read aloud a solemn act of conse- 
cration. We all agreed that a more devotional public 
service we never saw. In fact, it would be difficult 
to find a more thoroughly Catholic people than those 
all along the Rhine. On the boats flags were flying 
and guns fired at intervals. It was the octave of the 
fete of St. Roch, patron of the place, and to-day's 
celebration was in honor of Lady Roch. 


Wiesbaden is the Saratoga of this part of the world. 
Beautiful drives, fine buildings, thermal springs, and a 
handsome Cursaal and park are its chief attractions. 
We made but a short stay here, for the high life all 
around us was too chilly an atmosphere for us. We 
did, however, go to the concert in the evening, and it 
was a surprise and delight to hear the sweet, familiar 
strains of "My Old Kentucky Home." 


Mayence, although not the head of navigation, is the 
usual stopping place for sight-seekers. There are few 
European towns that have so long and varied a history 
as Mayence, but this we must pass over. We came 
only as sight-seekers, we must pass only as such. In 
most American cities the centre of public life and at- 
traction is usually the "city hall," "post-office," or the 
like; in European cities this centre, invariably, is the 
cathedral. The people of Mayence, like those bodies 
that approach too near the centre of gravity and fall 
into it, have built up and on to the church so as to 
leave not even an entrance of its own. It is a curious 
old pile, inside as well as outside. Its most interest- 


ing- feature consists of its numerous tombstones, rang- 
ing 1 from the thirteenth to the nineteenth century. Near 
the cathedral is a statue of Gutenberg, the supposed 
inventor of printing. His first attempts were made in 
1440 and 1450, and the first book printed from movable 
type was the famous forty-two line Bible. From the 
citadel above the city we took our last, long, lingering 
look at the Rhine. 

"Adieu to thee again! a vain adieu! 

There can be no farewell to scenes like thine. 
The mind is colored by thy very blue, 

And if reluctantly the eyes resign 
Their cherished gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine, 

'Tis with the thankful glance of parting praise 
More mighty spots may rise, more glaring shine, 

None so unite in one attracting maze. 

The brilliant, fair, and soft, the glories of old days." 

Childe Harold. 


Heidelberg has twenty-five thousand inhabitants, and 
is particularly noted for its university and massive 
ruin of a mighty castle. The university was founded 
in the fourteenth century, and you would think so to 
look at it. It has about seven hundred students in 
winter and a thousand in summer. As can be seen 
from the photograph I am sending, the castle is an 
immense affair, and is considered the most magnificent 
ruin in Germany. It dates from the thirteenth cen- 
tury, and the sieges, the stormings, the blowing up, 
and the fire and lightning of six hundred years have 
reduced it to its present condition. 


There is a quiet gentility about this place that 
is of itself restful. The town is not large, but 
counts many beautiful buildings. The streets are 


well shaded and the suburbs offer a multitude of the 
most charming" walks. Like Interlaken it lies between 
the eternal hills, protected alike from wind and 
weather. There are numerous thermal springs, and 
many of the public fountains spout steaming water. 
Twice a day excellent music is had at the casino. 
When operas are given they begin at 6.30 P. M. and 
finish at 9 p. M., so as to accommodate the Sanitarians, 
who are the principal visitors of the place. The baths 
are quite a feature here, and the accommodations are 
on a grand scale. We tried a Turkish bath. Some 
of the stages of the bath, like that of the hot chamber 
with the forms in white moving noiselessly about or 
stretched upon a roasting bed, and the hot, dry air, 
recalled a circle in the Inferno. In the apartment of 
the massage, and that of the steaming, it was not 
difficult to imagine the attendants, as they rubbed 
and turned and beat their helpless victims, the min- 
isters of vengeance in those dark realms. 

Mr. B was anxious for us to meet the Cure of 

Baden, but he was on vacation. He has a very respon- 
sible position and seems to be a remarkable man. 
Besides being very amiable and an excellent politi- 
cian, he speaks six languages, Scotch, German, French, 
English, Spanish, Italian, and Russian. The children 
salute the priest with the words, "Praised be Jesus," 
to which he answers, " Forever and ever." 

Baden is, for the most part, Catholic. There is, 
however, one church devoted to the use of the Old 
Catholics who separated from the church of Rome at 
the time of the Vatican Council. 

A few steps from our hotel was a little burial ground, 
and in it a small chapel. On the iron grating 
that separated the sanctuary from the body of the 
church were hung little wax legs tied with bright 


ribbons. My first thought was that some children 
playing- hereabouts had brought their dolls to grief, 
and in expiation had suspended here the mutilated 
members. The number of them, however, rendered 
such an explanation hardly probable. I was after- 
wards told that such a sight is quite common and has 
some religious significance. Among the good old cus- 
toms that are still preserved here is that of carrying 
publicly the Viaticum to the dying. The priest carries 
the Blessed Sacrament in a small purse hung from 
his neck, and as he passes along the street, gives a 
blessing with It to the kneeling people. 

There was a delightful spot among the hills, a short 
distance from town, where we used to go in the early 
morning for breakfast. Beneath the trees of a farm- 
house, with Baden below, the mountains around us, 
the red sun toiling up the heavens, the fresh breath 
of morning, and the chirps of the birds, was not this 
a feast for the soul? And then the snowy cloth, the 
steaming coffee, the brown rolls, a little honey, and a 
few eggs, and after this, a fragrant cigar, was there 
ever epicurean who had a better meal than this? Nor 
did the sordid cares of expense diminish our appe- 
tites. Two and one-half marks, fifty cents, paid for 
the breakfast of the three. 

About an hour's walk from Baden a deep and wooded 
ravine winds about or tumbles along a little mountain 
stream. We followed its windings, up and in among 
the hills, to see, as it was musically called, Der Was- 
serfall, and here it is. So charming a spot I never 
saw. Were I an artist, I would make that journey 
over again; such a subject would be an inspiration. 
Never did sylvan god nor streamlet nymph have fairer 
nook than this. The hills all around and above us ; 
the little silver brook plunging over the rocks between 


mossy banks, now in the shadow and now in the sun- 
shine, now running- smoothly, then dashing- along, the 
water comes down just in front of us, where, like a 
frightened doe, it makes one long- leap and lies pant- 
ing at our feet, on the bright sandy bottom of a min- 
ature fountain. A few rocks projecting- over the 
stream give a view in both directions, while beneath, 
the stream, having gathered its breath, purls on again 
in its downward course. A little below is a rustic 
bridge, and on the bank a bench or two. Here we 
sat in the solemn stillness of a Sunday afternoon 
drinking in the beauty of the scene, and oh, prosaic 
thought eating ham sandwiches. 

The races are always an event of considerable im- 
portance at Baden, so, of course, we must not miss 
them. They are invariably jocky races, and to one 
accustomed to baseball matches and college football 
bouts, these races are tame affairs, "as moonlight 
unto sunlight, as water unto wine." The turnouts 
to and from the race attract great attention. The 
dashing coach-and-four, tandems, landaus, dog-carts, 
etc., the crack of the whip, the notes of a horn, the 
bright colors and smiling faces, all make a most charm- 
ing panorama. We had the distinction of riding, if 
not in the best turnout on the road, at least in the 
worst. Imagine a basket hay cart with a pole for 
two horses and drawn by but one, rather a half a 
one, scarcely more than a bundle of bones; ropes 
for harness, and a single rein; a Jehu in keeping 
with the rest, and you have our make-up. How we 
ever kept in the road is still a mystery. There was 
nothing proud about us, so we left our landau on 
coming into town, as we did not want to monopolize 
all the attention of the expectant populace. Those in 
the nicer turnouts would be angry, so we walked 
home from there. 



The epithet "most beautiful city," that Stras- 
burg once merited, might be changed a little to- 
day. "Most dirty city" would more nearly describe 
the greater part of the town. In the old part of the 
city are some quaint old buildings with high pitched 
roofs pierced by three and four stories of dove-cot 
windows. The cathedral is built of a kind of reddish 
or brick color stone, which is by no means as pleas- 
ing to the eye as the dark gray stone of the cathedral 
at Cologne. Then, too, the single tower gives it al- 
most the appearance of deformity. It is a gigantic 
affair, and a church that has few superiors, yet 
Cologne is certainly one of them. 

A monument perhaps more noted than this, and 
none the less a work of genius, is the famous Stras- 
burg clock. It is in the wing on the inside of the 
cathedral and is about sixty feet high. It was con- 
structed in 1838-42 by Schwielgue. It is made of the 
hardest and most durable metal, and has not been 
touched since put up. To Catholics it is a matter of 
honest pride. It is Catholic in its conception, Catholic 
in its emblems, Catholic in its characteristic features, 
Catholic in its execution. It has immortalized the 
name of its maker. 

The university is a magnificent affair. There are 
five or six handsome buildings, all perfectly equipped 
with the latest conveniences and improvements. They 
date since the war, and the Germans seem to have 
outdone themselves to make a show. The cost, thus 
far, has been about three million dollars. Directly 
opposite is a palace of the king. 

The church (Protestant) of St. Thomas contains 
the mausoleum of Marshal Saxe. After examining 
and admiring this splendid monument, and meditat- 


ing, after all it was but little to be left to this con- 
querer of three nations, the woman, the guardian of 
the place, led us into an adjoining- apartment. Here, 
after showing us a number of old inscriptions, rusty 
locks, pieces of bomb-shells, etc., she began rum- 
maging through a closet and brought out an old-fash- 
ioned iron box. From this she took out something- 
wrapped in dirty, dusty rags, and these, when un- 
wound, revealed a kind of brass case in the shape of 
a heart. This she held close to my ear, and shook 
it to make it rattle. What was it? Why, the heart 
of Marshal Saxe. This heart, "that once beat high 
for praise," formed part of the show for which we 
had paid ten cents on entering. The woman was 
sorry that she could not open it for us as it was 
sealed, but instead, she shook it well, then put it back 
into the closet. 


Home again. The quiet and tranquility of all about 
here formed a contrast to the scenes through which 
we had passed, so that it seemed as if we had stepped 
off the world into one of those tranquil planets which 
hang above our heads in the calm still night. 

The extracts that follow have been taken from some 
of the letters of the young seminarian written at va- 
rious times during his second year in Paris. They 
give a better insight into his continued happiness and 
contentment in his theological studies than could any- 
thing else. 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, 

Sept. 9, 1889. 
My dear Father : 

I imagine when you read the heading of this letter 
you will draw a little sigh of relief to know, that 


after two months' rambling I have returned safely, 
and that I am now to use a familiar expression 
"where folks can find me." After an extended trip, 
it seems good to get back again, like coming home, 
for there is always a little colony of stranded foreign- 
ers here during the summer, and we meet with a 
warm reception. * * 

Oct. 2, 1889. 

A thousand thanks for all the presents Mr. Q 

brought. It is difficult to say which pleased me most, 
the stockings, the underwear, the base-balls, the cigars, 
etc., etc. The American colony have smoked them- 
selves black in the face. The shoes are an excellent 
fit, and the finest pair I ever saw. I am cutting quite 
a shine with them. Many, many thanks for your 
kind thoughtfulness. The seminary is to open on 

Thursday of this week. Mr Q and myself have 

again started housekeeping, and have already had a 
few cups of tea together in good old-maid fashion. 
We have a double room overlooking the Place of St. 
Sulpice. There are several new students from 
America, but none from our immediate vicinity. All 
the rooms are taken, and some candidates had to be 
turned away. * * * * 

Dec. 24, 1889. 
My dear Mother : 

If I needed a reminder that it is Christmas Eve, 
and that about this time you and Father and the dear 
ones at home are all enjoying the sweet memories 
that Christmas-tide always brings, I certainly got it 
when, a few moments ago, I found upon my desk 
the pretty gifts that your kind forethought so well 
timed. They are beautiful indeed, and for them my 
heartfelt thanks. They have been much admired, lassure 


you, the more so as such mementos of the season are 
quite unknown here. Today I received also " The 

Eternal Priesthood" from Mr. Q , and I esteemed 

myself most fortunate to have so many friends. 

Many thanks to T for her first Christmas greet- 
ing's; they were indeed, the first that came to me- 
May her own Christmas be holy and happy, and may 
my Baby share the blessing's of the Babe of Bethlehem, 
and you all, none the less. 

In reg-ard to the stole which K has painted for me, 

I think it is better not to send it over, but wait until 
some one is coming- to Paris, and in this way you 
will avoid having to pay duty on it. I have no doubt 
it is very beautiful, and I will be most happy to please 
her by wearing 1 it at my ordination. But there is 
plenty of time to think of that. 

On Saturday last the feast of St. Thomas, and 
Father's birthday I received Minor Orders from 
Cardinal Richard. It would be rather long- to explain 
the dig-nity and duties of these offices. At present 
they are usually exercised by the priest, but are 
necessary for the reception of Holy Orders, and have, 
of course, certain graces attached to them as a prep- 
aration, which I hope I merited. The ordinations 
this year were considerably broken in upon by the 
"Influenza." During the week of retreat a number, 
more than half of the house, became sick. I was 
fortunate enough to escape it so far, and, though not 
out of the woods yet, hope to weather it. The influ- 
enza as you have probably seen by the papers is 
very common hereabout. Several of the schools have 
taken enforced vacations for a few weeks. We may 
be obliged to do so ; of course as school-boys we 
wouldn't mind. The seminarians living- within ten 
hours' journey from here have been permitted to go 


home for a fortnight. We hope that there may be 
no serious consequences, but even so, the amount of 
misery that this causes in a city like Paris is awful. 
The weather seems to be the cause of it. For more 
than a week the sun has not shone, except for a few 
minutes this afternoon. It is not very cold, but damp 
and chilly. * * * * *~* * * 

Compliments of the season to all the friends. You 
all have my prayers on this Christmas Eve, for a 
happy holy morrow, and many returns of the day. 
You know I am with you in spirit and in love, dear 


Your dutiful son, 


Jan. 14, 1890. 
My dear Mother : 

Your letter and invitation to come home reached me 
last night, and aside from the solicitude that prompted 
it, it was certainly amusing. To relieve your minds 
I cabled this morning, and assured you that your 
alarm was wholly without foundation. It is true that 
we have been given a fortnight's vacation, but only 
because of a general indisposition, which was not at 
all serious and only interfered with the exercises of 
the house. For myself, thank God, I was not sick 
an hour, and so the break in the exercises, and the 
vacation, have been for me, as the children say, a 
picnic. The letter I wrote at Christmas must have 
reached you about the time you wrote your letter, 
and I hope it has reassured you that I am well. On 
Saturday last I received a cablegram from the Express 
Company, and what was my surprise to be given 
five hundred francs without a word. It never came 
into my head for what it was intended. I thought of 


all kinds of explanations to buy something special 
a sudden inheritance, etc., etc. but to go home, 
never. Since the vacation we have had no cases at 
all, and when your letter came we could not help 
laughing. It is not quite so convenient as you imagine, 
dear Mother for as one of the seminarians reminded 
me I do not belong to myself any more. But there is 
not the slightest reason for leaving here, so do not 
worry about me, nor be at all anxious about my 

Am not surprised that the newspaper reports 
frightened you, for I picked up a Boston paper the 
other day and saw in big lines: "One-Third of Paris 
Sick ! " This is but a trick of the trade. They make 
mountains out of mole-hills. After all you see it is 
I who am anxious now, for it is passed over here, and 
you, on the other side, have got to undergo it. You 
mention that three at home have it. They must be 
very careful of a relapse, for herein lies all the danger 
of the influenza. The precaution is to stay indoors, 
and to keep warm, for a week or two after the malady 
has passed. Grown folks especially are the more 
exposed, and have it the more severely. Be not 
deceived because it seems light in the beginning, so 
it did here, but as I have said, it was neglecting it, 
and the relapse that caused all the danger. It was 
the poor that suffered most here, through want of 
care, but the mortality was no larger in number than 
with the rich. There were many amusing episodes 
among the seminarians, and those, like myself, that 
were not sick, could appreciate them. The most of 
the Americans had it very lightly, and all enjoyed 
the vacation immensely. Besides, I am five hundred 
francs in. "It is indeed an ill wind that blows nobody 
good." Don't be at all alarmed about me, for I was 


never better in my life. Write soon again, Mother 
dear, and let me know how the sick ones are. Fondest 
love to you and to all. 

Your affectionate son, 


January 29, 1890. 
My dear Mother : 

I have just received the several letters from home, 
and they were doubly welcome, for I was anxious to 
know how the sick ones were, and to hear of K 's de- 
parture. Am glad all came through La Grippe so well. 
****** By this time you have received my 
letter in answer to the cablegram, and I hope you are 
perfectly assured of the good state of affairs. We 
began studies on the 15th, and very few were want- 
ing, so you see we were well over the siege before it 
reached home. It lasted here more or less for two 
months, so I doubt if you have seen the last of it. 
Do not neglect the precautions of a relapse. 

Of course you must feel very lonesome for K , 

especially as she was so much at home during the 
past months. But after all, it is she who will be the 
more lonesome, and besides, the complete change in 
life may be difficult to undergo at first. But with 
the help of God it will soon wear away, and I am sure 
that you will shortly be more intimate than ever. 
She will be near, and what if she can't run in to return 
the visit, why double yours, that's all. I am sure 
too, that after you have visited the convent a few 
times, and seen the happy life the nuns lead, you will 
be sorry that you did not enter yourself, instead of 
bringing up a half dozen wild geese of children 
that take wing as soon as they are able. It must 
have been Father's fault. Ask him what kind of a 


nun he thinks you would make yourself. I have met 
a good sister here, who is superior of a convent near 
by, and who is, she told me, one of five sisters, all 
nuns, whose mother ran away front a convent, leaving 
by the window. So the church has now, instead of 
one, five nuns, which was not so bad an exchange. 
You have not done quite so well as that, but who 
knows what may come yet. In such a case I am sure 
that they would be of more real comfort to you, and 
help us more by their prayers than by any other 
thing they could do. 

Am afraid that myself and K have taken up so 

much of your consideration and affection that the 
others at home will be jealous. Do not fret or lose 
any sleep on our account, dear Mother, and be assured 
that K will get along all right. 

The newspaper slip that R sent about the one 

thousand students of St. Sulpice being sick caused 
a great laugh. The seminarians accuse me of having 
sent that news to get the money that was cabled to 
me. I have been presented with a cake, the most 
successful product of the season. 

Love to each one at home and to yourself in par- 

Feb. 6, 1890. 

Your letters show me how deeply you were all 

affected by K 's departure. I am not surprised at 

it, but trust that by this time the sorrow has in a great 
measure subsided. I don't want to preach, but merely 
to ask you to look at it reasonably and calmly. Has 
she not done the best thing? What else could she 
do, than what she felt to be the Will of God? She 
might refuse His call, if she wished, but with what 
risk to herself, and what ingratitude to God ! To be 
sure it was hard to part with her, but if you look at 


it from a spiritual point of view the only true way 
it will be much easier to be reconciled to it. Then, 
too, she has not gone so far, nor dropped so com- 
pletely out of your lives as you think, for I am sure, 
after a short time, she will be more actively interested 
in all your affairs, than had she remained a little 
while longer, and afterwards had a family of her own 
to look to. To look upon her going away as almost 
upon a death that, that's a little too strong. Even 
if such a thought should come, you should reject it 
for your own good sense, and faith, should prevent 
you from taking so sombre a view of it. 

There is another reason for bearing her going away 
at least with resignation; it is for her sake. For if 
she knew that she was the cause of so much pain to 
you all, she would suffer more from that than from 
any incommodities she herself has to put up with. 

So now, from all these considerations look upon the 
matter joyfully, and believe me you will all shortly 

be more proud of K in that old pumpkin hood 

than in the "loveliest" Easter bonnet. * * * * * 

March 21, 1890. 

We celebrated St. Patrick's Day as well as we could 
under the circumstances and rules of the house. We 
wore shamrocks and got out for a couple of hours to go 
to the Irish College, which of course kept the day 
with all solemnity. There was no procession, and no 
tall hats. I fear that by the time I come to wear my 
beaver again it will be venerable enough to make its 
appearance only on "the day we celebrate." 

The weather is anything but St. Patrick's Day 
weather, for spring has been here some weeks, and 
the trees are already in bloom. After Easter, which 
is not far off, we begin the Grand Conges, full holi- 


days, which are spent at Issy. We will have a chance 
to use the base-balls and bats. Plans are already in 
the wind for vacation. For myself, I incline towards 
Rome, for this will very likely be the last vacation 
that I will have. I know a great many students in 
Rome, and this, with its many advantages and tradi- 
tions, naturally would make a visit very agreeable. 
The great drawback to this plan is the warm weather. 
I have been thinking of taking the last part of the 
school year to see Rome thoroughly and profitably. 
But of this later. * * * * 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, 

Holy Thursday, 1890. 
My dear Sister : 

I steal a few moments between the exercises of the 
day to answer your last letter, for I do not consider 
such writing out of the spirit of this holy time. 

I am very much pleased to hear that every day 
finds you more and more happy in your new home, 
and that the time passes so quickly and agreeably 
with you. Your hours if any one's are " the golden 
links, God's token reaching heaven one by one," and 
God grant that the chain be never broken. As you 
say your postulate will soon be over, perhaps you 
could manage to have the name of Mary or Marie 
somehow, to make more complete your adoption into 
the congregation of our Blessed Lady. But suit your- 
self perfectly. 

You will find the recitation of the Little Office 
most interesting. In relation to the Epistles and 
Gospels if you have time and liberty you ought to 
read Bossuet's Elevations on the Gospels, which were 
written for religious, and like everything he touched, 
this work is very well done. With regard to the 
novena for T , I began it as you suggested on the 


31st. I recommended it to the prayers of the com- 
munity, and also to a confrerie of the Sacre Coeur, a 
band of devout souls that are connected with the 
church of the Sacred Heart here, which church is 
being 1 built by a national vow, and where perpetual 
adoration is held. I asked them to employ the inter- 
cession of Mother Julia, so that in case of a cure it 
may be used for the cause of her beatification, and 
I promised to erect a tablet to her if the prayers were 
answered. Certainly a more favorable time could not 
be found than Holy Week in which to appeal to the 
Sacred Heart of Jesus. May we have been found as 
well disposed to ask as He is to give. The ceremonies 
of these days are, of course, on a much more mag- 
nificent scale here than at home. There is, however, 
one simple ceremony at which we assisted yesterday, 
which is most touching- and impressive. It is the 
veneration of the Crown of Thorns, a piece of the 
True Cross, and one of the Nails, which are the 
identical ones used in the .crucifixion of our Divine 
Lord. The Crown of Thorns was brought to Paris 
by St. Louis. It is indeed inspiring- of holy thoughts 
to look upon this relic and to know it was this that 
pressed so cruelly upon the Head of our Blessed 
Saviour, and that this very Nail pierced His tender 
Flesh. There is a peculiarity about the Crown that 
is not commonly known, yet which shows more suffer- 
ing than is usually attributed to this instrument of 
the Passion. The circle of the Crown is larger than 
the circumference of the head, even when the thorns 
are in it, so that to keep it in place thorn branches 
were crossed over the top, the whole forming a kind 
of cap. So that there was no part of the Sacred Head 
that did not bear the wounds and bruises for our 
sins, especially for those of thought known only to 


Him. Just think of it, dear K , just think of it ! 

I knew you would like a little souvenir of the relics, 
so I touched them with a little medal of the Sacred 
Heart from Paray le Monial which I enclose. I hope 
you will get it. Holy Happy Easter. 

Apr. 11, 1890. 

Our full holidays have begun, and the "calls" to 
receive orders have been given out. I have received 
mine, and have not been disappointed in anything. 
Pray for me continually as I do for you all. 

'Tis over, 'tis done, the die is cast, 
And I, O Jesus, am Thine at last ! 
At last, O God, at Thy feet I lay 

The anguish, the doubts, and the harrowing fears ; 
And the joy and the peace that is mine to-day 

Is worth a thousand of such years. 

How often, my God, Thou hast been mine, 

But now, only now, my God, I am Thine. 

Why should I merit Thy holy choice ? 

Why so long deaf to Thy blessed call ? 
At last, O Jesus, I come to Thy voice, 

And from earth and sin rise as a pall. 
I awake, I awake at Thy finger's touch. 
Enough ! O my God, of joy too much ! 

Sassetot le Manconduit, 
Seine, Inf., 

July 17, 1890. 

We have been here a few weeks, and most of the 
time have had unpleasant weather. Sassetot needs 
hardly any introduction, as the little description I gave 
of it last year will serve this year, yes, and for years 
to come. It is 

A place for idle eyes and ears 

A cob-webbed nook of dreams 
Left by the stream whose waves are years 
The stranded village seems. 


In numbers "we are seven", but expect a large contin- 
gent about August. In fact we are getting so numerous 
that for a little quiet and more freedom to study, Mr. 

H and I will leave here for another small sea-side 

town a few miles further on. 

Already it seems good to get out of the heat and noise 
and bustle of the city, and to breathe the fresh sea air 
and hear the birds sing. A walk through the country 
is a veritable treat. The crosses on the highways, the 
snugly thatched cottages, the little churches "old, cent- 
uries old, "with their quaint statues that would make 
you laugh, and these decked out in the most rustic fash- 
ion, then great high cliffs overlooking the ocean and 
between them broad, fertile valleys, these and the like 
surround me, and would not anyone enjoy them? 

The people too, are very sociable, and very good 
Christians. How often I have wished that some of you 
could see and appreciate what Catholicity can do, and 
has done for a country. At home our religion is looked 
upon as something good enough for the poor with no 
past and little present. But on this side of the water, all 
that is glorious in the past, all that is noblest in the pre- 
sent, in the arts, the sciences and morals belong to the 
Church. If some of our bigoted New England brethren 
could just pass over Europe, with their eyes open, they 
would go home wiser and better men, and they would 
leave their prejudices behind them. ****** 

St. Pierre en Port, 

Seine Inf. 
Hotel de la Plage, 

July 24, 1890. 
My dear Mother : 

As I mentioned in a previous letter, I have made a 
change from Sassetot, and am now at the above ad- 
dress, but you had better continue to send your letters 


to the seminary, as it is more sure. We are now 
very comfortably installed. Our rooms overlook the 
sea, so we have the sea-air zi volont^ as they say. 

The town consists of a few dozen fishermen's cot- 
tages snugly thatched, and an antique church. There 
is hardly a store in the place, and no post-office. The 
nearest railroad is ten miles away, so you see we are 
well out of the noise and bustle. The beach is small 
and stony, but the country hereabouts is charming-. 
It would amuse you to see the services at the church 
on Sunday. The singers old fishermen, bakers, 
etc., wear a soutane and a surplice, and are within 
the sanctuary. They are accompanied by a large 
trombone, and all these singing at plain chant, if they 
don't make a noise, it is not because they don't try. 
Some of them, too, wear copes like the priest's at 
benediction, and as you may imagine they cut a com- 
ical figure. In some of the churches the women are 
separated from the men. The children sing every- 
thing "what they know and what they don't know." 
They chime in with the priest in singing the preface ; 
sometimes he stops suddenly to catch them, and there 
they are all singing away. 

The church bell is rung here for baptisms and 
marriages, and it is tolled when a soul is passing 
away. The other day we asked a person why the 
bell was ringing, and he replied, " They are bringing 
the good God to a sick person." These good simple 
people always speak thus familiarly and affectionately 
of God, and at all times call Him, le bon Dieu. 



St. Pierre en Port, Aug. 9, 1890. 
Today is my birthday, and since early morn 

My thoughts and my heart have gone over the sea 
To the loved spot on earth where I first saw the dawn, 
To whisper, dear Mother, my greeting to thee. 

I know that since morning thou'st thought of thy boy, 
And mingled his name in thy fervent prayer ; 

And asked God to keep him, thy hope and thy joy, 
And bring him safe home to those waiting him there. 

Then oft through the day I thought I could hear 
My name whispered softly, in accents so sweet 

That distance and time but render more dear, 
And make my heart-pulses now quicken their beat. 

Three years have gone and must another 
E'er I may fold thee to my breast; 

Yet, courage, God is good, and Mother, 
He will direct all for the best. 

And am I changed ? Ah, short have been 
These years, yet they have left their trace; 

But to a mother's heart there is that within 
Which time or clime cannot efface. 

How go these fleeting years with thee? 

Could winter coming bring no snow? 
What matter, mother, since such must be, 

When beneath all these the heart-fires glow. 

Yet while the years of life go past, 
We can but wait and trust, and pray 

That what for us is here the last 
May mark the birth of eternal day. 


Seminaire St. Sulpice, 

Oct. 2, 1890. 
My dear Sister: 

You see by the heading- of my letter that I am 
home ag-ain, after all my wandering's, and, thank God, 
I am safe and sound and none the worse of the wear. 
My last letter written from Venice gave you an idea 
of my j ourney ing's ; between this word and the previous 
one have come Rome and Naples and the most interest- 
ing- parts of the trip. I cannot give you any suitable 
account in this letter, for my time is limited and 
the mail is almost due. 

You will, I fear, be a little disappointed that I did 
not g-et to Lourdes this year; yet I think that you 
will agree that my reason is g-ood for postponing- a 
visit there. It is this: Lourdes is almost as far off 
the road to Rome as it is from Paris, and it is more 
easily reached from here. Then it is the custom to 
g-o and say Mass there after ordination, a happiness 
and privileg-e I could not hope to have if I had g-one 
there this summer. So, my visit is postponed, but 
by no means abandoned. If you have any particular 
need of the water of Lourdes I can send for some as 
I did last year. Otherwise, I will bring- some home 
with me. 

What can I tell you about my trip, or where beg-in ? 
Perhaps I had better commence with the Passion 
Play. You have read of its origin, and how it is 
carried out. I found it very edifying- and instructive. 
There is a decided religious sentiment pervading- the 
place and the people as well as the play. A striking- 
feature of the play is that the scenes in Our Lord's 
life are preceded by tableaux from the Old Testament 
by which these events were prefigured as : the insti- 
tution of the Blessed Sacrament by the falling- of 


Manna, the Crucifixion, by the sacrifice of Abraham, 
etc. For people who have not studied Holy Scripture 
the play must have been a revelation. The part that 
I found most touching- was the parting 1 at Bethany of 
Our Saviour and His Blessed Mother, when He went 
up to Jerusalem to suffer and to die. It caused many 
an eye to moisten and grow dim with tears. Although 
not recorded in the Bible it must have been one of 
the countless and unknown sufferings in the hidden 
life of our Divine Lord. The Crucifixion was very 
realistic, and when the soldier opened Christ's side 
with a lance and the blood spurted out there was a 
general cry of horror. The performance lasted eight 
hours. The man who takes the part of Christ is a 
devout soul, and makes his living by carving crucifixes. 
From Oberammergau I hurried on to Rome, stopping 
a few days at Venice and at Florence. It is not pos- 
sible to say what I found most interesting in Rome, 
for classical antiquities, Christian memorials, monu- 
ments of art and shrines of devotion, it would be 
difficult to crowd more into so small a space. St. 
Peter's surpassed my expectations, and the Colosseum, 
the monument of so many martyrs, and the catacombs, 
their resting place, leave so deep an impression that 


" cannot express 

Nor cannot all conceal." 

I saw the tombs of St. Peter and St. Paul, St. 
Ignatius, St. Aloysius, St. Agnes, the prison where 
St. Peter baptized his jailor, and I went up on my 
knees the sacred stairs brought from the house of 
Pilate. But I failed to see the Pope, and in a most 
exasperating way. With considerable trouble and 
ceremony I had been granted permission to assist at 
the Pope's mass, but I was not at my hotel when 


the letter came. The bearer of the letter refused 
to leave it, and the following morning it was too 
late. The only consolation I got was that the Holy 
Father blessed a number of rosary beads and other 
articles for me. 

At Naples we saw the miracle of the liquefaction 
of the blood of St. Januarius. I shall send you a full 
account of this later on. 

You have read "The Last Days of Pompeii." We 
saw the city as it was on its last day. It is a won- 
derful sight; its silent streets and rows of unroofed 
houses, its stores and dwellings, theatres and tem- 
ples standing almost as they were eighteen hundred 
years ago. Hardly one half of the city has been 

Vesuvius, ever active, is but a few hours' walk 
from here. By day there is a cloud of steam con- 
tinually rising from its crater, and at night a dark 
red fire. When we were there some dozen streams 
of lava, a couple of hundred yards from the top, 
formed a gigantic red hot gridiron. I never saw 
such a manifestation of the sublime and terrible in 


Continue to remember me in your prayers, and 
be assured that I do not forget you in mine. 

St. Sulpice, Oct. 27, 1890. 

I would like to write a full account of the summer 
as I have done in other years, but this will be impos- 
sible, for my work, including the recitation of the 
office, is just double what it was up to this time. * 

****** We had a little visit the other 
day with Archbishop Corrigan, who is on his way to 
Rome and the Holy Land. ****** 


Nov. 22, 1890. 
My dear Mother: 

I have just had a letter from the Bishop, and he 
wishes me to be ordained as soon as possible. He 
has not mentioned the exact date, but most likely 
it will be in the early summer. That will be rush- 
ing- matters, as you see, and I have a good deal of 
sanctity to acquire in so short a time. I depend on 
your prayers, dear Mother, and those of all my friends, 
and on the supreme goodness of God to be in some 
measure prepared. In the meantime at Christmas 
I will be ordained deacon, and I beg you to pray 
for me especially until then. ******* 

Seminaire St. Sulpice, 

Dec. 16, 1890. 
My dear Father : 

Our wishes, like our prayers, are independent of 
time and space, and I hope these will reach you in 
time to tell you my heartfelt ones of Merry Christ- 
mas to all. ****** T^ children have 
outgrown the thoughts of Santa Claus, but the holy 
season brings to us all a quiet joy and holy peace 
unlike perhaps any other of this world. Over here 
ours is of another kind ; not the family reunion, the 
festal board and music ; Christmas always brings to 
us an ordination, if not to ourselves, to some near 
friend. It is the season of first Masses, and for many 
of returning home. I am in retreat preparing for 
deaconship on Saturday. My next retreat, with the 
help of God, will be for the priesthood. Pray for me 
always, but in a special way during the coming months. 


St. Sulpice, 

Jan. 3, 1891 
My dear Sister : 

The whole budget of Christmas letters arrived safely 
and in good time, and I was more than delighted to 
hear from you all, individually and collectively. I 
sincerely hope the holy season was as happy for you 
as I wished it to be. ****** Was glad to 

see that my "old friends," G and T , have 

not gone back on me completely. Their little letters 
were much appreciated. Tell them not to be too 
frightened at the Cincinnati examinations. Little girls 
in Cincinnati are no brighter than those in Lowell, 
perhaps not quite so bright. I am afraid I won't know 
"my Baby" when I get home. A baby that sings 
duets, studies Latin, and speaks French is hard to 
conceive. If she is a good Baby it is all we ask. * * * * 

The holidays passed most pleasantly and memorably 
for me. I received deaconship during them, and have 
now to wait and prepare for the holy priesthood. * * 
* * We were not forgotten by our new friends on 
this side of the water. A French lady, whom we met 
during the summer sent us a plum pudding. Another 
sent us a cake, and we received beautiful Christmas 
cards all the way from St. Petersburg. * * * 

On the day of our Sortie we had a dinner together 

and some music. Afterwards Mr. H and I made 

some New Year calls. I must say I enjoyed them 
very much, and realized for the first time how 
charming and entertaining French people are at home. 
Tea and bon-bons were the great treat. They certainly 
do things in a most agreeable and cosy way. 

So much for my New Year, the last over here. As I 
finished the day I could not but terminate it as Father 
always does : "God grant that we will all be alive and 
in good health this day twelve month." To which you 
will all say a hearty "Amen." 

Love to all at home. 

Your fond brother, 




The day long-desired came on May 23. 1891, when 
the young- seminarian was ordained to the sacred 
priesthood by Cardinal Richard, Archbishop of Paris. 
In this final step all his hopes were realized, all his 
heart's dearest wishes fulfilled. When the solemn 
ceremony was over, while yet his consecrated hands 
were moist with the holy chrism, he cabled the fol- 
lowing words across the sea, "Just ordained. God 
bless Father, Mother, and all at home." 

Father Delany said his first Mass at St. Sulpice. 
He then offered the Holy Sacrifice at some of the 
famous shrines in and about Paris, and at Lourdes, 
where he journeyed especially to ask the blessing of 
the Mother of God on his new life and work. He 
visited England and Ireland, and finally returned 
to America. After passing a few days at his father's 
home in Lowell he reported for duty to his superior, 
Bishop Bradley. 

Surprise has often been expressed that Father 
Delany should have left the old and well-established 
archdiocese of Boston to go to a diocese so young and 
and apparently so unattractive. New Hampshire 
was then in urgent need of priests, particularly of 
priests familiar with the French language, and Bishop 
Bradley was making every effort to secure such. It 
was this need that induced Father Delany to offer 
himself. The choice was not altogether approved by his 


friends. One of these ventured to say, "If you are 
determined to leave your own diocese, why don't you 
go to New York, where curates' salaries are higher 
and chances for advancement better?" 

"I am not to be a priest for what I can get out of it," 
replied Father Delany, "but for what I can put into 
it. I go to New Hampshire." 

In St Anne's, first pillar of the Church in Man- 
chester, Father Delany began his priestly life. Charity, 
good nature, unerring devotion to duty, made him a 
model curate. Many of his assigned tasks were among 
the young people, to whom he became especially dear, 
but his love for the aged, the poor, the infirm, 
led him all unbidden to seek these out and to give 
them consolation not only spiritual but temporal. He 
did effective work for the young women of the parish 
through the medium of the Guard of Honor, which, 
under his guidance, became a flourishing society. 

Though he was nominally only second assistant to 
the pastor, the illness of Father Quirk made him 
practically the first, and he was thus brought into 
close association with Father Lyons, whose efforts for 
pariah upliftment he ably seconded. Both men were 
devoted to Father Quirk, and tried in every way possi- 
ble to lighten his labors. This was not easy to do, 
for though the illness proved to be his last, he refused 
then to regard it seriously. It was noticed, however, 
when his turn came for answering sick calls, that he 
never got any at night. This, in a large parish, was 
so unusual as to occasion remark, but it was looked 
upon as a coincidence until someone discovered that 
every night after the household had retired, Father 
Delany slipped quietly down, switched the sick-call bell 
to his own room, and as quietly switched it back early 
in the morning, having attended meanwhile to what- 


over summons had come. For two years and a half 
Father Delany remained at St. Anne's. He was then 
transferred to Portsmouth as curate to the present 
Vicar General of the Manchester diocese. 

Here in a smaller parish Father Delany had abun- 
dant hours of leisure, which he improved by reading 
and studying-. Yet for these congenial occupations 
he neglected no parish duties. On the contrary, dur- 
ing the five years that he spent here, the young 
priest by his wisdom, his piety, and his zeal won for 
himself undying affection in the hearts of the people 
of Portsmouth. 

Recalling those days one of the early parishioners 
says : " Father Delany's charity was as boundless 
as the ocean while he labored amongst us. Day and 
night it was exemplified in a thousand ways. He 
made it a special practice to go to the hospital on 
stormy days, when he knew the sick and suffering 
confined there would be alone. To the afflicted he 
brought presents of various kinds, and above all the 
sweetest of comforts in his genial presence and cheer- 
ing words. In the sick room he was gentleness itself 
and many stricken ones looked for him as eagerly 
as if he were a visitant from Heaven that would bring 
them the succor and aid they longed for and desired. 
One old lady in particular, alone in the world, was 
a special charge of his, and this guardianship con- 
tinued until her death. On one occasion he journeyed 
to a distant city to bring a little child to Ports- 
mouth to visit his invalid mother. Again, at his own 
expense, he sent children to Boston, to noted spe- 
cialists, for treatment that could not be received at 

He was ever zealous for the souls of sinners, and 
his voice from the pulpit stirred many a sinner to 


repentance, while his personal kindly interest in many 
a hardened heart softened its feelings and led it back 
to God. Once while a mission was being 1 conducted 
by the Jesuits, a friend asked Father Delany how he 
was enjoying his rest. He replied, "Oh, I don't know 
what to do with myself." Later it was known that 
he had been out day after day hunting up the most 
hardened sinners, and that he had the happiness of 
seeing some of them well started on the road to a 
better life. A little incident occurred while he was 
attending a man who was seriously ill which will 
illustrate his sense of duty. The man had a strong 
affection for Father Delany, and on this occasion 
when the good priest was remonstrating with him 
about his sinful manner of living, the man said, "Well, 
Father, I will go to confession for your sake." Quick- 
ly came the reply, "If you cannot go for God's sake 
and for your soul's sake, stay as you are." Once 
when he was asked why he attended every fire he 
answered, "At such a time a priest may be needed, 
and if so I wish to be there." The children of the 
parish welcomed him with joy at their various amuse- 
ments, for his coming in their midst was always a 
promise of a new foot-ball for the boys, and some 
sweets for the girls. 

With the non-Catholics he was ever courteous and 
dignified, yet most approachable, and for this reason 
he made many friends among those who were not 
of the faith. One of them remarked: "Father Delany 
was the kindest and most charitable man I ever met." 
It was not by his actions alone that his goodness 
was revealed, it was his delicate thoughtfulness, and 
constant consideration, which many another would not 
have, that made his charities unique." 


The following extracts are taken from sermons and 
letters written by Father Delany during- his labors 
in Portsmouth. 


"There is perhaps no lesson in Holy Scripture so 
often taught, so variously represented, so strongly 
inculcated as uncertainty of life and the certainty of 
death. * * * No man pretends that he will live 
forever, no man will insist that he will live for a 
given term of years. Everyone will acknowledge 
that he knows not the day nor the hour when the 
angel of death may summon him. 

If death were all, and the end of us, we could 
afford to put aside considerations of it, and enjoy 
ourselves while we may. But it is not all. It is not 
the end. It is only the beginning of another existence 
far more important to us than the one we leave. That 
other will be, not a life of a few years, or of a few score 
years, but a life without end of ecstatic bliss or one of 
indescribable misery. As our lot depends upon our con- 
dition when God shall call, for, "where the tree falls, 
there it will lie," it behooves us to provide for the same. 


To be taken unawares by death in sin is an unpar- 
donable blindness, because we are warned every moment 
of its approach. * * * * 

To be found unprepared is an inexcusable madness 
because of the dreadful evils it entails. By an unpro- 
vided death I do not mean those awful judgments of 
God by which the sinful are often cut off in their sins 
for a public example, even as Baltazar in the midst 
of his debaucheries, or as Herod in his profanation. 
These are thunderbolts laid up in the store-house of 


God's wrath for rare and terrible lessons, and yet His 
justice and His judgment daily surprise unprepared 
and unthinking Christians. ***** 

Do Catholics die unprepared? We know that Cath- 
olics sin, sometimes live in sin. They are not exempt 
from sin any more than others, and unless it is through 
a miracle of God's goodness they, too, die in sin. * * 

A few years ago, in a well-known city a woman was 
dying. She had received all the sacraments with 
apparent fervor. The morning after their reception 
a messenger came to recommend her to the prayers 
of the priest saying that she was then in her agony 
and her death was momentarily expected. As she had 
been prepared for the end, and had not again asked 
for the priest he did not call. In the afternoon he 
was occupied in the confessional. Towards evening 
there was a break in the confessions, so the priest 
thought he would slip in and see if the poor woman 
were yet living. She was still alive, but hardly more; 
the death rattle was in her throat, and every breath 
seemed to be her last. In this condition she had been 
since morning. With the little strength she had left 
she waved the people out of the room, and beckoned 
the priest to come to her. He knelt beside her and 
she gasped "Oh, Father, I could not die till you came. 
I made a sacrilegious confession, and received Hoi}' 
Viaticum in mortal sin." The priest had just time 
to excite her to sorrow for her sin and confidence in 
God, to give her absolution anew, and in five minutes 
she was dead. 

This story is no hearsay, for I myself was the priest. 
This poor soul went to the very gates of death un- 
prepared; but I knew another to have apparently 
passed through. 

I was once called to a young man born of Catholic 
parents, baptized and brought up as a Catholic, but 


by bad reading and evil company he had completely 
lost his faith. He believed in neither God nor here- 
after. As he was in the last stages of consumption, 
I visited him often. He always received me politely 
and even affectionately. I gave him the proofs of our 
religion to which he could make no answer, but it 
was all to no purpose. I coaxed him, urged him, 
threatened him, promised him, prayed with him and 
for him. It was of no avail. Instead of softening his 
heart the thought of religion excited within him most 
diabolical rage. Such hatred towards God, such blas- 
phemies towards Our Saviour and His Blessed Mother 
it has never entered your hearts to conceive, nor did 
I believe that they could be heard this side of hell. 
As death came nearer he became more violent and vir- 
ulent than ever though in the full possession of his 
faculties. As I spoke of God he raised himself in 
the bed with the little strength he had left, tore open 
the bosom of his shirt, and shaking his fist at the 
sky he spat into the air defying God, if there was 
one, to take vengeance on him there. Although he 
held my hand, and begged me to stay with him, the 
sight of the holy oils which I took out set him in 
such a frenzy that he yelled like a demon and thus 
died. Bearing the external marks of reprobation he 
was buried in unconsecrated ground. God grant that 
he knew not what he did, or the extent of his malice ; 
but it shows to what an extremity we may go. Let us 
add to our daily prayers the invocation " from an 
unprovided death, O Lord deliver us!" 

Portsmouth, N. H,, Dec. 19, 1895. 
My dear Sister : 

You are the first to whom I write " Merry Christ- 
mas and Happy New Year." I do so thus early 


because we will be quite busy for the next few days 
and I will not have much opportunity. Tomorrow I 
am going to Dover for an ordination and next week 
of course we will have confessions. I will, please 
God, go home Christmas day and be there for sup- 
per and the little joyous family reunion that we 
usually have. 

It is one of the greatest pleasures of the year and 
we have been so fortunate in being all in good health 
and being all together. You may be sure your name 
is often mentioned and you don't seem to be so far 
away from us either. 

We are going to have a very beautiful crib here. 
It has just arrived from France. The figures are 
three and a half feet high, and require a space of 
fourteen feet. They are beautifully done and are 
finished like those little statues of the Sacred Heart 
with which you are familiar. 

Fr. D was here today from the extreme north 

country and told me how he keeps Christmas 
there with his few simple country folk. I may be 
there myself to celebrate next year. I suppose your 
celebration will be pretty much as ours used to be 
in the seminary, wholly spiritual, but none the less 
joyful, perhaps the more. It is a busy, tiresome day 
for us, but a happy one always, and the only one we 
do not seem to outgrow. We have not many desti- 
tute and it is a satisfaction to know that the good 
time is shared by all our people. 

I hope you found Drummond as interesting as I led 
you to expect. I preached that notion of "reflecting 
the character of Christ," last Sunday, of course cred- 
iting it, and some of the people were much pleased 
with the idea. I only wish that I could set them the 
example as well as indicate to them the way. There 


are a few other books by the same author, more 
scientific but nevertheless interesting- and edifying, 
that I will send you some time if you would care for 

I will try to find a little present for you but, as 
you can imagine, the choice is restricted in a town 
like this to very meager articles. "'Tis not what 
we give but what we share," that makes the gift ap- 
preciated. I will give you a Christmas Mass all to 

yourself and I know, dear K , you will prize that 

most and you will say a heart-felt prayer for me, 
won't you? I will not be able to see you this time. 

Happy Holy Christmas then, dear K , is my wish 

to you and to your dear Sisters, and Sister Superior 
in particular. 

Lovingly yours in the Infant Jesus, 


Portsmouth, N. H., 

June 26, 1896. 

You are no doubt wondering why I did not keep 
my promise and write to you about my visit to New 
York. I was very busy last week giving the children 
a retreat for First Communion and did not have much 
time to write, 

I had a very pleasant stay in New York and found 
Father Elliott a most agreeable and kindly man. It 
was a real treat to see his zeal and feel his enthusi- 
asm for the new work. The Paulists are full of this 
matter and are persuaded it is the great crusade of 
the century. They are to organize a band in New 
York City in the Fall and they will make things hum. 
I spent a few hours each morning with Father Elliott 
discussing the situation in New Hampshire and what 
could be done. He gave me some valuable points as to 


mission sermons. In the afternoon we went for a walk 
and talked the matter over on the streets or in the 
park, so that I came home with my head full of it. 
I wrote to the Bishop, but of course nothing- can be 
done definitely until Fall. I am sending- you a little 
book by Fr. Elliott which will give you the best 
notion of his methods and himself, too. 

August 23, 1896. 


I spent the second week of my vacation in the 
" north countree " and so may not be able to see you 
for sometime. I suppose, dear Sister, that you were 
not missioned this year or you would have told me. 

The family was much pleased with your letter of 
condolence. It was very sad having- the child die 
away from home, but God was good after all. Had 
the child died a week before, and she seemed to be 
at the point of death even then, it would have broken 
her mother's heart for she was not at all prepared or 
reconciled. However, God bided His time and let the 
little one ling-er and suffer until all were ready and 
anxious to have Him take her. She was a dear, sweet 
little child that we all loved too much. As Grand- 
mother said, "She is none too good for heaven." Her 
mother would have felt the loss much more but the 
baby has been so ill ever since it has taken up her 
attention and she will be satisfied if God spares her. 
The family felt it very much and being here, day 
and night, over that cradle, went through a siege 
they never before experienced. I think that the 
sorrow will have a good effect on us all, and Alice, 
little ang-el, has the best of it. 

I hope you had a pleasant retreat but what a 
scorching you got from the weather! 


I haven't any news about our missions, except that 
they are to begin in November. I am afraid Fr. 

E will not be able to help us out, as he is 

engaged on the same work for the New York diocese. 

We will get some other helper and do what we can. 


So you found it a difficult question, an unanswer- 
able one, as to what you wanted. I was disappointed 
that you would not help me to make a selection. I 
could not but admire your contentment. Did you 
ever hear the story of the darky that was told to 
name three of the things he desired most in the 
world? After deliberating several minutes he said : 
"Well, Marse Joe, I want a pa'r of boots." "Jack," 
said the master, "when you consider the number of 
good things in this world, can't you think of some- 
thing better? Try again, be careful." "Well, Marse 
Joe, I always want to have plenty of fat meat." 
"Now, Jack, you have only one more chance. Can't 
you think of something better than a pair of boots 
and fat meat?" After thinking a while he gave it 
up, saying: "Marse Joe, if I had a pair of boots and 
plenty of fat meat I doan' want nuthin' mo!" My 
dearest sister, I do not for a moment want to com- 
pare you to any darky, living or dead, but you 
remember that a comparison does not mean a simi- 
larity of the objects compared but only a proportion. 
Of course I am only joking, and I know full well the 
things you care for, and the only things you care for 
are the things of God, and it is from Him and not 
from me that you ask them. These, my dear girl, 
whatever they are, I pray God to grant you as the 
best Christmas present you can have. 

You have heard me speak of Drummond's "Natural 
Law in the Spiritual World." I tried to get you a 


copy, but could not, so I send you the one I have 
used. I have found it very interesting-, and think you 
will find it profitable reading. There are, of course, 
a few thing's for which you will have to make allow- 
ance, but your g-ood sense will not let these interfere 
with the usefulness of the book. 

The photo I am sending- is a copy of the one in 
my room, "The Call of Peter and James and John." 
Perhaps you mig-ht like to make a crayon of it, or if 
you would like a larg-er one I will g-et it for you. 

I will not be able to spend any of Christmas at 
home this year, coming- as it does on Friday, but will 
g-o home the following- week. There will be three of 
us missing- you and Fred and myself; but we may 
all thank God that it is neither sickness nor death 
that keep us, but only the "Father's business." 

I will say one of my Christmas Masses for you, as 
usual. Don't forget to say a prayer for me, as I 
need your prayers every day, and appreciate them 
more than all beside. Praying- God to give you the 
abundance of His blessings at this holy season, I am 

as always 


We had our retreat last week, and a terribly hot 
time we had. The preacher, however, was first class, 
and that made up for a great deal. This week I 

have had Father McM from Lowell for a visit, 

and enjoyed his company very much. It is beautiful 
here about this season, and much more comfortable 
than inland. I would like to be able to send you 
some of the sea breeze. 

We are all interested in the establishment of your 
house of studies at Washington. It speaks well for 
the progressive spirit of the Order, and all the com- 
ments I have heard are very favorable. Sister 
Superior Julia has a g-ood head and good pluck. 


Our Bishop has not returned from Europe, and so 
there is no news. I hope that the Holy Father will 
urge him to carry out the plan of missions he con- 


"Haec dies quam fecit Dominus, exullemus et 
laetemur in eia" my greeting to you as you come 
out of your shell on Easter morning. I wish you all 
the joys and blessings of that happy day. When 
Christmas comes I say to myself, "This is the 
happiest feast of the year," but when Easter is here 
I say "Easter is the more joyful time." The fact is 
that, like the seasons of the year, God has filled each 
with joys and beauties of its own. 

I hope that Lent has left you none the worse of 
the wear physically, of course, I mean and that 
you came through the Valley of Silence with only a 
temporary suspension of your faculties. 

Best love and best prayers for you always. 

I suppose you are wondering what became of me 
since my trip to Washington. Well, I'm "back to 
the old home again," pretty much as if I had never 
left it. 

We had a very pleasant trip, and Fr. A and 

Fr. D caught up to us, and we spent most of 

the time together. We were fortunate to be in 
Washington in those exciting days, and got into the 
Capitol for the debates. From Washington we went 
to Old Point Comfort, one night's sail on the 
Potomac, and returned the following night. The 
season was a month ahead of our own, and the rich 
Southern country was all new to me and reminiscent 
of historic scenes the darkies gave color to the 


You wonder, perhaps, what became of my applica- 
tion for chaplaincy in the Navy. When I left you I 
found a letter from the Bishop, saying he had already 
granted permission to one of his priests to apply for 
such a post, and he thought that was all that re- 
ligion and patriotism required of him. That almost 
settled my case. However, I wrote to him to ask 
that I be held as alternate in case the other should 
be rejected for any reason, and so the matter stands. 
* * ********** 

I am in this very pretty little town of Hinsdale, 
on the banks of the Connecticut, in sight of the 
Green Mountains. I have three towns to attend, and 
about one half of my people are Canadians, so I have 
good practice in French sermons. 

Last week I gave a mission to non-Catholics, and, 
with somebody's good prayers, it was a very consol- 
ing success. The people came in good numbers, and 
the interest increased from night to night. The 
Bishop was very much pleased with the work." 

After substituting for a short time for the pastor 
at Hinsdale, Father Delany came, in 1898, to St. 
Joseph's Cathedral in Manchester to begin, as secre- 
tary to Bishop Bradley and chancellor of the diocese, 
his more immediate preparation for the great work 
that was to follow. Soon after when the Sisters of the 
Precious Blood built their Monastery on Union street, 
Father Delany was appointed their chaplain. From 
that time, until the day of his consecration, he said 
at their chapel his morning Mass and preached his 
Sunday sermon; he heard their confessions, gave their 
retreats, looked after their temporal affairs, and estab- 
lished, with eleven of their number, a new house of 


the Order in Cuba. He was, from first to last, their 
father and friend. Besides the daily duties of these 
offices, Father Delany fulfilled various others, more 
or less regularly, which, because of their broader 
nature served to make him widely known throughout 
the State. He was diocesan director of the League 
of the Sacred Heart, branches of which he established 
even in remote districts; he was director of the So- 
ciety of the Holy Childhood; state chaplain of the 
Knights of Columbus; a member of the State Conference 
of Charities and Corrections, and had charge of the 
State missions to non-Catholics. This last was a work 
dear to his heart, for, while he did not expect that 
these lectures would make Catholics of all the Pro- 
testants who heard them, he did hope that they would 
clear away much of the existing prejudice, and thus 
bring" about, if not religious unity, at least more ami- 
cable civil relations. The last office which Bishop 
Bradley assigned Father Delany was that of diocesan 
director of the Priests' Temperance League, whose 
members pledged themselves to further the cause of 
temperance by every means in their power. During 
these years, too, he became known as an interesting 
public speaker, and was frequently called upon for 
lectures and addresses. 

Manchester, N. H., 

Sept., 23, 1898. 


I have been very busy organizing the League in 
ditferent parts of the State and getting 1 ready for the 
first edition of my magazine. The copy is now in the 
hands of the printer and I am waiting for the proof 
sheets. I will send you one of the first copies for I 
know I will have no more anxious nor indulgent reader. 
It is a big task and lots of work and worry, but I don't 
grudge it if it comes out all right in the end. * * 


We are going- to have the Sisters of the Precious 
Blood here and the Bishop has appointed me chaplain 
of their monastery. They are a contemplative order 
like the Carmelites. I took the position with the hope 
that such good, holy, highly-spiritual women will give 
me a lift in that direction and supply in a measure 
what has long been wanting in myself. They are ex- 
pected about the first of November. 

Dec. 8, 1898. 

Our new Sisters have arrived and are creating quite 
a stir. I am sure their very presence will do a world 
of good. You will be surprised to hear that we have 
already buried one of them. She was very sick when 
she came but no one looked for the end so soon. I 
assisted in extremis and she died a most holy death. 

In her poor surroundings it would have moved any 
heart to see how patient, how resigned she was to die 
or to live if it were God's Will, and how happy she 
felt at the thought of seeing Jesus so soon. Speaking 
this morning over the white pine box that contained 
her remains I could not but recall that incident in 
the life of St. Teresa when she met the beautiful Child 
in the convent garden and asked His name "Tell 
me yours first," said He. "My name," said the saint, 
"is Teresa of Jesus." "Mine," said the Child, "is 
Jesus of Teresa." When this good nun will give her 
name "Mary of Jesus "at the gate of Heaven, surely 
Our Saviour will reveal Himself to her as "Jesus of 



We read of saints being above all earthly affection, 
scorning the ties of kindred, etc. Perhaps this may 
be the last triumph of grace but it is not the ordinary 
way that God works, and such lives do not in the least 


appeal to me. They may be supernatural but they 
always seem to me like sticks and stones that never 
impel to imitation. It may be almost heresy to say 
so but I never could have the least affection for the 
saint of whom it is said that he never looked his mother 
in the face * * * * I need not tell you how my heart 
goes with these lines, need I, my dear sister? I pray 
God to bless you with His choicest blessings. 

I have had spme pleasant experiences lately with 
some laborers who are building a railroad in this vi- 
cinity. They live in camps along the line and are 
mostly Catholics. I spent last Sunday night with them, 
and such a night it was! I heard confessions all night 
long, and said Mass for them in a stable on Monday 
morning. In such surroundings I could not but think 
of the first coming of our Blessed Saviour into this 
world. It was a stable He chose for his dwelling, and 
I took this thought for the subject of my sermon to 
these poor men. 


Dec. 22, 1898. 

Once more I wish you a Merry Christmas and a 
Happy New Year, and I do it with all my heart. 

Last night I received a very touching Christmas 
present. I don't know whether I ever told you of a 

Sister P of Brooklyn, whom I met in Portsmouth, 

and who used to send me a little box each year. She 
was a very genial, holy soul, and full to overflowing of re- 
ligion, pure and undefiled. This year she was getting 
my box ready when, that very night, she was striken 
with apoplexy, and died. Her sister sent on the box 
just as it was, and as I opened it, on the card within 
appeared her message, I hope from Heaven "God 
bless you I" 

I will offer one of my Christmas Masses for you as 
usual. Say a good prayer for me that day. 


In 1898, with the encouragement of his Bishopt 
the young 1 Chancellor instituted "The Guidon," an 
excellent monthly magazine, in which the sublimity 
and sweetness of our holy faith were set before the 
people in excellent literary and artistic form. The 
doctrines and discipline of the Church, their exempli- 
fications in consecrated and most useful lives, their 
out-flowering- in art, music, and literature these 
were the topics in which the editor's pen was 
most happy and faithful. He retained the editor- 
ship of this publication until his promotion to the 
Episcopate, when, of necessity, it had to pass to other 
hands. Bishop Delany's last literary works over his 
own name were the introduction which he contributed 
to the recently published Life of his beloved prede- 
cessor and his Pastoral in English and French on 
Christian Education. 

The duties of office and editorship by no means 
exhausted the zeal and vigor of the young priest. He 
believed in those extra-parochial organizations of Cath- 
olics which are now so greatly advancing the Catholic 
cause. So he was not only a member, but the State 
Chaplain of the Knights of Columbus in New Hamp- 
shire. He believed in meeting our separated brethren 
on the common ground of patriotism, citizen spirit, 
and public benevolence, for he was on the State Board 
of Charities, and an active member of its Committee on 
Dependent Children. A good Catholic American, he 
loved the natural virtues of his fellow citizens of other 
faiths in the spirit of Christ to those "not of his fold," 
and he wished to give them the chance to see the 
Church in its truth and beauty. He was at the head 
of Manchester Apostalate, with its missionary work for 
non-Catholics as well as Catholics. 


Sept. 16, 1902. 


All aboard for Cuba! Our arrangements are all made 
and I expect to start with my little band one week 
from to-morrow. We will leave Manchester on Wed- 
nesday the 28th, and sail from New York on Saturday. 
The Sisters will spend a few days at their old mon- 
astery in Brooklyn. Cuba is a four days' sail, and we 
expect to be in Havana on the following 1 Wednesday. 
I do not know how long I will stay. There will be 
eleven sisters in the party, five of whom are Cubans. 
I will tell you all about the trip when I return. 


Havana, Cuba, Oct. 1902. 

Last night I sat at the end of the Prado listening 
to the music of the military band and watching the 
light of Moro Castle, which stands across the bay, 
blinking like a sleepy Cyclops. Not two hundred 
yards away, the fighting foretop of the battleship 
Maine and a few twisted remnants of a hull, marked 
the last resting place of a hundred gallant sailors. 
The sky was as clear as if never flecked by a cloud, 
the air was warm as our hottest August nights, 
though a little breeze came off the water. The scene 
about was the gayest of the gay. The white duck 
suits and large rounded hats of the men, the man- 
tilla framing the lovely dark faces of the women, and 
a good sprinkling of negroes in all degrees of pic- 
turesqueness came and went under the myriads of 
electric lights. What wonder if I thought of nothing 
else! But "le nuit porte conseil " and this morning 
it dawned on me that it was after the first of the month 


and there was such a thing- as the Guidon, but really 
the concern it gave me was very little. There is a 
charm and quietness about Havana I never found 
elsewhere. It is not only ancient but oriental as well, 
with a Moorish flavor. From the sea in the early 
morning, the sight of the city would charm the gods. 
Its pink and blue walls, surrounded by the loveliest 
green on the hills and the red soil of the roads and 
cliffs make a rare combination. The streets are about 
thirty feet wide with side walks of eighteen inches, 
some of them completely covered by awnings. The 
houses are all of stone, and the rooms are posted 
twenty-five feet. The windows have no glass but have 
shutters and artistically designed iron gratings. 

Of course I have seen the Archbishop and have an 
appointment with the U. S. minister at ten this morning. 


An invasion of Cuba took place the first of last 
month. It was not heralded in the newspapers at the 
time, but it is an event whose importance may be far 
reaching in the future. The expedition was organ- 
ized in Manchester, N. H., and consisted of eleven 
women, five of them Cubans, sisters of the Precious 
Blood, and their chaplain. No secrecy was maintained, 
though no special publicity was given to the matter, 
and the route taken by the party was that usually 
followed by travelers from New York to Havana. 
No opposition was met until reaching the custom 
house, when certain suspicious looking boxes were 
detected by the keen-eyed officials. They demanded 
to know the contents, and as they tugged and pulled 
at the unwieldly crates they were told the heavy 


boxes held supplies for the foundation of a new 
religious community. From the looks on the men's 
faces we judged they thought we had brought bricks 
along with us. An examination of the luggage revealed 
nothing more dangerous than a printing press, sewing 
machines, a handsome Estey organ, the first, by the 
way, ever brought to the island, and intended only to pro- 
mote harmony ; a dozen little oratories, each containing 
all the earthly belongings of a Sister. No more in- 
criminating evidence being found, the expedition was 
allowed to land and the little band began the work 
of capturing souls for Jesus. 

To understand better the nature of their mission 
we ought to go back awhile. 

Four years ago, at the invitation of the Bishop of 
Manchester, twelve Sisters of the Precious Blood 
came from Brooklyn, N. Y., and established them- 
selves in our episcopal city. A modest cottage house 
was their first abode and this was transformed as 
well as could be into the condition of a monastery, 
with a small chapel and cloistered apartments for the 
religious. God blessed the work. A larger chapel 
was soon begun and finished and the ten thousand 
dollars it cost were soon raised and paid off. From 
the first, the Cenacle, as this new home of religion 
was called, became a centre of piety. To-day, the 
chapel is bright, attractive, and devotional. Over its 
tasteful altar and against a pictured scene of Calvary, 
stands a full-sized group, a bleeding Christ upon the 
cross, His sorrowing Mother, St. John, and Mary 
Magdalen weeping at its foot. Everything about the 
chapel speaks of the devotion inculcated, that of 
honoring the Precious Blood of Jesus wherein the sins 
of the world are washed away. Little by little the 
daily life of the community became known and ad- 


mired. Theirs is a life of prayer and immolation. 
At midnight the Sisters rise to chant the office of 
Matins. At one o'clock they retire to rise again at 
five. Mass is celebrated at half-past six and during 
the day the rest of the office is sung according- to 
the canonical hours. Watchers succeed each other 
day and night in perpetual adoration of our Blessed 
Lord in the Holy Eucharist. The community lives 
on the bounty of the faithful. During their years in 
our city, like the birds of the air, they took no thought 
of the morrow, and the good God who provides for 
the humblest of His creatures has not forgotten these, 
His devoted children. If this trust and confidence 
speak well for the Sisters, it does hardly less so for 
the thoughtful charity of so many good people in 
Manchester, who never for a day have forgotten the 
recluses of the monastery and let them go unprovided. 

For some months the foundation of a new home in 
Cuba was under consideration and at last the dream 
was realized. 

Wednesday, September 25th, was the day fixed for 
departure of the colony. It was the feast of Our 
Lady of Mercy. In the morning the Rt. Rev. Bishop 
himself said Mass in the monastery chapel and invoked 
God's blessing on the undertaking. Mass was followed 
by Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The good- 
bys and God-speeds were spoken and the Sisters left 
their cloister home never to return. A number of 
friends had assembled at the railroad station to say 
adieu, and these with so many religious in the midst 
and the demonstrations of affection they excited caused 
quite a little stir as the train drew in. 

A stop of two days was made at the Monastery of 
the Precious Blood, Brooklyn, N. Y., where Mother 
St. Gertrude and several of the Sisters, now en 


route for Cuba, had been received into religious life. 
It is needless to say a warm welcome awaited them, 
and the two days spent there were a veritable ovation. 
Saturday at three o'clock found us steaming* out to 
sea. Though the day was fair, there was quite a 
swell on the ocean, and the pangs of parting were 
soon supplanted by the pangs of mal de mer. But 
the less said about that the better. The next morning 
dawned beautiful. The sea was placid, the weather 
became warmer, the water began to take on the blue 
of the tropics. It was Sunday. We did the best we 
could to keep the day holy. The dining saloon was 
cleared, the sideboard draped with flags and a little 
table set between the rows of seats to serve as a 
pulpit or altar. Notice was posted and the gong 
sounded at 11 A. M. for divine service. Most of the 
cabin passengers attended. We resolved to have a 
"dry" Mass, as it is called, and to assist at least in 
spirit at the Holy Sacrifice since we could not attend 
in body. The Sisters sang the Ave Maris Stella, for 
it was the feast of the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady, 
to invoke her who is called the Star of the Sea for 
a pleasant, prosperous voyage. The chaplain then 
read the prayers of the Mass in English, the little 
congregation kneeling, standing, sitting, as we do 
when assisting in church at home. After the gospel 
came the sermon. The subject chosen for a last 
instruction was "The Love for God, in the Person 
of Christ Jesus." As this was the intention of prayer 
for the month, so, too, it seemed singularly fitted for 
a parting word between the shepherd and the 
little flock he was to leave behind. He spoke 
of the love of Jesus, in the person of the 
Apostles and early martyrs; how that love abid- 
ed in faithful hearts throughout all the cen- 


turies since. That it still abides, strong 1 , vigorous, 
fruitful, your presence here testifies. At His call 
you have left father, mother, sisters, brothers, houses 
and land, perhaps never to see them again. But fear 
not, little flock, it has pleased your heavenly Father 
to give you a kingdom. Yours will be the reward, 
a hundred-fold here and life everlasting 1 . 

After the sermon "Mass" proceeded, through the 
holy words of consecration. How solemn they sounded 
"This is My Body this is My Blood, "though there were 
no sacred species there. The heart and thoughts of 
my little flock were far away, I am sure, over the sea, 
where, at the Cenacle they had left, the Holy Sacrifice 
was really offered this morning, or perhaps at that 
other Cenacle where Jesus Himself celebrated the divine 
mystery for the first time. 

At the close of the "Mass "the sisters sang 1 a few 
stanzas of the Stabat Mater. Our impromptu church 
service was quite complete, we only omitted the 

The presence of the little community excited no end 
of curiosity among 1 the passengers. Who are they? 
Where are they going 1 ? What are they going for? 
When told they were Sisters of the Precious Blood, 
going to Havana to establish a new home, this was 
satisfactory, so far, but when told these Sisters were 
of a cloistered order whose mission required them to 
be sequestered from the world and whose office was 
principally of prayer, this was by no means so intel- 
ligible to the Yankee mind, whose god is Mammon and 
whose service is hustle. No matter, they may live to 
learn that "more things are wrought by prayer than 
we have dreamt in our philosophy." All were exceed- 
ingly kind, however, and nothing was spared to make 
the Sisters happy. 


The third day out we came to the coast of Florida 
and ran near enough to the shore to see the hotels 
at Palm Beach and the buildings at Miami harbor. 
All day long 1 we followed the line of shore, and in the 
evening saw the last of the lights on the keys, then 
struck across the Gulf. 

The first streaks of morning found us off Havana. 
The pink flush of dawn overspread the sky and the 
lights of the city still glistened. Morro-Castle's re- 
volving light blinked like a sleepy Cyclops. As day- 
light advanced what a picture in color the whole scene 
presented. The buildings wore a shade of pink; they 
were low and stately and somewhat of the Moorish style 
of architecture. The brilliant green of the surround- 
ing hills and country was intersected by roadways of 
yellow and red. The harbor is small, with hardly 
any approach and once you pass the sentinel lighthouse 
you are in a perfect land-locked bay. The sounding 
of our steamer's whistle seemed to awake the sleeping 
harbor. We had scarcely reached our mooring buoy, 
(vessels do not cast anchor here for fear of riling 
disease from the bottom), when from all sides came 
creeping upon us a fleet of queer little lighters and tugs 
of officials, and by the time we were made fast, our 
huge steamer was surrounded three or four deep by 
all kinds and sizes of crafts. 

I venture to say that the first searching glance of 
every American on board was for the relics of the 
battleship Maine. And sure enough, there she was, 
or at least all that is left of her, a mass of twisted 
iron, but her fighting top still stands defiant, high out 
of the water. Beneath are the bones of a hundred of our 
gallant sailors, if the sharks have left even these. It's 
a gruesome sight and one that for decency's sake should 
be removed. 


The Sisters were expected, and, early as it was, 
among- the little tug's that made their way to our side 
was one to bid them welcome and to take them 
ashore. In the group on deck were four priests, and 
our American Sisters saw for the first time the habit 
of the native clergy. Two Carmelite Fathers wore 
the brown habit of their Order, with cowl and 
sandals, and as they removed their broad, white felt 
hats they showed their shaven heads. The secular 
priests were dressed in black cassock, with the 
Roman cloak, and they wore black bell-crowned hats. 
One of these two was Father Estrada, Vicar-General 
of the diocese of Havana, through whose instrumen- 
tality the Sisters came to Cuba. The first visit in 
the new land was to the Church of the Carmelites. 
The bells rang- out a glad welcome and the organ 
rolled out its sweet music. The Sisters, entering, 
prostrated themselves for a moment at the door, 
then, rising, formed a procession to the altar. Father 
Estrada intoned the Te Deum, and at its close sang 
the customary prayers for occasions of this kind. A 
sermon was delivered by one of the great preachers 
of the city. 

Leaving the church, the Sisters paid their respects 
to the Archbishop at the Episcopal Palace. His Grace 
received them most affably, extending to them a cor- 
dial welcome, and gave them his paternal blessing. 

From here they went to their new home, the first 
monastery of the Precious Blood in Cuba. What 
were the first impressions of the little band at the 
sight of its new domicile I cannot say, but no doubt 
their hearts were filled with conflicting emotions 
everything was so strange and so different from the 
country they left. The kind thoughtfulness of new 
friends forestalled them. The altar of their house 


chapel was already in place and covered with an 
abundance of flowers. Breakfast was awaiting- them, 
and a darky cook bustled about to give them their 
first Cuban meal, while a company of friends crowded 
the building and the little black faces of the children 
peered through the grated windows. 

These are but temporary quarters for the Sisters. 
The monastery intended for them by the Archbishop 
is not ready for occupancy. Subirano 2 is like most 
of the dwelling-houses in Havana. Its exterior is 
plain and neat. Like all of the buildings there is 
nothing on the outside to indicate the purpose of its 
use. In answer to the sound of a brass knocker you 
are admitted into a reception room. The floors are 
made of beautiful tiles, and its groined ceiling is 
fully twenty-five feet high. Off this leads another 
room like the first, with white walls and blue tinted 
trimmings, that serves as a chapel. Around and 
behind the altar will be placed the lattice work to 
form a cloister for the community. There are no 
glass windows, nor are there any in the houses in 
Cuba, but large casements, fully twelve feet high, 
with shutters within and beautifully wrought iron 
gratings without. Of course all the accessories of a 
home are found here, not excepting a spacious tiled 
roof, where the Sisters, like all natives of these warm 
regions, can get the cool evening breeze. 

During my stay at Havana I shared the hospitality 
of the Augustinian Fathers at St. Augustine's College, 
an English-speaking day school for boys. Adjoining 
the college is the chapel of St. Augustine, which 
formed part of the old church and monastery served 
by the Augustinians since the middle of the seven- 
teenth century. Father Jones, O.S.A., the rector of 
the house, kindly suggested that I tell the English- 


speaking- colony, which attends this church, of the 
coming 1 of the new community, and try to interest 
them in its behalf. The Sunday after our arrival I 
celebrated the principal Mass at St. Augustine's. I 
took that occasion to answer the question so often 
asked Why send a Sisterhood here whose office is 
only prayer? Why not one occupied with the active, 
exterior works of religion, such as teaching-, nursing-, 
or the like? We answer, these latter offices will not 
be neglected, and those who are eng-ag-ed in the 
active works will be the first to acknowledge the 
necessity of prayer to sanctify and to fructify the 
ministry of their hands. It was the uplifted arms of 
Moses and his prayers that did more to win victory 
for the people of God than did the brave strokes of 
the faithful soldiers. This island has been steeped 
in blood, and blood has been the price of its liberty. 
But the cause is only half won. There is another 
enemy, vanquished only by the blood of Jesus. This 
is the Blood we would sprinkle on the door posts of 
the new republic, so that the Destroying- Angel may 
pass it by. This is the purpose of the community 
we send to make known and honored and glorified 
the Precious Blood of Jesus. Such is the story of the 
second invasion of Cuba. 

"You came to us once, O brethren, in wrath, 
And death and destruction followed your path ; 
You conquered us then, but only in part, 
For a stubborn thing- is the human heart." 

In gentleness, patience, zeal, and devotedness this 
little band sets out to make the victory complete. 


I suppose you are already wondering 1 how I got 
here. Well, we got only as far south as Norfolk. 
We were delayed twenty-four hours in leaving- Bos- 
ton, and missed the Savannah Boat. However, after 
my experience on the two days' trip to Norfolk, I 
was not sorry. My worst anticipations were realized, 
About every story of sea-sickness you ever heard 
would fit my case, even that of the passenger who, 
when asked by the sentimental maiden if the moon 
was up, replied that if it was inside of him it was 
up long ago. 

We found Norfolk in rather a disturbed state, 
owing to a street car strike. The militia was on 
duty and had the place practically under martial law. 
If you never saw a Southern city, you have little idea 
of the conditions that abound. And the darky! how 
can I describe him? Lazy, shiftless, happy, dirty; 
in all shades from a cream to ebony, in all condi- 
tions from the little cherub you feel like stealing to 
the poor, blind, crippled beggar, and the mammy with 
her head always tied up in white or colors. They 
seem to thrive on sunshine and dirt. Sometimes they 
fish. It is common enough to see a big darky lying 
asleep in an old flat-bottom dory, with the fish line tied 
to his toe. If he gets a bite, he wakes up and pulls 
in. Izaak Walton never invented a better compromise 
between fishing and idleness than this. 

Richmond, a beautiful city of a hundred thousand 
inhabitants, surprised me very much by its size and 
modern appearance. We went this morning to the 
battlefields of Seven Pines or Fair Oaks as it is com- 
monly called in the North. We had for guide an old 
fellow who had been on the ground thirty-seven years, 
and he "shouldered his crutch and showed how the 
field was won." My only impression now is of a 


long- line of mound over which the contending armies 
crossed and re-crossed for a single day, until they 
left on the field fifteen thousand of their number. 
It is no wonder the soil is red here and that the 
River James in the spring flood runs almost brick 
color, of course they tell us it is from the composi- 
tion of the soil, but the blood shed about Richmond 
would be enough to account for it all. 

Jeff Davis is buried here and so are Presidents Tyler 
and Monroe. Tyler has a little stone that cost thirty- 
five dollars so the man told me who put it up as 
the only monument to mark his last resting place. 
The monuments are all poor; poor in taste and poor 
in execution. I wonder if this is to be accounted 
for by the fact that they were nearly all erected by 
some patriotic women societies? 

To-morrow I am going to the Virginia Historical 
Society to see if I can find anything by way of corres- 
pondence between Davis and Franklin Pierce here 
is where the Guidon comes in then start at once for 



OCTOBER, 1898. 


With the present issue of the Guidon we make our 
formal entry into the lists of journalism, and, saluting 
the public, proceed to introduce ourselves. The rea- 
son for the existence of such a magazine as we propose 
to publish is the need of it, and a better excuse for 
being could hardly be found. 

New Hampshire holds within her borders one hun- 
dred thousand Catholics, and, up to the present time, 
has had no distinctively Catholic publication of her own. 
These children of the Church are spread out over a 
vast area, many of them in little towns and villages far 
removed from Catholic influences that should enter 
daily into their lives. 

Now the Catholic religion is not something for one 
day in the week, to be put on or off with our Sunday 
clothes. It is for every day in the year, and for 
every action in our lives, and whatever keeps this 
thought uppermost in the minds of our people will 
bring them closer to the spirit of the Church. It is 
with the hope to supply in some measure this want, 
that we undertake the work, and any one who has 
experienced the wholesome effects of the presence of 
a good Catholic journal in the family will realize that 
this hope is well founded. 


What the good paper does for the family it does in 
a greater degree for the community in which it circu- 
lates. Its influence is widespread and lasting. "It 
is," said our Holy Father, Leo XIII., "a continual 

Our purpose will be to furnish such reading to 
the home as will interest and edify, to keep our own 
people informed on whatever may be of interest or 
importance to the Church in general or to the diocese 
in particular, and to enlighten those outside the fold 
on the teaching and practice of our holy religion. 

A glance through our different departments will 
show the scope we strive to embrace. The " League 
of the Sacred Heart " is intended for the spiritual 
nourishment of the soul. The "Instruction in Cate- 
chism " is meant to interest the little ones in the 
great truths of religion. The "Good-reading Columns" 
will stimulate the appetite for what is wholesome and 
elevating in literature. The " Question Box " will 
remove doubts and difficulties that stand between us 
and the truth, and participating in the great work of 
the " Propagation of the Faith " will aid to bring about 
what we daily pray for, " Thy Kingdom Come." 

Many of our people in this State speak French, 
and these have not been overlooked in the work. A 
portion of our magazine will be published in their 
language, and all that concerns them and their inter- 
ests will receive its due importance. 

This is the task we have set ourselves, and this is 
the work which, God helping, we hope to accomplish. 


The League of the Sacred Heart is a spiritual 
militia, and for that reason we have chosen a military 
title for our magazine. The guidon is the little flag 
carried by a soldier on the right of the line in 


platoon formation. We hardly dared call our work the 
"Standard," or to make ourselves the rallying- point 
in time of battle, but just the little ensign that helps 
to keep the line straight in "the piping times of 
peace." The word "guidon" was applied also to one 
of a community established by Charlemagne at Rome 
for the purpose of guiding pilgrims to the Holy Land. 
This, too, in a mystical sense, will be our office, to 
guide those committed to our care to the City of the 
Heavenly Jerusalem. 

It was, however, as founder and editor of the Guidon 
that Father Delany was best known throughout New 
England. In October, 1898, Bishop Bradley began 
the publication of this diocesan magazine, and placed 
Father Delany in editorial charge. The position was 
unenviable. Priests and people alike were sceptical 
of success, and free to predict the doom of the ven- 
ture. For a long time Bishop and editor stood alone, 
but they worked quietly on, apparently unmindful of 
criticism, and their confidence was at last rewarded. 
At the end of six years, the Guidon had won the 
recognition of its fellows, and the approval of the 
highest dignitaries in the country. Its editorials were 
widely quoted, and it wielded a power not to be 
ignored. It was a vindication of its founder's judg- 
ment, and a monument to its first editor's indomita- 
ble will and indefatigable courage. 

Only a few of the Guidon editorials written by 
Father Delany can be mentioned here, for they are 
so many in number that they would fill a complete 
volume. It is hoped that some day they will appear 
in a separate form, in answer to the many requests 
that have been made for their publication. 



As the end of the century approaches it is only 
natural to look back over the span we have passed to 
see how the cycle of years has left us. In politics, 
science, literature and art the accounts have been cast 
up, and, in some cases, the results have been really 
marvelous. No one can tell what the future has in 
store, but, compared with the centuries gone by, this 
XIX. century of ours may be termed the age of 

How has it fared in thing's religious? We cannot be 
indifferent on a subject like this. How stands the 
Church as the years go by? What progress has she 
made during 1 these hundred years? Let us see. 

The true progress of any society is the advance of 
that society towards its true end. All other progress, 
however rapid, however brilliant, however applauded, 
is only retrogression. In an interesting discourse on 
this subject, delivered some years ago, Mgr. O'Neill, 
O.S.B., the venerable Bishop of Port Louis, lays down 
the following rule to measure the progress of the 
Church, and this rule will serve as well to-day as when 
it was first offered. 

'"Go, teach all nations,' was the commission given 
the Apostles and their successors by their Divine 
Master, and this was the end for which the Church 
was instituted. 

"Now, this teaching of the Church is not something 
purely theological, speculative like that of a school of 
philosophy, it is essentially practical, and to fulfill her 
end the influence of her doctrine should be formed not 
in the mind only but in the heart, the life, the morals 
of her disciples." 

This is the nineteenth century. The nineteenth 
century of what? Of Christ and of his Church. The 


progress of that church through all these years has 
not been the triumphant march of an Alexander or 
a Caesar. She has gained magnificent victories it is 
true, but she has, too, borne defeat, suffered defec- 
tion and loss. See her condition at the beginning of the 
present century. In the most Catholic country of the 
world her temples were profaned, her priests mas- 
sacred, or driven into exile, and the Pope dying a 
prisoner. It was only by the protection of two non- 
Catholic powers, England and Russia, that the Cardi- 
nals ^ould assemble at Venice to elect his successor. 
In Protestant countries the Catholic faith was only 
a spark covered with ashes. In Africa, Asia, and 
America was here and there a mission, a few 
bishops and a clergy, often indifferent and sometimes 
unworthy. The worldly-wise observer would say, 
surely the end is at hand. "But the end was not 
yet," says Macauley. "Again doomed to death, the 
milk-white hind was still fated not to die. Even 
before the funeral rights had been performed over 
the ashes of Pius VI., a great reaction had com- 
menced. Anarchy had its day. A new order of things 
rose out of the confusion, new dynasties, new laws, 
new titles, and amidst them emerged the ancient 

In 1800, Australia counted only two priests and 
New Zealand only one; to-day in that province there 
are thirty-four bishops and archbishops. In 1800 
India had within her borders four or five Portuguese 
bishops and the same number of apostolic vicars; 
to-day, without including the heirarchy of Goa, there 
are seven archbishops, seventeen bishops, and four 
apostolic prefects. Six vicars on the peninsula of 
Indo-China have been increased to fifteen. Instead 
of eleven in China there are now thirty-six, and 
Japan that had none has now one archbishop and 
three bishops. 


At the close of the last century, here in our own 
country there was one bishop, Bishop Carroll of 
Baltimore. To-day we number nine million Catholics 
with fourteen archbishops and seventy-five bishops. 
Canada at that time had one bishop at Quebec; in 
the same territory to-day there are seven archbishops 
and twenty-eight bishops. 

But why enumerate all these in detail, enough 
to state that during- this hundred years the church 
has created more than two-hundred and fifty dioceses, 
vicariates, and prefectures apostolic, each one having 
its clergy, schools, orphanages, and the rest. Surely 
this is progress. 

In the intellectual order the beginning of the cen- 
tury was marked by a conflict between faith and the 
so-called science of the time. But it was "the little 
science," the dangerous thing of which Bacon warned 
us as leading away from God. The increase of know- 
ledge and the better understanding of the laws of 
Nature show there is and can be no real conflict be- 
tween science and religion, for the same "God who 
gave us the Bible wrote the illuminated manuscript 
of the sky." The discoveries in Egypt and Assyria, 
hailed with such acclamation by the enemies of the 
Church, have only added to and strengthened her posi- 
tion with regard to Revelation. A deeper and impartial 
study of profane history of such stormy times as that 
of the "Reformation," the Reign of Henry VIII., and 
the Spanish Inquisition, has deprived the bigot of his 
stock in trade of abuse and calumny, and redounded 
to the credit of the Church. In no place is this pro- 
gress of the Church more marked than in the standard 
books of reference where a fair and impartial hearing 
is given her, which was refused in days gone by. 

Her sway on the hearts of men was never greater 
than it is to-day. What institution in the world is so 


admired for works of mercy and of charity? Her 
hospitals, her orphanages, her houses of refuge, re- 
place the poor-house and the prison. No century of 
the Church's history has been more prolific of foun- 
dations of societies and congregations. The Little 
Sisters of the Poor, the Society of the Propaganda, 
the Holy Childhood, the Marist Fathers, the Oblates 
of Mary, the Congregation of the Holy Ghost, the 
White Fathers of Cardinal Lavigerie, are only a few 
stars in the great constellation that has arisen. 

It is not for glorification that we cite these facts, 
it is for encouragement. We know that the Church 
must ever do battle, but it is better to fight with con- 
fidence. Where can we find a greater source of con- 
fidence than in this visible protection and aid of the 
Most High, and the assurance of our Saviour, "Behold 
I am with you all days, even to the consummation of 
the world." 


There is a marked tendency these times to substi- 
tute philanthropy for religious faith, and to think that 
because one is charitable towards the poor and unfor- 
tunate, he thereby acquits himself of all his obligations 
toward God. This great care and solicitude for the 
mere temporal well-being of our kind is often the dis- 
tinguishing mark of the utter loss of faith. The 
greatest infidels have preached humanity loudest. And 
logically it should be so. For if this life is all and 
death is the end of us, it ought to be our greatest 
concern to free that life from as many ills as 
possible, and to render the present existence as agree- 
able as we can. Such, however, is not the teaching 
of Christianity ; life is only a preparation and death 
the beginning of an eternal existence. Suffering is 


a means by which our souls may be purified and 
strengthened in their union with God, and far from 
being- an unmixed evil, as it is often esteemed by the 
world, it may become one of our greatest aids to sal- 
vation. St. Paul tells us how " tribulation worketh 
patience, and patience trial, and trial hope, and hope 
confoundeth not." And he adds that the tribulations 
of this world are not to be compared with the glory 
to come. Looked at in this light, poverty, suffering-, 
and misfortune are by no means as unbearable as peo- 
ple without faith imagine, and beautiful examples of 
Christian patience, fortitude, resignation may be met 
with every day. Of course it is praiseworthy to try 
to lessen the ills of poor human nature, but that is 
on account of our weakness. It is a higher and a holier 
thing to suffer them with patience for our soul's and 
God's sake. When will people learn that true charity 
does not consist in filling the purse of the poor, 
while their souls are left starved and shriveled ? Only 
when they realize the words of our Saviour, "Not by 
bread alone doth man live, but in every word that pro- 
ceedeth from the mouth of God." 


The devotion of the Holy Hour is one that should 
appeal to all Catholics. It consists in giving one hour 
of prayer and adoration to Jesus in the Blessed 
Eucharist. This hour should be spent in the church, 
if possible, and before our Blessed Lord in the tab- 
ernacle. It should be made regularly once each week 
or, at least, once each month. It can be made in 
common as is done in certain parishes where this 
devotion is regularly established. In such case some 
day and hour is appointed by the pastor ; the Blessed 
Sacrament is exposed upon the altar, hymns are sung, 


prayers recited, and the hour closes with Benedic- 
tion. This is, indeed, a wholesome practice in any 
parish, and cannot fail to bring the blessing* of God 
upon all its members. Where such public devotion 
does not prevail, the individual can gain for himself 
abundant graces by following privately the simple 
rules prescribed. 

One hour's visit to the church may seem long. But 
think! an hour's visit to a friend would seem short, 
indeed, and what friend have we like Jesus? How 
many hours we spend in useless, simple frivolity and 
deem them only too short. The days, the weeks, 
and the months go by but we never visit Jesus in 
the house where He has chosen to reside as the self- 
made prisoner of love in the tabernacle. It is true 
we come on Sundays and spend an hour or the part 
of an hour assisting at Holy Mass, but is it not rather 
from constraint, from fear of the mortal sin of remain- 
ing away, than from the sweet compulsion of affection 
that should draw us to His divine presence? Day 
after day He is in the church alone; the door stands 
open inviting the passers-by, and from out the taber* 
nacle Our Saviour speaks: "Come to me all ye who 
labor and are heavily burdened and I will refresh you." 
Yet we pass heedlessly on. It does not speak well 
for our faith to leave Him thus alone, and it ill requites 
His love to pay no attention to His invitation. 

One hour with Jesus will make the whole day dif- 
ferent, it will make the whole week and month better. 
Those who knew the Apostles saw a change come 
over them and accounted for it saying: "They have 
been with Jesus." We have all of us felt the influ- 
ence of the presence of some person. While with 
him we dared not entertain an unworthy thought, 
much less say an unbecoming word or do an unseemly 


action. The influence of even that human presence 
has been a source of joy and comfort and strength 
for days and weeks tog-ether. What, then, cannot 
this association with Jesus do for us, if entered into 
with the spirit of love and faith ? Do we not labor 
and often fruitlessly? Are we not heavily burdened 
with the weight of sin and sorrow, grief, and disap- 
pointment, and where can we find a counselor and 
comforter like Jesus? " Who for us men, and for our 
salvation, came down from Heaven, * * * * and 
was made man?" 

This devotion of the Holy Hour and these visits 
to Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament are not intended 
for the pious and devout only. They perhaps need 
it least. It is the common, every day Christian who 
needs it most. We recall with the greatest satisfac- 
tion the time of the Jubilee visits, when the touching 
custom of Catholic lands could be seen as described 
by Longfellow: 

"Oft have I seen at some cathedral door 
A laborer, pausing- in the dust and heat, 
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet 

Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor 

Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er." 

And such we should see every day. An hour stolen 
from the busy, toilsome day for the working man or 
woman, and spent in the quiet holy atmosphere of the 
church will bring rest and refreshment, peace, and 
light. It will above all bring us in closer union with 
Jesus Christ. It will increase our love for the Blessed 
Eucharist ; it will give us a more ardent desire for 
the Bread of Angels; it will help us to receive more 
and more worthily this food of our souls, in the strength 
of which we can, like the prophet Elias, reach at last 
the mountain of God. 



The duty of giving- thanks to God is not one that 
was invented by the civil authorities, but is an obli- 
gation imposed upon us by the natural law. How- 
ever, it is well that this duty be brought before us in 
a special manner for it is one that is easily overlooked 
or neglected. In time of distress and trouble we need 
not be encouraged to look to God for help; we are 
ready indeed to implore His aid and to storm Heaven 
with our importunities. But when the need is passed, 
and when we have all our soul desires, we are very 
apt to take things as a matter of course and never so 
much as thank God for all His bounty lavished upon 
us. Ingratitude among men is one of the unforgiven 
sins. It displeases God exceedingly. It was the in- 
gratitude of the Jews that called forth His severest 
denunciations. Our Saviour grieved that of the ten 
lepers cured by Him only one was found to return 
to give thanks for the benefit received. St. Paul 
repeats, time and again, that "we should give thanks 
in all things, for this is the will of God," and Sunday 
after Sunday the Church admonishes us in the pre- 
face of the Mass, "semper et ubique gratias agere," 
"to give thanks to God always and in every place." 

Why does God require our thanks? Is He not 
infinitely perfect, and supremely happy, and independ- 
ent of any exterior influence? Yes, but it has pleased 
God to condescend to be considered as a kind and 
loving Father, and as no grief is so poignant to an 
earthly parent as the ingratitude of his children, so, 
too, does it affect the heart of our Father who is in 

Have we not many reasons to thank God for the 
year that has passed ? As a nation we have been 
spared many ills. No war, no pestilence, no great 


calamity has visited us. At our very gates Mount 
Pelee wrought a havoc which has few parallels in 
the world's history. England closed a disastrous 
war; Prance is persecuting- the Church. We have 
kept faith with Cuba and given her liberty, and the 
troubles in the Philippines seem on the road to a fair 
settlement. But for the great coal strike, now hap- 
pily ended, there have been no serious labor troubles, 
and the business condition of the country is good. 
For all this we have reason to be grateful to God and 
should thank Him from the bottom of our hearts. 

As individuals we have all of us many reasons to 
give thanks to God. We should thank Him for having 
spared us so many ills of soul and body that afflict 
others, for the innumerable blessings of creation 
which minister to our needs and pleasure, for the sun 
and the moon and the stars which He has hung up 
in the Heavens to give us light and heat ; for the ani- 
mals, the plants, the trees, the flowers, the air, the 
water, the fire. We should thank God for the care 
of His watchful Providence, directing the course of 
the planets, disposing the seasons, sending the rain 
and the snow when needed with the same loving care 
with which He watches over us waking or sleeping. 
These are the blessings of God in the natural order. 
How much more cause have we to thank Him for 
His goodness in the supernatural order? For us God, 
the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, became 
man and died on the cross. For us He established 
a Church and left us seven sacraments for all the 
needs of our soul. For us He abides in the Blessed 
Eucharist and comes to us bodily in Holy Commun- 
ion. How can we ever sufficiently thank Him for all 

Has misfortune, or loss, or sickness been your por- 
tion during the year that has passed ? No matter, 


you have still many reasons to thank God. Even 
from the depths of your misery like Holy Job you can 
say: "Naked came I out of mother's womb and 
naked shall I return thither; the Lord gave and the 
Lord hath taken away ; as it has pleased the Lord so 
be it done; blessed be the name of the Lord." You 
can thank God that you still live, that you have a 
man's heart in your breast, a brain to think with, 
and hands, if not to work with, at least to be raised 
in supplication and prayer. Your very misfortunes, 
if properly prized, will be a source of blessings for 
you. Ben Franklin was once asked what was his 
favorite passage in Holy Scripture. Without hesita- 
tion he replied: '"Though the fig tree shall not blos- 
som and there shall be no spring in the vines ; the 
labor of the olive tree shall fail and the fields shall 
yield no fruit ; the flocks shall be cut off from the 
fold and there shall be no herds in the stalls ; yet I 
will rejoice in the Lord and I will joy in God my 
Jesus." These are the sentiments of no paltry poli- 
tician or penny-wise philosopher, but of a statesman 
and a Christian, and may well serve for a text on a 
Thanksgiving Day. 


Summer brings thousands and tens of thousands of 
visitors to New Hampshire. Of these many are Cath- 
olics. We are glad they come and we try to provide 
for them during their stay and furnish them with the 
opportunity of practising their religion, if not with 
all the facilities and comforts of home, at least wi f h 
the best our resources allow. If we venture a little 
word of instruction and advice to these, our guests, it 
is not in a spirit of faultfinding and criticism, but in 


all charity, that they may profit the more by their 
stay among 1 us. In nearly all of our summering- resorts 
the holy sacrifice of the Mass is offered on Sundays. 
It is not always possible that the place of Mass should 
be at your very door. The convenience of the greatest 
number is considered and the few may have to exert 
themselves to assist. Our first advice would be this : 
make that effort. 

During the week you tramp or drive miles for 
pleasure ; can you in conscience refuse to do as much 
to fulfill your duty of hearing- Mass on Sunday? Nor 
are you at liberty to sequester yourself so far from 
a church that you cannot hear Mass. The Church's 
precept binds you in the country as well as in the 
city, in summer as in winter, and can be set aside 
only for grave reasons. Because you like a place and 
find it nice and quiet, or the company congenial, is 
not sufficient reason to excuse you from sin. Then, 
there is the influence of your example. Catholics are 
known to be obliged to assist at Mass on Sundays. 
If you stay at home and are ready to take any trivial 
excuse to exempt yourself, will not your non-Catholic 
friends have reason to think that you care little for 
the laws of your Church? 

Another source of bad example is Friday meat- 
eating. This is one of the meanest kinds of apostasy. 
Is it for the miserable satisfaction of one's gullet? 
Is it from human respect and a fear of being remarked 
that you take what is offered you without a word? 
Either case is unworthy of you. You pay your board 
and have a right to be suited. Insist then on a sub- 
stitute for meat for your Friday meals. Instead of 
thinking the less of you for your strict observance, 
your friends will think the more of you. And remem- 
ber that, in the estimation of all men, a Friday meat- 
eating Catholic is put into the same class with a 
pork-eating Jew. 


There is another precept of the Church which 
commands you to help in the support of your pastor, 
and your pastor here means the priest who serves 
your present needs. You do not realize it perhaps, 
but it is none the less true, that the priest who attends 
these summer missions does so at a great inconven- 
ience and sacrifice. He often has many missions to 
attend and is obliged to make long- drives between 
Masses. He has nearly always heavy debts and few 
people to meet the demands. During the long winter 
months, when you are enjoying the comforts of the 
city, he is still going his ceaseless rounds over the 
snow of the mountains, attending the wants of his 
scattered flock, and a little help now will do much 
to lighten his burden. There are many summer 
visitors who are lavish in spending money for style 
and frivolity but who have nothing to give for the 
support of God's church and priest. There are 
some whose Sunday's offering to the priest is less 
then they give to the waiter who serves their dinner. 
This is exceedingly shameful, though more often the 
result of thoughtlessness than an intention of being 
small. Be generous, then, as your means will allow 
and the Lord will amply reward you. 

Stand always for what you are. Be Catholics 
and be known as such. There are silly women and 
sillier men who seem flattered to be mistaken for 
something else. If you are a Christian lady or gen- 
tleman you need not make excuses for your faith. 
If the Church has no reason to be ashamed of you, 
neither will you have any reason to be ashamed of 
3 T our Church. During these summer months you will 
make many new friends and acquaintances. Among 
them are anxious inquiring souls who, if they know 
you are a Catholic and esteem your intelligence, will 


be desirous to learn of the Church and her doctrines. 
Help these in all charity and, under God, you may 
be the means of saving their souls. 

The time of vacation is a time of relaxation, but it 
was never intended to be so in the moral order. 
The Ten Commandments of God and the Six Com- 
mandments of the Church are as binding" in summer 
as at any other time of the year, though many 
people seem to forget that fact. While everybody 
else is idle or indolent the Devil is more active than 
ever. If he takes a vacation at all, it is not in the 
summer time. Perhaps it is because he is accus- 
tomed to warm weather and works best in it. 


The war just past, with all its attendant anxiety 
and loss of life, has given us more than ever an in- 
terest in the conference held at The Hague, where 
the nations of the world will consider the proposal of 
the Czar to reach some mode of settling their differ- 
ences without resort to arms. Yet our experience 
was far from adequate to give us a complete idea of 
all the miseries European nations feel from the ex- 
isting conditions of affairs. With us the issue of the 
war was never for a moment in doubt; no prescrip- 
tion was needed ; we had unbounded resources at 
command ; a few months, and it all ended in a 
glorious victory. 

It is not so, however, with the nations of Europe. 
These have for years maintained vast armies and 
navies and for the most part continually recruit them 
by the forced military service of their young men. 
To meet these needs the resources of the govern- 
ment are taxed to the extreme. Each nation watches 


the other with jealous vigilance, and any day may 
see begun a struggle that will only end in the 
annihilation of one or another. The evils resulting 
from this condition are innumerable. Here are mil- 
lions of men daily training for each other's destruc- 
tion ; here are fostered a lust for conquest, an utter 
disregard for the rights of the weaker, an insatiable 
ambition. The young men of the country are taken 
from all the walks of life, from the school, from the 
home, from the workshop, from farms and villages, 
often sent to do service in foreign lands, and the 
few years training to which they are subjected, the 
evil influences to which they are exposed ruin many, 
unfit others for the place in life they should fill, and 
delay for all that period when they should take up 
the responsibilities of home and family. Every 
country recognizes the consequences of such a sys- 
tem, yet each maintains it from absolute self-defence. 

The relief the Czar proposes would be welcome 
indeed, but we are too far from the millenium to 
hope for its realization. The good-will, however, is 
commendable, and, perhaps, some benefit may result. 

The attitude of Italy in all this matter is most in- 
teresting. There is no nation in Europe that would 
hail disarmament with greater joy. To keep up 
appearance among the Powers means bankruptcy for 
her. Founded upon fraud and force, she has never 
risen above those "principles," and now suing for 
peace, she declares war upon the helpless "Old Man 
of the Vatican," and refuses to attend the confer- 
ences if his representatives accept the invitation of 
Russia. Such are her hypocritical pretentions 1 

Was there ever in this world a power for peace as 
the Vicar of the Prince of Peace, the Head of the 
Christian Church who rules at Rome? Was there 


ever a voice that spoke so often to quell strife and 
said as did his Divine Master, "Peace be still"? And 
is there any sovereign on earth to-day, though backed 
by an army of millions, whose influence for peace is 
more potent than his? Under such a gratuitous in- 
sult the noble attitude of the Pope cannot but be 
admired by the world, while Italy's policy only adds 
another to her already long list of infamies. 

Even the Pagan would think that when the lion t 
the bear, the eagle and the dragon meet to arrange 
for terms of peace there might be found a place for 
the dove. 


There is scarcely a day passes but we read of 
some magnificent bequests to institutions of charity, 
learning, or religion, but so rarely are such dona- 
tions destined for Catholic purposes that when they 
do occur we are struck with wonder and admira- 
tion. Of course an excuse is always handy : "Our 
people are poor, they have not the means, they give 
during life and do not wait until they can no longer 
use or enjoy wealth," etc. Yet when all is said this 
is far from sufficient to excuse so universal a neglect 
as really exists, and it speaks badly for our faith 
and zeal. 

Again Catholics are accustomed to point with pride 
to their magnificent churches, schools, orphanages, 
hospitals, and claim these as a testimony to their 
generosity and devotedness. But again it happens 
that those who boast the loudest have the least cause 
to congratulate themselves. These institutions are, 
for the most part, built and supported by the offer- 
ings of the poor, the working-man, the mill-girl, and 
are maintained only by the rigorous economy and 


self-sacrifice of those in charge of the work. The 
well-to-do and the rich are the first to complain of 
the demands of charity and religion. 

With the poor a dollar is esteemed for what it can 
buy of food or clothes or shelter, and every dollar 
above the necessary is their surplus, ready to be 
shared with the needy. Not so, however, with the 
rich. To them a dollar represents not what it can 
"buy" but what it can "do," and every dollar in their 
possession, even to the millions, is turned over and 
over and made to bring in its five or ten per cent, 
and the dollar that does not is counted lost. Accus- 
tomed to reckon g-ain only from a ledger account 
they lose sight altogether of reward promised by 
God to charity done in His name. They forget that 
"To whom much has been given from him much 
shall be required," that they are only stewards of 
these treasures from whom one day an account will be 

In the old law God claimed one tenth of every 
man's earthly possessions, and although there is no 
formal decree in the new law to that effect, no one 
would say such a demand is exorbitant. 

Do Catholics give God one tenth of their income? 
Do they give one twentieth or one hundredth part? 
They certainly do not. "Thou art my God for tbou 
hast no need of my goods," say they in a sense that 
was never intended by the prophet. 

Many spare and save, heap and hoard, and to what 
end? To leave to others who will scarce thank them 
for the gift, who will squander their hard earnings, 
nor say even a prayer for the repose of their soul. 

What a consolation on the other hand it must be 
to feel in leaving this world that the good you have 
done will live after you, that the prayers of a grate- 


ful church will follow you, that the blessing's of the 
orphan and widow will accompany you to the throne 
of grace. 

This is to make friends of the mammon of iniquity, 
and when all else shall fail they will receive you into 
everlasting 1 dwellings. 

Remember the reproach, "I was hungry and you 
gave Me not to eat, I was thirsty and you gave Me 
not to drink, naked, and you clothed Me not." With 
such a blessing or such a curse within our reach we 
can surely conclude with Cardinal Manning, "The 
will that has not God in it is a bad will." 


Looking backward ten or twenty years one can- 
not help but admit with sorrow that the devotion to 
the Blessed Mother of God has, outwardly, at least, 
suffered a diminution. Who does not recall with tender 
emotion the touching devotions of the month of May 
in those years past, the devotions of October, and of 
the different feasts of Our Lady? Time was, too, 
when every church held her shrine second in honor 
only to that which contained Our Blessed Saviour under 
the sacramental species. Children were consecrated 
to her protection and dressed in her colors for the 
first seven years of their lives, and their elders wore 
her livery of the scapular with due appreciation. 

We do not mean to say that all these things have 
passed away, they are still found in part and in places. 
In theory, her place in our devotion is the same as 
ever, but, practically she is not honored as her sublime 
position and office demand, or as the Church intended 
she should be. 


As to the cause we do not pretend to say. Some- 
times it is attributed to the many other devotions that 
have come recently into common practice. But such 
can hardly be the case, or, at least, should not be the 
case. These devotions, approved by the Church, have 
their place and their order, and if carried out according 
to the intention of the Church ought to increase rather 
than diminish the honor due to the Mother of Our 
Saviour and the Queen of all Saints. The mind of 
the Church is readily seen in the feasts she appoints to 
honor the Blessed Virgin. Two whole months, May and 
October, are consecrated to her, and one day in each 
week. Three times a day in the prayer of the Angelus 
we invoke her aid, to say nothing of the many feasts 
which mark the events of her life from her Immaculate 
Conception to her glorious Assumption. No such honor 
is given to any other creature of God. 

It can hardly be the indifference of the people, for, 
if asked, they will readily acknowledge that there is 
no one in heaven above or on the earth beneath, save 
God alone, on whose help and protection they rely more 
than that of the Blessed Virgin Mary. 

It can hardly be the neglect of the clergy, they 
above all others know her rightful place and the 
honors due her; she is the queen of the clergy, 
Regina Clert, and none, perhaps grieve more at this 
apparent neglect of her devotions than do they. 

Whatever the cause may be the fact is there. 
Such a condition is as deplorable as it is dangerous 
for the individual or the community, for when the 
sweet influence of Mary does not enter our daily life, 
faith and morals must surely suffer. On each and 
every one of us, priests and people, depends the 
remedy. Let us then be faithful to our daily devo- 
tions and practices in honor of the Blessed Mother 


of God, observe her festivals with all becoming- cere- 
mony, instil into the hearts of our little ones love 
and confidence in her protection and testify to the 
world our loyality to "our hope, our refuge and our 

Every family should be a "holy family" modeled on 
that of Nazareth, and would be, did parents but 
realize the sacred duties of their state in life. The 
Holy Father asks the members of the League of the 
Sacred Heart to pray during this month for "the 
family for Christ." Lel^us enter heartily into the 
spirit of that prayer, but practically make our own 
family what Christ would wish it to be. Here is a 
touching prayer by St. Hilary for his children that 
will serve Catholic parents as well. 

" Grant me, my God, that I may regard them as 
your creatures, not mine; as your children, not mine; 
grant that I may always look upon them not as a 
part of my body, but as the temple of Thy Holy 
Spirit; grant that I may never do anything that would 
cause them to offend Thee and bring malediction on 
us both. You blessed the little ones presented to You. 
Put Your holy hands upon these, my children, bless 
them, and keep them forever thine." 


"If you be risen with Christ, seek the things that 
are above where Christ is sitting at the right hand 
of God ; mind the things that are above, not the things 
that are upon the earth." St. Paul to the Colossians. 

The lesson is old, yet as new as Easter, and twenty 
centuries teaching it has not been sufficient to im- 
press it on the hearts of men. How does the close 
of Lent find you, still grovelling, still "of the earth, 


earthy," with all your thoughts and affections cen- 
tered here below? Roll away the stone from the tomb 
of your heart. Rise as did your Saviour to the newness 
of life. 


What a glorious promise Easter holds for us all! 
If Jesus died for us, He rose for us, too. His resur- 
rection is a promise and a type of our own. Let 
then the world do its worst. What does it matter? 
Suffering, sorrow, loss, poverty, neglect and cold and 
hunger may come to us, but did they not come to 
Jesus, too? Yet there will be an end, and a glorious 
resurrection. "Oh, Death, where is thy sting? Oh, 
Grave, where is thy victory?" Our bodies will moulder 
in the grave, but our souls will go into the house of 
their eternity. If we have shared the chalice of His 
salvation here, we can say with all confidence: "I 
know that my Redeemer liveth, and that in the last 
day I am to rise out of the earth and in my flesh I 
shall see my God." This is what Easter means to 
us. Is it any wonder then that we should sing with 
the Church, "This is the day the Lord hath made. 
Let us rejoice and be glad in it?" 

The inspiring lesson of faith and valor furnished 
by the banner of the Sacred Heart, lends more than 
a passing interest to its history. There recently died 
at Chagny, France, the rector of the parish after forty 
years of priesthood, the second son of the Count of 
Musy. While attending the seminary of Annecy, pre- 
paring for Holy Orders, the young man lost his power 
of speech. Later by special favor he was admitted to 
the Holy Priesthood, notwithstanding his infirmity, but 
shortly after lost, too, the use of his eyes. Again, 
paralysis afflicted him, and henceforth he was confined 


to an invalid's chair. It was to this poor, helpless 
creature that came the thought during those terrible 
days of 1870 to save France through recourse to the 
Sacred Heart of Jesus. He caused to be made at Paray 
le-Monial, a banner of white silk on which was em- 
broidered the emblem since so familiar to us all. Though 
it led as gallant a charge as was ever made, it failed 
in the purpose its donor intended, for God had other 
designs. What these are we know not. Perhaps 
France's defeat was a merited chastisement; perhaps 
it is because France was not to be saved by force of arms, 
and they who boasted that they "knew no God but 
their mitrailleuse," were destined to learn how futile 
the arms in which they trusted. 

But God rewarded in a most singular way the poor 
afflicted priest whose confiding faith was placed in the 
mercy of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. On the 15th of 
August, Lady Day, Mons. de Musy was brought to 
Lourdes in company with thousands of pious pilgrims, 
to seek the help of Our Lady. At the moment of the 
elevation of the Sacred Host in the Mass, the poor 
paralytic felt his body revive, his eyes were opened 
and his whole being strengthened. He left his roll- 
chair and when the faithful raised their eyes from 
adoration they saw him kneeling in their midst. 

For many years after Rev. Fr. de Musy ministered 
to a large and devoted parish, a living wonder more 
eloquent than words. 

Over the city of Paris has since been raised the 
beautiful basilica of the Sacred Heart. It is a church 
of expiation and intended by millions of faithful French- 
men who contributed for it as a work of national re- 
paration for the national sin of an outraged religion. 
Never more than at present does France need this 
public acknowledgment of her crime and her sorrow. 


But may her reparation through the Sacred Heart of 
Jesus soon take the blush of shame from the face of 
the "Eldest Daughter of the Church." 


The recent trial of our neighbor, Mrs. Eddy, head 
of the latest religion fad, Christian Science, so-called, 
brought out one fact at least. Of whatever other folly 
this good lady be guilty, and however impractical and 
absurd her theories regarding mind and matter, no 
one may henceforth accuse her of any nebulous no- 
tions concerning the getting and keeping of money. 
Mr. William G. Nixon of Boston, formerly publisher 
of Mrs. Eddy's books, gives a statement as to the 
profits derived therefrom. Here are a few of the 
ligures : The cost to produce the book, " Science and 
Health, with Key to the Scriptures," is forty-seven 
cents, and the book is sold for from $3 to $6. Mrs. 
Eddy says she has sold 200,000 copies, and any one 
can compute the profit. Mr. Nixon places it between 
$200,000 and $400,000, and the sale goes on. It owes 
its success, the Sun remarks, as much to curiosity 
as to credulity. Every death due to the rejection 
of medical or surgical care and to blind belief in the 
Eddyite nonsense, helps the book in which the Eddyite 
creed is set down, and the lady herself is scientific 
enough to look after carefully her immense royalties. 

But this is not the only source of revenue. She 
charges $300 to initiate novices into the art of healing, 
and claims to have instructed personally more than 
4,000 persons. $300 x 4,000 =$1,200,000 represents a 
tidy sum for this part of her labor. To place her 
present worth at $2,000,000 is not to exceed probability. 

There is a proverb, not found in those of Solomon, 
but well known to wiseacres in every age which Mrs. 


Eddy learned long- ago and put to good use ; it is " that 
a fool and his money is soon parted." There is no 
novelty to the fact, but the method is somewhat new 
and if the initiates profit in anything like their in- 
structor, the price paid cannot be called at all exor- 
bitant. That some of them do we can hardly doubt. 
Mark Twain's experience is not altogether fabulous. 
He asked the "healer" who tried to mend his broken 
bones by suggestion if she believed "there was nothing 
real but mind and thought." She said she did. So 
he gave her an imaginary check and now she is sueing 
him for substantial dollars. 

We would not for a moment intimate that all these 
people are fools or knaves. Life, health, and souls 
are too serious subjects to trifle with. We cannot 
help but think that the belief in so sublimated a doc- 
trine as that of " Christian Science " is a natural 
revulsion against the materialistic spirit of the times. 
Yet, leaving the only infallible teacher that God has 
given us, the Church, these deluded people have 
realized to the letter St. Paul's prophecy "that the 
time should come when they will not endure sound 
doctrine, but according to their own desires, they 
will heap to them teachers, having itching ears ; and 
will, indeed, turn away their hearing from the truth, 
but will be turned into old wives' fables." 


There was a time when Catholic girls who were to 
continue their studies after the common school course 
was finished never dreamed of attending any other 
school than one of our convents or academies. Unfor- 
tunately this is no longer the case. It too often happens 
now that some girl who has finished a high school 


course in our little country towns will have her head 
turned with foolish notions of college and nothing- short 
of a term there will satisfy her aspirations. More 
unfortunately still, there will be found parents silly 
enough to consent readily to such a proposition, and the 
result is what any thoughtful person might anticipate. 
It is not our purpose to weigh the comparative values 
of instruction received at convent schools with that 
obtained at secular female colleges, but this we hold 
without fear of contradiction, that the proper place for 
Catholic young ladies to receive the higher education 
is in a school of their own religion. It is bad enough 
to expose our young men to irreligious influence in 
the great universities, but that our young women 
should be subject to like exposure is shocking in ex- 
treme. It is very well to count the many inducements 
these colleges hold out, the scholarships, the social 
circle, the chance of obtaining a position as teacher 
in our puclic schools, etc. Even if we admit these, 
put them beside the cost at which they are obtained. 
There is the weakening if not the loss of faith, there 
is the absence of those little practices of religion that 
warm every true Catholic heart, there are the number- 
less graces and charms acquired in a convent, and no- 
where else, that mark the true Christian gentlewomen. 
Parents may rest assured that secular studies and 
worldly accomplishment will not be neglected in such 
schools, and we never had to blush for our convent 
graduates when compared with those of other schools. 
But the parents' first and last desire should be that 
their girls should be children of Mary, not daughters 
of Circe. 


Pleased as no doubt the Pope was by the token of 
esteem from the Protestant University of Glasgow, he 
must have been exceedingly gratified by the account 


which Cardinal Gibbons brought him of the university 
of his own founding- here in America. No one better 
than the Holy Father understands what goes to make 
up a great university, and no one appreciates more 
than he the power for good such an institution exerts 
in guiding the intellectual progress of a nation, when 
the school is all it should be from a Christian, Catholic 
standpoint. In the ages past, a hundred years was 
not considered too much time to bring an institution 
of learning to the dignity of a university. Royal bounty 
was lavished upon it; eminent teachers were sought 
the world over to grace its staff; students gathered 
from every corner of the earth to share its instruction; 
saints and statesmen, pontiffs and rulers were proud 
to be numbered among its children. Such is the dream 
and the wish of our Holy Father for the Catholic 
University of America. Why should it not be realized? 
And, again after four hundred and fifty years, the 
faculty and the students of the university at Wash- 
ington, Catholic always with their proud record behind 
them, will send their greeting to him who fills the 
chair of Peter, recalling with gratitude the name of 
their illustrious founder, Pope Leo XIII. 

Hardly more than a decade is past since the uni- 
versity was begun and already it has taken its place 
among the foremost institutions of learning in this 
country, and its authority is recognized abroad. Its 
beautiful buildings and spacious grounds, valued at 
several million dollars, are an ornament to the most 
beautiful city in the world. All this has been ac- 
complished not by the munificence of a few millionaires, 
but by the generosity of those of limited means and 
by the devotedness of those in charge who deemed 
no labor too great, no sacrifice too exacting, to make 
a university worthy of the Catholic Church, the Mother 
of Christian art and science. 



The assassination of the president has brought us 
face to face with an enemy we hardly dreamed existed 
in our land. As long as it was only European rulers 
who fell victims to the monster Anarchy, we looked 
on, with horror, it is true, yet we took but a specu- 
lative interest in the conditions which rendered such 
happenings possible. We had a vague feeling, too, 
that this evil had its birth in oppression, class dis- 
tinction, misgovernment, and the like, and vainly 
flattered ourselves that being free from all of these the 
spawn of anarchy could not live in our free soil. We 
have been rudely awakened. There never was a ruler 
who gave less cause for violation, and few more loved 
and honored than President McKinley. There was 
no inequitable law to undo, there was no oppression 
to be relieved. What, then, was the cause for so 
shocking a crime? Does it still exist, and are our 
rulers still exposed to a like violent taking-off? And 
what is the remedy? When the first pangs of sor- 
row for the dead are passed, these are the thoughts 
that naturally arise in our minds. 

The newspapers of the country were soon into the 
field of speculation as to all these questions. Some 
were not slow to lay the blame for anarchy upon the 
sensational press, which by every means possible seeks 
to belittle and malign those in high places. That 
such methods do incalculable harm cannot be denied. 
Such influence upon the unthinking and easily-led, 
and these are the majority of the people is deep and 
lasting, and brings discredit with it. But does it go 
to the extent of exciting to murder? We do not be- 
lieve so. 

Some have declared anarchy to be an exotic, trans- 
planted from European soil, and recommended restric- 


tion of immigration to stamp it out. This, too, is 
unsatisfactory. All the slayers of our presidents 
were native born. 

To our mind there is only one explanation and that 
is exceedingly simple. The reason of anarchy is the 
absence of belief in God. This and this alone can 
account for its presence. Without belief in God there 
is no sense of responsibility here and no hope for a 
hereafter. Then follows the denial of the rights of 
man. If the one has no right to the goods he possesses 
neither has another any obligation to respect his 
claims, and may possess himself of his neighbor's 
goods by force or by fraud. All this follows from the 
denial of God; for without God there is no order, no 
authority, no right, no wrong, and what is all this 
but Anarchy? 

Where is the remedy? We may punish the offender, 
yet there is not one of us but feels poignantly that 
we have not removed the cause, and this is the saddest 
feature of it all. The unfortunate homicide is only 
one of a class, how numerous we know not, but how 
capable of doing harm we know too well. Not a few 
have suggested repressive legislation. By rigorous 
laws they would strike terror into the hearts of those 
disposed to violence. Vain Russia is an example of 
the futility of laws like these. No country has such 
stringent laws for the suppression of anarchy and no 
where else does anarchy so abound. What remedy 
did the pulpit of the country offer? In many cases, 
lynching, annihilation, etc. The heat of indignation 
might excuse such utterances as these but sober re- 
flection will tell us that law and order are not to be 
maintained by the violation of both. 

The remedy for anarchy is religion, and that is the 
only remedy. Our holy father, Pope Leo XIII., has, 


with almost prophetic vision, pointed out, from his 
very first encyclical, the ruination of society from the 
loss of faith, and bade the nations return to God if 
they would preserve their very existence. The French 
have a saying- "Entre 1'eau be'nite et la dynamite il 
n'y a pas d'arret," "between holy-water and dynamite 
there is no logical stopping place." Happily most men 
are not so logical, and the man without belief in God 
does not always go to the length that his want of 
belief might lead him, but it is none the less true 
that the anarchist who does, has no other reason for 
it than his absence of faith. Give men Christian faith 
and there will be no anarchy. 


The month of November begins with the Feast of 
All Saints, but it is our duty to all souls that should 
occupy us most for the whole of the month beside. 
The intention of the Church in this matter is plain 
enough. Her charity is universal and, on these days 
of grace, she directs our Masses and petitions in 
behalf of all her suffering children, who may yet be 
detained in the prison-house of God's justice till their 
debt of sin be paid. When our friends and relatives 
die our natural affection and our faith prompt us to 
beseech the throne of grace for them. How many 
poor souls leave this world with no relative or friend 
behind to say a prayer for them or to have a Mass 
offered in their behalf? Then the insufficiency 
of human friendship! How many friends are for- 
gotten and how often are the natural claims neglected? 
Yet the justice of God abides and demands that the 
debt be paid to the last farthing. It is here that the 
Church's charity is seen. No one is omitted, no one 


is overlooked. Year after year, as regularly as the 
earth turns upon its axis, does Holy Mother Church 
turn her face to God in prayer and supplication for 
these abandoned and neglected ones. Can we do less 
than heed her appeal in their behalf? 

The mere handing- in the names of our friends for 
the Mass of All Souls is by no means doing our duty 
toward the dead. There is every other day in the 
year when the Holy Sacrifice might be offered for 
them. There is the weekly or monthly Communion; 
there is the daily recitation of the beads or some suita- 
ble prayer ; there is hardly an hour in the day but we 
could offer some act of kindness or mortification for 
the souls in purgatory. If our charity does not move 
us to help them, will not self-interest prompt us to do 
so? As they are we will be, forgotten and abandoned 
by the world. The faithful souls helped by our prayers 
never forget, and being freed through our instrumen- 
tality will surely help us in turn. 


The recent legislation of the Church has been so 
indulgent that hardly any man or woman is now 
obliged to fast during Lent, but the usefulness, the 
necessity of some mortification or penance is as press- 
ing as ever for us all. If we were asked what sub- 
stitute we would suggest for abstinence from food, we 
would say without a moment's hesitation, abstain from 
liquor. Let us talk the matter over. First, see its 
useless extravagance. The annual drink bill for the 
United States is $1,000,000,000, while the sum raised 
by taxes of all kinds, national, state, county, city, 
town, school, and all others, is but $700,000,000. We 
read that the nation's expense during the last war 


was $1 ,000,000 a day ; we are astounded, but the drink 
bill of the country is three times that amount for 
every day. Again, we are accustomed to compute the 
amount of money spent in the maintenance of religion, 
but if all the church property in the United States 
was destroyed by fire, abstinence for six months 
would rebuild it all. And remember that this money 
is spent not for a necessary, not even for a useful 
article of human diet. Liquor, even in its most harm- 
less form, is but a luxury, and when taken in more 
than moderate quantity, becomes a slow poison. This 
vast expenditure of money reproduces nothing-, and no 
benefit is had from the outlay. If all the liquor pro- 
duced were dumped in the sea it would be so much 
the better for mankind and so much the worse for 
the fishes. 

What is it that makes men poor and keeps them 
so? It is their accursed appetite for liquor. It is 
only five cents now and then, a dime or a quarter to 
treat a friend, but their wives or their children at 
home want bread and clothes and fuel. 

Does drink kill men? Any physician will tell you 
that a body saturated with alcohol is exposed to any 
disease, and is unable to withstand its ravages when 
attacked. Insurance companies are not very senti- 
mental, but they will not insure an immoderate 
drinker because his life is too uncertain for them to 
risk any money upon it. One hundred thousand 
drunkards annually sink into early and dishonored 
graves, and at the devil's call for recruits another 
hundred thousand take their places. Will you be one 
of them? 

Drink begets vice and is the father of crime. It 
inflames the passions, it breaks down the barriers of 
self-respect and decency. It feeds immorality and 


leads to murder and suicide. It dulls one's con- 
science so as to make remorse impossible and conver- 
sion out of the question. It transmits the curse 
from generation to generation, imparting to children 
the fatal craving for drink. Can we imagine any 
greater curse than this? Well has Gladstone declared : 
"Greater calamities, greater because more continuous, 
have been inflicted on man by drink than by the three 
great historic scourges of war, famine and pestilence 

But this has been told a thousand times, and the 
man who needs the lesson most is the one who heeds 
it least. It is all very true, he will say, but it is 
meant for another. He only takes a drink once in a 
while ; he can take and leave it alone. So said the 
other man, the poor, besotted fool that fills a drunk- 
ard's grave. But here I take you at your word. 
You can take it and leave it alone? That you can 
take it we know. Now show us, show your family 
and friends that you can leave it alone, if only for the 
space of forty days. Be Christian enough to make 
that sacrifice for the love of the good Saviour who 
fasted from food and drink that length of time for 
your sake. Then, too, for the sacred thirst He felt 
upon the cross do you mortify your inordinate thirst 
for drink at least during this holy season of Lent. 


Lent is a time set apart by the Church to com- 
memorate the sufferings and death of our Lord Jesus 
Christ. The forty days recall His fast in the desert, 
where He hungered and thirsted for our sake. Then 
comes Holy Week with its story of His passion and 
dreadful death. If that were all, it were enough; but 


it is not all. True, "Christ rising 1 from the dead, 
dieth no more," but the cause of these sufferings and 
of that death still abides in the world, and is daily 

It is the teaching of our holy religion that Christ 
died for us individually as well as for us collectively, 
for you and for me ; for me who writes these lines 
and for you who read them. By His divine fore- 
knowledge He saw every one of our offenses, from 
the first to the last. In His agony in the garden 
they were before Him as plainly and separately as 
if we alone were in the world. It was the vision of 
our sins, the sins of yesterday, the sins of to-day, 
and the sins of to-morrow that made Him sorrow- 
ful even unto death and caused the blood to break 
forth from every pore. 

Let us look about us in the world to-day and count 
if we can the causes which afflict the tender heart 
of our Divine Saviour. How many there are, even 
after nineteen hundred years of Christianity, who 
never so much as have heard the name of Jesus 
Christ? One half the human race are yet practical 
idolaters. And what of those who call themselves 
Christians? How many never hear His holy name 
but coupled with some vile oath or blasphemy ? See 
how the Christian world is divided and rent with 
schism. Think you that it is a matter of indiffer- 
ence to God that millions should deny divinity to 
two persons of the most Blessed Trinity? Is it of 
no consequence that among- those who have known 
Jesus Christ and the works He accomplished, there 
are millions who still refuse to believe Him God and 
continue to reject His holy teaching? Is it not a 
source of sorrow to that Divine Master that those 
whom He came to save know nothing, or care noth- 


ing, for the sublime sacraments He left them as so 
many channels of grace? Is not His heart moved 
with grief to see His divine presence in the Blessed 
Eucharist scoffed at and denied, while from the depths 
of the tabernacle He says, "All the day long have I 
spread my hands to a people that believe th not, and 
contradicteth me?" 

How many treat His vicar on earth contumeliously, 
even as His enemies treated Him? Then realize 
how He "is wounded in the house of His friends." 
What a heap of sorrows bad Catholics daily lay upon 
His thorn-crowned Head. Think of the sins of 
drunkenness, to atone for which our blessed Lord 
thirsted on the Cross and drank the bitter draught 
of vinegar and gall. Yet how few there are among 
us who, even for the short space of forty days, will 
forego the drinking habit and make that little atone- 
ment for our own excesses and the excesses of 
others. Then there are the sins of the flesh. Who 
can number these? Only Jesus, and the drops of 
His precious blood are not as numerous as those 
sins committed every day. 

The last great act of Calvary is daily renewed on 
our altars in the sacrifice of the Holy Mass. How 
little do many Catholics appreciate it! Not even 
Sunday and holy days, with the penalty of mortal 
sin, can bring them to assist at the Divine function. 
Easter comes with the joys and the blessings of the 
risen Saviour, but is not His heart, even in the 
midst of all His joy, saddened by the thought that 
the season of grace only brings additional guilt to 
those who neglect the precept of the Church and fail 
to make their Easter duty. 

Let us ask ourselves if we be among those who add 
to the sorrows of Christ. 



What a desolate place this world would be without 
Christ 1 What a dreary round our years without the 
festival of Christmas! Who can enumerate the 
blessings the Christ Child brought with Him into this 
world, and who can tell the innumerable graces the 
recurring feast of His holy birth still brings to the 
children of men? At the time of His first coming 
the world was sunk in idolatry. The knowledge of 
the true God was lost to all except a handful of the 
human race, the faithful of the Jewish nation. In the 
place of God men deified their passions. Lust, 
drunkenness, thievery, war, all the baser instincts of 
human nature were personified in gods like Venus, 
Bacchus, Mercury, Mars, and men rendered divine 
homage to these things. It is no wonder that society 
was debased, that slavery was universal, that wars 
were incessant, that injustice prevailed, that the poor 
and the suffering filled the world with a pitiful wail. 
Yet God was mindful of him whom He had created to 
His own image and likeness, no matter bow much 
that image had been defaced and defiled. God was 
faithful to the promise He had made penitent Adam 
and, in His own good time, He sent us a Redeemer 
in the Person of His own divine Son, the Child Jesus 
who was born on that first Christmas night. 

As gently as the dew falls upon the grass, as 
noiselessly as the sun rises upon the sleeping world, 
came the Great Child King to His kingdom. The glad 
tidings were announced only to a fe%v poor shepherds 
who watched their flocks on the hillside. The rest 
of the world knew not, nor cared not for His coming. 
The winter night was not so cold, nor His stony 
manger so hard as the hearts of those He came to 
save. Had they not told His Blessed Mother that very 


night, while she bore Him in her holy breast, "they 
had no room for them?" Yet He would not be re- 
pulsed. They would learn to know and love Him. 
He would save them in the end. Nineteen hundred 
years have passed since then. Who can count the 
millions of souls who have kept the Saviour's birth 
with joy and thanksgiving-? That day is the pivotal 
day in the world's history. The years that went 
before are counted to His coming and all that come 
after are reckoned from His birth. So did the old 
order cease to be and the new order begin. Charity, 
the true love of God and the true love of men, was 
born into the world with Christ the Lord. Well, 
then, might the angels sing, "Glory to God in the 
highest and on earth peace to men of good-will." 

The reign of the gods has passed away. Justice, 
truth, and virtue have been established in their stead. 
It is true there are many still, in this world of ours, 
who have not heard the glad song of the angels, 
who have not seen or who will not follow the star 
which leads to Bethlehem; many still sit "in the 
valley of the shadow of death," but the kingdom of 
God has been established and it will last to the end 
of time. Other kingdoms come and go but that of 
the gentle Jesus abides forever. On that first Christ- 
mas night His worshippers consisted of His Holy 
Mother, St. Joseph and a few humble shepherds. 
To-day they number five hundred and fifty millions. 
All this has been accomplished after the fiercest 
struggle. The world, the flesh, and the devil are 
redoubtable adversaries, but the little Child of 
Bethlehem has overcome them all. 

But what does Christmas mean to us individually? 
Ah, desolate, indeed, is the heart which feels no quick- 
ening impulse at the coming of Christmas day ! God 


forbid we should be ever so insensible as not to be 
moved by the prompting 1 of love for that sweet Saviour, 
"Who left His high home to be born in a manger." 
We have not the excuse of those who could 
find no room for Him in the inn. We know 
who He is and what He is. We know His 
whole life's story from the crib to the cross. 
We know what He did and suffered for us. We 
know, too, that He knocks daily at our hearts and seeks 
admission, but more especially on festivals like this. 
Will we close those hearts to Him ? Surely not. 

Admitting Him, we must let in our poor and suffer- 
ing brothers. Christ never comes to us alone. We 
must receive His friends as well. And our Christmas 
joy will be complete when we receive Christ the Lord 
and all mankind in perfect Christian charity. 


The Church is ever solicitous for the dead. The 
souls of her faithful departed are always a source of 
anxious care for her, and she neglects no opportunity 
to raise her voice in their behalf. Hardly has the 
soul left the body when the Holy Sacrifice of the 
Mass, the sublimest offering she can make, is sent 
up to Heaven's chancery in its behalf. Again on the 
third and on the seventh after the demise her liturgy 
prescribes a special remembrance. Thirty days and 
then comes the Month's Mind. Each recurring year 
brings its solemn anniversary, and throughout the 
year to nearly all of her prayers is added the 
supplication: "May the souls of the faithful departed 
through the mercy of God rest in peace. Amen." 
As if all this were not enough, one whole month, 
that upon which we are now entering, is consecrated 


entirely to remembrance of the dead. How admirably 
suited is the provision of the Church! It calls us to 
a sense of duty in behalf of the suffering- souls in 
Purgatory. During the rest of the year, notwithstand- 
ing- the frequent monitions of the Church, we are apt 
to turn away our thoughts from so mournful a subject, 
and we are too ready to forget our obligations toward the 
dead. But with November, the month of all souls, 
comes the solemn question What are we doing- for 
the dead? For most people the claims of nature are 
sufficient to awaken a prayerful remembrance for 
relatives and friends, but it is for another class which 
is too often forg-otten that we would bespeak your 
charity here. It is for the souls of your dead priests. 
How few there are who think to pray for them! 

When November eve comes around and the names 
of the dead are handed in; when the priest looks over 
the list, and that often with dimmed eyes, seldom does 
he find mention of the priests who have g-one before. 
Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, distant relatives, 
even strangers, but the dead priest's name is not 
there. Is it because he is forgotten? No, his memory 
may be still fresh, his words quoted, his example cited. 
Is it because the people whom he served are ungrate- 
ful? No, that is not one of the failings of Catholics. 
Why, then, is his name so seldom found upon their 
lips in prayer, or the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is never 
asked in his behalf? We have often heard people say 
of their dead priests, "They do not need prayers," 
"If they do not go to heaven who will?" Ah, my breth- 
ren, that may be very flattering for the living, but it is 
poor consolation for the dead. The priest himself feels 
no such assurance. He knows better than any one else 
how much he needs the prayers of his people. If Saint 
Paul asked his brethren to pray for him, lest while he 


preached to others he himself should be cast away, 
with how much more reason can the every-day priest, 
far from the holiness of Saint Paul, ask his brethren 
to intercede with God for him? 

It is true that the priest is the channel through which 
grace comes to the souls of men for their salvation. 
But he is only a human channel withal, and that grace 
may pass by and leave him barren and dry. He 
receives special graces from God, it is true, and helps 
for sanctification which others do not share, but his 
accounting will be the greater for that, "To whom 
much is given, much shall be required," and what 
priest is there who does not tremble at his respon- 
sibilities? The fact that he is a priest does not imply 
that his salvation is assured. And even though he 
save his soul, how many defects have entered into his 
work! He has been dealing with souls, and God's 
graces have been the talents entrusted to his care. 
Can he say, "Of those whom thou hast given me I 
have not lost any one?" Though God, in His mercy, 
may save him in the end, yet, his reckoning will be 
great and his punishment severe. 

What Claims Has the Dead Priest Upon Your Prayers f 

He was your father in Christ. He it was who 
engendered you in the Lord, he who poured the 
saving waters of baptism upon your head and made 
you children of God, with the right to heaven. He 
it was who cleansed you again and again from sin, 
in the Sacrament of Penance. He it was who broke 
for you the Bread of Life. In sickness he succored 
you, in sorrow he consoled you. He blessed your 
marriage, instructed your little ones in their duty 
towards God, and lighted the dim vision of your 
dying with the glory of heaven beyond. He prayed 


for your dead and lightened your bereavement. Who 
can count his many offices for you ? And are not all 
these so many claims upon your Christian charity ? 
How can you better repay them than by the tribute 
of your prayers? Ah, your poor dead priest will 
prize these more than anything else earth can bestow. 
It matters little to him whether a costly monument 
be raised over his last resting place, or that his form 
be moulded in imperishable bronze. A place in the 
hearts of a grateful people and a memento in their 
prayers he prizes more than these. It is for this 
reason that many a great and holy bishop has asked 
to be buried, not in the crypt of a cathedral church, 
but in the chapel of an orphanage, where the little 
ones will see his simple monument and offer a prayer 
for his soul, or, like the late bishop of Portland, 
whose wish was to lie in the common cemetery, with 
the hope that his name would find place in the 
prayers of the people who came there to pray for 
their beloved dead. 

If you, the sheep of his fold, do not pray for him, 
who will? Father and mother he has none. They 
have gone before him. Children, he leaves none be- 
hind. Family and friends he forsook for your sake. 
Surely you will not turn a deaf ear to the voice of 
his petition coming from the grave : "Have pity on 
me, have pity on me, at least you my friends, for 
the hand of God hath touched me." 


What joy, peace, and refreshment Easter brings! 
The flowers have been waiting for this glad festival. 
The earth is brighter, the sky bluer, the birds are 
merrier and friends happier, it seems to us, than at 


any other time of the whole year. Easter is the world's 
resurrection morn. Out of the cold tomb of winter 
comes the glad summer. Up from the dead earth 
rises a new and glorious life. 

"Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And groping blindly above it for light, 
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers." 

Yet, what is Nature's joy compared to that the 
Christian soul feels at the message the angels bring, 
"Christ, the Lord is risen to-day?" For us, Easter is 
not simply the coming of life, it is the promise of life 
eternal and the assurance of a blessedness without 
end. Spring is only a temporary victory over death. 
Winter will come again and take its revenge. The 
flower, which blows to-day, will fade; the grass will die, 
the tree fall, and the song of the bird will be hushed. 
Another spring will come, it is true, but the flower that 
fades will never bloom again, the tree that falls will 
lie forever, and the bird that dies returns no more. 
But it is not so with us. Christ rising from the dead 
" lead Captivity captive." His resurrection is a guar- 
antee of our own and with Him we can say : U O Grave, 
where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?" 

We need the promise of heaven. We do not think 
often enough of our heavenly home. Let us, to-day, 
raise our hearts, and forgetting our trials and suffer- 
ings, our losses and desolation, lift our eyes and see, 
as far as it is given mortal eyes to see, the joys God 
has prepared for those who love Him. 

We Shall Be Changed. 

First of all, to prepare for an eternity of bliss we 
shall be changed and yet not changed entirely. Death 
is the alembic. The same consciousness we now have 


will remain, the same memory of the past, and, when 
time shall be no more, we will again animate the same 
bodies we now possess. "The dead shall rise again, 
incorruptible, and we shall be changed. We 
shall all indeed rise again, but we shall not 
all be changed." Christ's resurrection is the 
type of our own. But, some will say, how 
is it possible? Does not the human body change dur- 
ing life? Are not particles cast off continually and 
is not our body renewed within the space of some 
years? We answer, yes, but, in all these changes, 
do we not still abide the same persons? Not all and 
every particle that once was ours is necessary to 
constitute a body for us now. Neither shall it be here- 
after. Can a body reduced to ashes be called back to 
form? Again we answer: Science shows that no 
material element in this world is ever destroyed, and it 
only requires knowledge and skill for man to restore 
it to any form it once had. Cannot God do as much as 
this? Did He not form the first human body out of 
the dust of the earth, and why cannot He do the like 
again? Our belief is the same that Job expressed 
when he said: "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and 
in the last day I shall rise out of the earth, and I 
shall be clothed again in my skin and in my flesh I 
shall see my God." 

We shall then be the same, but perfected. These 
bodies of ours will bear none of the infirmities or 
deformities which now render them defective or un- 
sightly. All that is good in mind and body shall be 
ours. Some of the learned doctors of the church 
have pursued these speculations far and have pro- 
pounded curious and interesting questions. If we 
are so perfected, say they, what will become of 
infancy and old age ? St. Thomas thought there 


would be no children and no old people in heaven 
because both conditions imply defects. For our part, 
we would rather have it otherwise. Infancy has its 
charm and old age its beauty, and could not God 
preserve these while remedying the defects of each? 
The glorified body will be freed from the tram- 
mels of the flesh. There will be no need of eating, 
drinking, sleeping, for these are only the means of 
sustaining our wasting earthly elejnents. Like the 
angels we shall feast on the vision of God and never 
tire of His infinite beauty. Space will be no barrier 
to us then. The elect of heaven can travel with 
the ease and rapidity of thought. If it were accorded 
to us to see thus and visit the bounds of the universe 
which hang over our heads on a starry night, would 
not that be heaven enough? The body of the risen 
Saviour found no obstacle in the material world. He 
entered the upper room where the apostles were 
assembled, "the doors being shut." So shall the 
bodies of the saints find no hindrance to their 


What Heaven Is. 

So far we have considered only our preparation for 
heaven. Where and what is that future home? Is it 
a place or is it a condition of mind ? So far as the 
enjoyment of God's presence is concerned, heaven is 
not confined to a place. God is everywhere and the 
angels and saints never lose the consciousness of 
His divine presence wherever they go. St. John 
describes in the Apocalypse a city of gold. St. 
Gregory tells us it is situated beyond the bounds 
of space and Dante names the very planets where 
we may look for the abode of the just. All of these 
must be taken only figuratively for it has not pleased 
God to enlighten us thus far. It would seem, how- 


ever, from the writings of the Apocalypse that, after 
the day of Judgment, this world will be purified 
by fire, then renewed and regenerated for the dwelling- 
place of glorified man. 

But the joy of heaven, in what does that consist? 
Ah, here is where human thought fails and human 
words prove inadequate. If St. Paul, to whom was 
given a glimpse of that abode of bliss, could find no 
words to describe it, who can give us an adequate 
idea of its joy? "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
neither hath it entered into the heart of man, what 
things God has prepared for them that love Him." 

Nevertheless let us strive, however imperfectly, to 
realize, if only for a moment, in what the joys of 
heaven consist. There will be no sickness, no 
suffering, no mourning, no loss, no separation, no 
doubts, no fears, no temptations, no dangers. Peace, 
perfect contentment, and joy shall reign supreme. 
There we shall be in the company of those we loved here 
upon earth and in union with the blessed saints of 
God, the patriarchs, the prophets, the apostles,- 
virgins, martyrs, confessors, the world's greatest 
and truest heroes. There we shall see the Blessed 
Mother of God whom the angels vie to honor and 

But above all and beyond all this, we will be in the 
enjoyment of God Himself. "I will be," said He, 
"your reward exceeding great." And this only is 

An old catechism says, we will see God and love, 
Him and possess Him. 

We will see Him, not as in this life, through the 
obscurity of faith. "We will see Him as He is." All 
the beauty of this world is but the faintest shadow 
of the beauty of God. It was but a partial revelation 


of the divine glory that transfigured Our Saviour on 
Mt. Tabor, yet, at the sight, the apostles would have 
remained there forever. Aided by the light of grace, 
the glorified soul will see the Blessed Trinity, Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost, Three yet One, distinct yet not 
separable, ineffable in perfection and knowing no 
change. Here is Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, Infi- 
nite in degree and duration. 

We will love God. Who could see Him and know 
Him and not love Him? We will love Him, not as 
we do to-day, with a weak inconstant love, but with 
a love strong, ardent, and perfect. We will love Him 
without tiring and only for the pleasure of loving Him. 
Our heart, now so eager, yet insatiable, will then rest 
content, for it will be united to the great heart of God. 

We will possess God. What is the great and sole 
desire of the just upon earth? It is to be united to 
God. That union begun here will be consummated in 
heaven. We will possess God in the highest, holiest, 
closest possible manner. He will be ours and we will 
be His. This is the supremest reward of love, and 
God Himself could not grant a greater. 

One consideration only remains. The joys of heaven 
are without end. "Never, forever, forever, never," 
how these words stir the very depths of our heart! 
Never to grieve, forever to rejoice. 

"Let us so strive that we may obtain that incor- 
ruptible crown." 


Elsewhere in this magazine we have given the story 
of the life and death of our good Bishop. Others have 
given many beautiful, touching, and just tributes to 
his work and character, and now it devolves upon us 


to pay our last duty of love and gratitude to one of 
our dearest friends on earth. In Bishop Bradley The 
Guidon lost its truest friend and warmest supporter. 
This magazine was his creation. All that it has accom- 
plished was due to his support, encouragement, and 
advice. It was he who planted, he who watered, and 
if God gave any fruit the credit is due wholly to him 
who has passed away. 

The diocese of Manchester mourns the loss of a 
good shepherd; the people of the city, a devoted pas- 
tor; the state, an eminent citizen; the poor, a friend; 
the suffering-, a comforter; the bereaved, a consoler; 
the doubtful, a counselor; but to us he was more than 
all this. He was a father and a friend in the highest, 
holiest sense the terms imply. We are fully aware 
that an editorial notice should be of an impersonal 
nature. We know that an editor is supposed to be a 
kind of intellectual abstraction and not a creature of 
flesh and blood with a heart and soul to feel and grieve, 
but, in an affliction such as this, it is hard to play the 
part and conceal entirely one's feelings. It is not, 
however, our purpose to obtrude here our personal 
loss, nor to parade our sorrow before the world ; it is 
to apologize, rather, if in the course of this, our last 
tribute to the beloved dead, these feelings should 
betray themselves. 

Were we to take a text to summarize the life of 
Bishop Bradley, it would be this: "The zeal of thy 
house hath eaten me up." 

Early in manhood he heard the call of God to His 
holy service, and, prompt as any Samuel, he answered 
the summons. From that day to the day of his death 
he knew no other object in life, and followed no other 
than his Divine Master. For more than thirty-two 
years he labored in the holy ministry. The days and 


the weeks were all too short to satisfy his ardent 
zeal for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. 
Many a time during these last two years when his 
labors had made grave inroads on his health, he was 
expostulated with by well-meaning friends, and urged 
to take a well-earned rest. He listened patiently to all 
this advice, but, once to a friend who pressed him 
with more than usual insistence, he betrayed the secret 
of his zeal: " When I was ordained," said he, " I prom- 
ised God to do all that in me lay for His service, and I 
must go on to the end." 

The twenty years of his episcopate were full of 
arduous labors. It was his to organize a new diocese. 
The field was vast. Long journeys had to be un- 
dertaken, and conveniences in travel were not then 
what they are now. All over the State of New 
Hampshire went the Bishop, like the good shepherd 
that he was, seeking the stray sheep of his fold. 
Every city, town, and hamlet knew his fostering care. 
During these journeys he bore all kinds of hardships 
and discomforts. He preached many times in the 
same day, often driving twenty and thirty miles over 
mountain roads between mission stations. On these 
visitations no fatigue ever caused him to omit long 
hours in the confessional. He was always accessible 
to the humblest in the parish, and it was one of the 
greatest pleasures of these poor people to meet the 
Bishop on these yearly rounds, and to receive his 
cordial greetings. No man in the State had so 
extended and varied acquaintance, and no one followed 
with such interest all that concerned the individual 
members of his flock, wherever they might be. It is 
no wonder that he grew into their affection. 

He lived to see the population of his diocese in- 
crease almost threefold, and the number of priests 


multiply in the same ratio. New churches sprung 
up everywhere, and it is safe to say that, to-day, 
there is not a portion of this great State that has 
not been provided for spiritually. 

But it was the people of Manchester who knew 
him best. To the stranger coming to this city we 
may say : "You seek his monument? Look around." 
Everything speaks of him. It was he who built our 
beautiful cathedral and chapel of the Blessed Sacra- 
ment. It was he who built St. Patrick's Church and 
the Rosary Chapel, our schools, our orphanages, our 
hospitals, our asylum, and in the hearts of men, 
women, and children he built that other temple, not 
made by hands, when he prepared them as fit dwelling 
places for the Holy Spirit of God, 

His daily life was full of work and prayer. He 
always rose at six, no matter what were the fatigues 
of the day before. His morning meditation and prayer 
over, he celebrated the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass at 
seven o'clock. The people of the parish always 
esteemed it a privilege to assist at the Bishop's Mass, 
and almost invariably, even on a week-day morning, 
he addressed them a short instruction appropriate to 
the feast or the season. Mass was to him a morning 
paradise. Once, during the last few months, when 
asked to desist from so taxing a duty, he said 
pathetically : "If you knew what the Mass is to me, 
you would not ask me." 

All day long he was ready to receive any caller, 
and his threshold was worn by the footsteps of the 
poor and the unfortunate. Patient, indulgent, sym- 
pathetic, he listened to their tales and relieved their 
wants. Hither came the sick and the infirm to ask 
his blessing and to seek his prayers. Mothers 
brought their children that he might lay his hands 


upon them, so great was the veneration in which he 
was held. The institutions about the city looked for 
his daily visit. His cheery smile and encouraging- 
word left peace and sunshine behind him. 

As the beginning of his day was spent with God, 
so also was the end of it. The little chapel of the 
household held his greatest treasure, Jesus in the 
Blessed Eucharist. Many an hour he passed here, 
seeking light and refreshment. Though we knew 
the hour of his rising, we were never sure of the 
hour of his retiring, so long were these vigils of 
prayer. Once a priest of the house returning from 
a sick call after midnight, hastily entering the chapel 
stumbled over the Bishop, kneeling there in prayer. 

As might be expected, the relations betwen the 
Bishop and his priests were most intimate and cordial. 
With them he was more like a father than a superior. 
Charity and forbearance marked all his dealings. 
Bishop Bradley never had a case of contention in any 
ecclesiastical court. When correction or reproof was 
administered, it was always done in the kindest, 
gentlest manner, and the one admonished never bore 
resentment. Severe and strict for himself, he was 
indulgent to others, and where leniency failed, rather 
than employ the authority he possessed he invoked 
God most earnestly in prayer to come to his aid, and 
in several instances known to us, God did intervene 
in a most striking manner. No bishop was ever more 
beloved by his priests. No guest was more welcome 
than he in their homes. His intercourse was always 
affable; his conversation easy and entertaining. No 
man ever heard him say an unkind or uncharitable 
word of another, and he was always ready to take the 
defense of the timid, the weak, or the unfortunate. 
He, in turn, held in high esteem the priests of his dio- 


cese. To him they were the best priests in the world; 
they were to him a source of pride and joy, and he 
loved every one of them to the least and last with the 
tenderness of a fond father. Nothing they did or 
undertook was a matter of indifference to him. He 
shared their joys and sorrows. Who was in want 
that he did not feel it? Who was scandalized and he 
was not on fire? During the course of the twenty years 
he presided over the diocese the priests gave him 
many marks of appreciation and esteem, but none 
was more noticeable or sincere than the genuine grief 
manifested when they learned that he, their Bishop, 
was no more. His memory will be ever to them a 
source of edification and inspiration. 

Loved as he was by his priests, he was loved and 
revered more, were it possible, by the religious women 
under his charge. Between him and them was a del- 
icate, holy bond which united both closer to God. None 
better than they knew the higher spiritual side of his 
nature, for he it was who led them along the steep 
road to perfection. The sorrow these devoted souls 
felt for the loss of their spiritual father was tem- 
pered only by the assurance that he will continue to 
watch over them from his high place in heaven. 

In his dealings with people in general, Bishop 
Bradley was "all things to all men," that he might 
win all to God. He remembered names and faces, 
and never forgot family concerns. Though always 
dignified and reserved, he always made one feel at 
ease in his presence, and inspired confidence with- 
out fear. Even those who came in daily contact with 
him, chose him for their confessor, and the biggest 
sinner, as well as the timidest child, felt no hesitation 
in approaching him in the sacred tribunal of penance. 


Such was the life of our good Bishop before men. 
But there was another that he lived before God, an in- 
terior life which, strive as he might, he could not wholly 
conceal. His union with God shone on his very face, 
and impressed people who met him for the first time. 
This became more and more marked as the end ap- 
proached. Was it because heaven was nearer? His 
faith was as simple as that of a child. In all the prac- 
tices of religion he was as humble as the humblest, 
If we would single out any of his particular devotions 
it would be that of the Blessed Eucharist and that of 
the Sacred Heart of Jesus. During all his priestly life 
he never omitted the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass when 
he was able to perform it. During his last sickness he 
received holy communion every day, and the last time 
was only a few hours before his soul passed away. We 
might cite many instances of his love and reverence for 
our Eucharistic Saviour, but it would lead too far. We 
will, however, give one such, to show his anxiety to 
avoid even the least disrespect to the Blessed Sacra- 
ment. Once, while giving the children their first Holy 
Communion in a country parish, a little girl was so 
frightened as to be unable to swallow the Sacred Parti- 
cle placed upon her tongue. The Bishop waited pa- 
tiently a few minutes, spoke kindly to her, and urged 
her to try to swallow. It was no use. The little one 
was as if paralyzed, and the Sacred Host remained, 
satuated with saliva, in her mouth. Seeing the plight 
of the child, and fearing any irreverence would occur, 
the Bishop took the Host from the child's mouth, put it 
into his own, swallowed it, and passed on. 

It was his care to establish in every parish of the 
diocese, the League of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. 
When at home he invariably gave the First Friday 
instruction and explained the intention of the monthly 
prayer. More than once, the person who sorted the 


petitions for prayer, dropped into the box at the foot 
of the statue of the Sacred Heart, found simple and 
heartfelt petitions in the handwriting- of the Bishop. 

Like all great servants of God, the Bishop cared 
nothing- for the g-oods of this world. His treasure 
was in heaven. At his death he left nothing-. He 
kept only one bank account, and that was in the 
name of the "Roman Catholic Bishop of Manchester," 
the leg-al title of his office, so that his successor has 
but to sign his name and he inherits all that the 
Bishop possessed. During- all the years he acted as 
pastor of the Cathedral parish he drew no salary, 
and all he asked was that the parish pay his funeral 
expenses. The collection of Christmas day was taken 
up for that purpose. A small amount of insurance 
was divided between two orphan nieces of the Bishop 
and the charitable institutions of the city. 

His death is described elsewhere. He died as he 
lived, at peace with God and man, with the full as- 
surance of a blessed immortality. 

We will not try to estimate the value of such a life. 
We do not dare to calculate our loss. We only bow 
in humble submission to the Holy Will of God, and 
thank Him fervently for having- given us so good, so 
true, so holy a man as Bishop Bradley. 

Necessarily the qualities that made Father Delany 
succeed in the discharge of these various and diverse 
duties commended him also to his superior. He thus 
came to be not only Bishop Bradley's secretary, but 
his confidential friend and adviser. The plans, the 
hopes, the fears, the sorrows of his superior, all 
these Father Delany shared, but so truly loyal was 
he to the trust reposed in him that even his best 
friends hardly g-uessed the close relationship between 


the two. He often accompanied the Bishop on his 
travels, and frequently represented him on public 
occasions. His duties as chancellor, too, which brought 
him into intimate relations with the pastors through- 
out the State, were always so admirably performed 
as to command the respect of both Bishop and priests. 
Thus widely known and esteemed, it is no wonder 
that on the death of Bishop Bradley in December, 
1903, Father Delany was prominently mentioned for 
elevation to the vacant see, nor did the announcement 
come as a surprise that on the priests' list of candi- 
dates John B. Delany was marked dignissimus. At 
the turna of the New England Bishops, held some 
weeks later, there was read to them a letter, written 
by Bishop Bradley months before his death, naming 
Father Delany as one of the three priests whom he 
would recommend as his successor. Further com- 
mendation was unnecessary. 


The September issue of The Guidon, of which 
Father Delany was editor up to the time of his ap- 
pointment as Bishop, contained a beautiful "Editorial 
Valedictory" as the reverend editor laid down his 
pen to take up the more important duties of Bishop 
of the New Hampshire diocese. 

It read as follows: 

"With this number the editor of The Guidon lays 
down his pen and takes up the episcopal staff; he 
severs his official connection with this magazine and 
assumes the government of the diocese of Man- 
chester. In so doing he feels he should say a word 
by way of valedictory to the readers of The Guidon, 
with whom he has been associated so long and for 
whom he has the tenderest regard. 


"Six years ago the publication of this magazine 
was begun at the instigation of the late beloved 
Bishop Bradley. Our capital at the time might be 
summed up thus: An abundance of good will, a de- 
sire to fill a long-felt want, what little aptitude the 
Lord gave us for the work, and a confidence born of 
inexperience. These were not very tangible assets, 
but, God helping, they have realized something in the 

"During these years there have been work and 
worry. The road of Catholic journalism, like the 
road to Jordan, is a hard road to travel, and in our 
six years we have seen not a few of our fellow- 
travelers fall by the wayside. Yet withal ours has 
not been an unpleasing experience. There was never 
a kinder master nor a more appreciative one than 
our dear departed Bishop. We labored under his eye 
and his direction, and our least effort was es- 
teemed a personal favor. He consoled us in our 
trials, he encouraged us in our disappointments, he 
was ever ready to listen to our plans and to suggest 
ones of his own. His ripe judgment and broad 
charity shed light on the subjects we treated, and 
his far-seeing wisdom saved us from many a pitfall. 
His ever-ready generosity came more than once to 
our aid when we had grim visions of the sheriff's 

"Our dealings with the priests of the diocese have 
been exceedingly pleasant. They realized from the 
beginning that The Guidon was undertaken for the 
general good and not for any personal or pecuniary 
purpose; that it was the institution of the Bishop 
himself; and they have given it their cordial support. 
They allowed us the use of their pulpits to introduce 
it to their people, and often served as our voluntary 


agents without pay or reward. Many a time since 
has their patience *t>een taxed by ourselves and our 
patrons, but they have been charitable and indulgent. 
After four years' existence and single-handed en- 
deavor The Guidon was turned over to the manage- 
ment of a body composed of the clergy, who formed 
a corporation for the purpose, thus rendering the 
work entirely diocesan. It might be said here that 
most of the stock subscribed was transferred to the 
charitable institutions of the State, thus giving these 
what profits might accrue. 

"Our relations with the patrons of The Guidon have 
been intimate and affectionate. During all these years 
from month to month we have tried to instruct and 
edify. From the pulpit of the editor's chair we have 
addressed an invisible audience. We have never looked 
into each other's faces, but we have talked heart to 
heart. No editor ever had a more indulgent clientele. 
When we taught, you learned; when we approved, you 
responded; when we reproved, you accepted; and when 
we condemned, you acquiesced. 

"The editing of a religious paper had its many dis- 
advantages. We preach doctrine and morality, but if 
there ever was a case of ' casting bread upon the 
waters' it is just here. Again and again the editor 
questions himself : Who will read it? What good will 
it do? Is it not lost after all? The effect of his preach- 
ing is always remote. He knows not, and may never 
know, the souls he has influenced for good. Yet such 
consolation was not always denied us. Many a time, 
when discouragement assailed us, some little word 
reached us, like a sweet-scented summer breeze, to 
tell us of good accomplished for a weary-laden soul, 
and that, too, in most unexpected places. More than 
once God seemed to make our little publication the 


vehicle of faith to some one who had sat in darkness 
and in the shadow of death. More than once were 
the words we spoke just what some poor anguished 
soul sought for. Surely with such visible rewards 
as these no man would grudge the pains his work 

"The secular press of this and neighboring States 
has been uniformly kind and courteous. The daily 
papers have given us ample space in their columns. 
They have treated our opinions with deference and 
respect, and have often lent their aid to our claims of 
right and justice. The editor feels that he cannot lay 
down his pen without expressing to these gentlemen 
of the press his appreciation of their kindness to him- 
self and The Guidon. 

"It has been said that if St. Paul came back to 
earth in these, our days, he would be a newspaper 
man. And it is not unlikely. Any one who knows 
the power of the press will realize that the Apostle 
of the Gentiles would not neglect so mighty a means 
for good. In the case of your editor things have been 
reversed. Instead of the Apostle becoming the news- 
paper man, the newspaper man becomes the apostle, 
for such is the Bishop of your church, and that, too, by 
the design of the Holy Ghost. But be assured that his 
interest in The Guidon and its readers does not cease 
with the change. It is his hope that the magazine will 
continue its good work, that its sphere of usefulness 
will be enlarged, and that its life will be long perpet- 
uated. To you, dear readers, I am no longer your 
editor, but I am your Bishop, the shepherd of your 
souls, placed by Almighty God at the head of the 
flock to guard and to guide. With God's holy grace, 
I shall speak to you often through these familar col- 


umns. I know you will barken to my voice. And now, 
for my leave-taking, I impart to you, one and all, my 
episcopal benediction, 


Bishop-Elect of Manchester." 



We give the bells a holy name to put them under the 
protection of the saints, those powerful friends of God. 
These bells have been called by the names of the Holy 
Family, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and what patron in all 
heaven can compare to these. The gospel is sung- to 
indicate that hereafter the brazen tongue shall recall its 
holy precepts. 

We pray that at the ringing of these consecrated 
bells God may protect His people from the lightning 
and the storm, from the power of evil spirits, from 
temptation and sin, that God will preserve them in the 
fervor and practice of their blessed faith. 

Who but the unbeliever will deny efficacy to the 
prayers of the Church? God's Providence rules all 
creation, spiritual and natural. He created all things 
and keeps all things in existence. Ah, my friends, 
God does marvelous things, and does them with divine 

He said, "let there be light," and there was light. Our 
Saviour commanded the sea to be still and there came a 
great calm. By a word He cast out evil spirits. By a 
word, as is recited in the gospel of this ceremony, 
He called Lazarus back to life when he had been four 
days in the tomb. So much of His power did he mani- 
fest through articulate speech. Nay, He even went 
farther. To His apostles and to His priests, through 


the words of their mouth, He seems to have exhausted 
His omnipotence. He gave to them by the power of a 
word to forgive sins in His holy name to bring Him 
back to earth again, in the second incarnation. 

Nor has God despised the inarticulate sound. It, too, 
is His creature. We have all experienced the mys- 
terious influence with which He has endowed the song 
of the birds, the rippling of the waters, the rustling of 
the leaves, the whispering of the breeze, diapason of 
Niagara, the thunder of the storm, the roaring of the 
sea. We know the mysterious stirrings of the heart, 
the keen emotion and strange yearnings excited in us 
by God's marvelous gift of music, that would seem to 
have escaped from some higher sphere and be the sym- 
phony of eternal harmony, the echo of our heavenly 
home, the voice of angels or the magnificat of saints. 
Hence, the Church employs this inarticulate voice in 
her service to excite us to more fervent devotion. 

But it has pleased Almighty God to employ inarticu- 
late sound in especially marvelous ways. We read in 
holy scripture that, "When Saul was troubled with an 
evil spirit David took his harp and played with his hand 
and Saul was refreshed and was better for the evil 
spirit departed from him." 

And - we are reminded by the prayer of the Bishop 
consecrating the bell, of the extraordinary victory over 
their enemies which the Lord pleased to give to His 
chosen people by the sounding of the trumpets of the 
priests around the walls of Jericho. It was not by arms 
but by the sounding of the trumpets that the walls of 
the city fell when they had been compassed seven 

Who, then, will say that these bells, blessed and 
anointed by the prayer of Holy Church, shall not have a 
sacred power? 


I have said this is an occasion of singular suggestive- 
ness. And so it is. It carries us back to the distant 
past; it speaks to the living present; it has a solemn 
word for the future. As we look at these silent bells, 
ready to begin their holy mission, our minds revert to 
bells of childhood and the sweet influence they wrought 
in our tender years. They are forever associated in 
our minds with the altar and the Mass. Their sweet 
cadence dwells within our memory, like the songs of 
God's angels, too sweet for mortal ears. 

If I will be pardoned a personal allusion, I might tell 
you the sweet message the bells brought me, when 
years ago, in a foreign land, I heard the chimes of the 
Bayeux cathedral ring out its midnight song. It was 
the familiar strophe of Mendelssohn's oratorio, this 
sweet assurance, as it were, from heaven: "Who 
watches over Israel slumbers not nor sleeps." 

But far beyond our earliest memory the Christian 
mind loves to wander. We see the village spire, the 
cathedral tower, the campanile; we hear the Angelus 
sounding over Europe. We hear the joyous Christmas 
bells telling the tidings of good joy; we hear the Alle- 
luias of the Easter bells; we hear the bells celebrating 
Christian marriage, and its solemn tolling for a soul 
that is passing to God. The bells ring out the praises 
of God everywhere, and everywhere a faithful people 
bow in reverent prayer. Truly is the bell the voice of 
the Church. While there are evidences of the use of 
small bells in pre-Christian times, it is admitted that 
the marvelously formed and proportioned church bell is 
of ecclesiastical origin. To Paulinus of Nola, who lived 
about the year 400, is ascribed the first use of the bell 
for church purposes. Its appearance at that time 
seems, indeed, providential. The era of persecution 
was just past. The Church had begun her work in 


the open light of day. Previously, her retreat was in 
the ground like that of a hunted animal, but now she 
comes forth full of life and joy and energy. She makes 
her bells and blesses them and sets them ringing- 
praises. She calls believers and unbelievers to Him; 
she invokes His blessing- and protection upon all. 


The ceremony took place in St. Joseph's Cemetery 
in West Manchester, and the Rev. Fr. J. B. Delany 
was the celebrant. Following the exercises, the 
members of the G. A. R. and the younger veterans 
joined forces, and the 213 graves of the soldiers of 
two wars were marked with the customary wreath 
surrounding the Stars and Stripes. 

At the cemetery a temporary altar had been erected 
on the steps of the chapel, and the military compan- 
ies, with the Knights of St. John, formed a square 
directly in front, while the veterans of both the G. 
A. R. posts and the Spanish-American War Veterans 
formed in line on the inside. The military Mass, 
according to the ritual of the Catholic Church, was 
celebrated by Fr. Delany, and the National Guards- 
men fired the usual salutes. The following is the 
address delivered by Fr. Delany, who, speaking in a 
clear, distinct voice, was heard by the hundreds 
that surrounded the military square: 

"Making a gathering, he sent 12,000 drachms of 
silver to Jerusalem for sacrifice to be offered for the 
sins of the dead, thinking well and religiously con- 
cerning the resurrection." II. Machabees, xii., 43. 

These words were spoken of Judas Machabeus, 
that valiant soldier of the Jewish nation who fought 
so well the battles of God's chosen people. Victory 


bad crowned his effort; his cause had triumphed, and 
the joyous shout of the people had hailed him as 
their saviour. In the midst of all this acclaim the 
mind of the leader turned to those who fell in battle. 
Their eyes were closed, they saw not the wreath of 
victory that graced his brow; their ears were deaf to 
the voice of praises; stark and stiff they lay upon 
the bloody field with their blanched faces turned 
toward the sky or buried in the dust. The noble 
heart of Judas was moved ; he could not share with 
them the joys of victory won, but there was one 
duty he could do, there was one office he might per- 
form. "Making- a gathering-, he sent 12,000 drachms 
of silver to Jerusalem for a sacrifice" to be offered 
for their souls that God might pardon whatever 
offenses they were guilty of and admit them to His 
blessed presence for ever. 

In like manner you soldiers have come here to-day 
to pay your tribute of love and prayer to your de- 
parted brethren and to offer a sacrifice to God in 
their behalf. It is the unbloody sacrifice of the 
Mass, offered for those who fought and died by your 
side in defence of the honor of our country. 

Other days may have their glory, but this day, of 
all civic days, is the tenderest and holiest. With 
reverent care you come to the last resting-place of 
these heroic dead to mark the green sward that lies 
over them with the tiny flag they loved so well and 
place the offering of Spring upon their graves to 
show the world that the memory of their deeds is 
ever fresh and beautiful. It is a day of tender recol- 
lection. In the quiet of the graveyard the clash of 
arms is stilled, the roar of the guns is hushed, the 
groans of the dying unheard. It is the beginning 
and the end we think of to-day, and we willingly for- 


get all the horrors that lie between. The day of 
their departure arises before our mind. There was 
the tender farewell, the striving- to keep down emo- 
tion, the tear hastily brushed away; then a wave of 
the hand, a turn of the road, and our soldier boy is 
gone for ever. 

"Brave as the bravest he marched away, 
(Hot tears on the cheek of his mother lay), 
Triumphant waved our flag 1 one day, 

He fell in the front before it." 

"A grave in the woods with the grass o'ergrown, 

A grave in the heart of his mother. 
His clay in the one lies lifeless and lone; 

There is not a name, there is not a stone, 
And only the voice of the wind maketh moan 

O'er the grave where never a flower is strewn, 
But his memory lives in the other." 

Twice in our generation has sounded the call to 
arms. Twice have our fathers, sons and brothers 
answered. To the younger of us the Civil War is 
not even a memory, yet we have lived near enough 
to those stirring days to know what it meant to our 
nation. We have heard the ghastly tale of those 
hundreds of thousands slain on the fields of the South 
to save the integrity of our country. The cost was 
great, but in blood we wiped out from our land the 
black stain of slavery. Is it any wonder, then, that 
we honor the memory of those who paid the price, 
and we, the heirs of freedom, gratefully acknowledge 
our debt of gratitude? To the honored dead we give 
the tribute of our praise and the offering of a heart- 
felt prayer. Of the living war-scarred veterans of 
those earlier days we say with all truth, "We prize 
even the bits." 

Patriotism is not dead. You veterans who stand 
here to-day need but look about you for the proof of 


it. The cause for which you fought and bled, the 
honor of our country, the claims of humanity, were 
vindicated by those later veterans who stand around 
you to-day. The dastardly deed that blew up the 
battleship Maine in the harbor of Havana, not less 
than the guns that were fired on Sumter, woke the 
nation, not to vengeance, but to justice. And the 
youth of this generation that took your place in the 
ranks of soldier defenders yielded not a jot or a 
tittle to their patriotic sires. 

It was my good fortune to be in the national 
capital on the occasion of the declaration of war. 
The scene that attended this was by no means such 
as my boyhood had fancied would accompany so im- 
portant a crisis. Excitement there was, but most of 
it was confined to the newspapers. Deliberation and 
determination were the characteristics that marked 
the scene. Did this mean lack of patriotism, want 
of courage, or disregard for right and justice? By 
no means. It meant the possession of all of these 
virtues in the highest degree. It meant that when a 
decision was reached it would be such a one as God 
would approve, that the nations of the world would 
justify, and that the people of our country would 
sanction without reserve. 

Returning north through ten states, I found on 
every hand that other kind of patriotism that seeks 
expression by love for the flag, and readiness to fight 
and die for the cause it represents. It was not in 
the crowded cities that it found its most touching 
expression, but in the little towns and villages of 
our own state where every humble home on the hill- 
sides and in the valleys had its Stars and Stripes 
waving proudly there. From homes like these went 
forth our sons. The mother of the Horatii gave her 


three sons to do battle for their country, and her 
example has been held up to the admiration of the 
world ever since. On the camp ground at Concord, 
when the New Hampshire regiment left for the 
front, one of your mothers knelt there on the sod to 
ask God's blessing- on her four sons, all she had, 
brave soldier boys, who answered the first call of 
their country. Is not this as illustrious an example 
as the pagan nations of old could furnish ? This is 
Christian patriotism, too, and the country that can 
inspire such patriotism is safe. 

Many of you, enlisted at duty's call, were not 
destined to face the bullets of the enemy. You had 
a more terrible foe to encounter. It was the fever 
and gaunt death that stalked abroad at Chickamauga 
that slew hundreds and thousands of your number. 
Again it was my lot to meet you on that awful 
journey home. Never will I forget that ghastly 
train, with its freight of living- death, of fever-ridden 
victims, helpless and dying-, the wrecks of humanity 
returned to us in place of the stalwart youth that 
we sent forth. 

No braver hearts ever faced the fire of an enemy 
than those that waited patiently and dutifully where 
death came in this hideous form. To them, as to 
the rest, is due honor and praise for "they serve 
who only stand and wait." On our soldiers' and 
sailors' monument we have inscribed the text : "Dulce 
et Decorum Pro Patria Mori." "It is sweet and 
honorable to die for one's country." And it is all 
true. I would add, it is far harder to live and suffer 
for one's country, and consequently more honorable 
and praiseworthy. This is your title to reward. 

Do we grudge the price we paid ? No. Another 
republic has been added to the nations of the world 


and the flag of Cuba now waves above a free people, 
made so by our instrumentality. Cuba is a Catholic 
republic. As long as she is faithful to Catholic 
principles, so long will she abide. Pagans knew not 
freedom nor the principles of democracy. It was St. 
Thomas, the greatest doctor of the church, who 
declared that democracy, a government of the people 
was the most perfect form of human government. 

Your battles are over, and, please God, not again 
in our generation will you be called upon to give the 
supremest proof of love for your country that a man 
can give to defend it with your life. May God give 
you many years to serve your country and enjoy the 
blessings you and your heroic dead have striven so 
manfully to maintain. Be loyal to the dead. To the 
voice of praise add the voice of prayer. 'Tis the 
noblest tribute Christian souls can give to their dear 
departed ones. Thus live as good soldiers and when 
your time comes to lay down your arms you can say, 
with all confidence : "I have fought the good fight ; I 
have finished my course ; I have kept the faith. As 
to the rest there is a crown of justice, which the 
Lord, the just judge, will render to me in that day, 
and not only to me, but to them also that love His 


It was not my intention to make a speech. I con- 
sented to come only on condition that a few remarks 
from me would be all that was expected. To such 
an invitation I felt it my duty to respond. It is your 
purpose to unite for the cause of justice and strive 
by all legitimate means to obtain fair play and just 
treatment for the land of your birth or the land of 
your ancestors. 


That such a movement as the United Irish League 
is timely and just you have but to look to the other 
side of the Atlantic. For a few years back Ireland 
has been comparatively free from persecution and 
oppression, but within a few months new measures 
of tyranny have been devised and a perfidious coer- 
cion law has been proclaimed. Is it because of re- 
bellion or disorder there? By no means. There is 
neither rebellion nor disorder. Ireland, above all the 
countries of the world, is a crimeless land, and the 
only object such laws can have is to provoke crime, to 
incite to bloodshed if possible, and to furnish a pretext 
for the unspeakable cruelty that England's hireling's 
have exercised over Ireland in the days gone by. 

After a war of two years and a half outnumbering 
her adversaries ten to one, beaten at every turn, her 
ablest generals acquitting themselves hardly better 
than corporals of the home guard, England gave theBoers 
peace at their own terms and paid for it with 100,000 
men and a thousand million dollars. It was, forsooth, 
a famous victory. All London went wild with joy. 
Kitchener was voted a pension and a medal it 
should be a leather one, for it lasts and in a few 
days the King will be crowned with his realm at 

There is only one discordant note. A gallant 
soldier who has fought nobly in the cause of liberty 
for the Boers was honored by the electors of Galway 
by being named for a place in Parliament. The war 
being over, he claims the amnesty granted to those who 
bore arms, but as soon as he sets foot upon British soil 
he is cast into prison. He made a mistake. The am- 
nesty granted to the Boer, the Dutch, the French, the 
American, the African negro, was never given to an 
Irishman. High treason is the charge, and he is in 


danger of his life. The charge is false. He is 
guilty of no treason. A man may be born in a 
stable, but that does not make him a horse, much 
less an ass. An Irishman born under the British 
flag is not a subject of England, let the laws say 
what they will. 

Ireland is ever at war with England and it is no 
treason for an Irishman to take up arms against her 
in whatsoever quarter of the world the occasion may 
present itself. Col. Lynch is a soldier, and a patriot, 
but not a traitor, any more than was Robert Emmet, 
though like Emmet he may die on a scaffold. 

But it will be asked, what do you expect to accom- 
plish, what can a league such as this do to alleviate 
the sufferings of the Irish and right the wrongs of 
their land? We answer, such a league as this can 
do much. We have but to appeal to history, even 
to the memory of most of us to see what such an 
organization has done in the past. 

With a handful of men, united, determined, Charles 
Stewart Parnell went to the British Parliament and 
raising his hand in the face of the British empire 
declared no business would be done in the halls of 
legislature until his cause was heard, and until 
Ireland's wrongs were righted. Did he succeed ? You 
know he did. He got not all he asked for, it is true, 
but he did compel the greatest living statesman of 
that day, William E. Gladstone, to shape his policy 
to that end and forced the then dominant liberal 
party to pass a Home Rule Bill through the lower 
house of Parliament. If it was lost in the senile 
House of Lords, something of a lasting benefit had 
been accomplished. The Land Bill has since been 
passed, and the County Council's Act gives Ireland 
almost as much freedom as she enjoyed when her 
own Parliament met in Dublin. 


Lord Russell has declared that the Land League 
accomplished more for Ireland than all her armed 
revolutions ever achieved. 

Now how is Ireland's freedom to be won? By 
united, concerted action at home and abroad. 

Michael Davitt was asked by the Pope recently 
what was the population of Ireland. "Twenty millions, 
Holy Father, but they are mostly in America," was 
the reply. It is from America, then, will come sup- 
port and encouragement ; it is that nerves the arm 
to strife. The support we must give is financial. In 
this great battle it is money, not bullets, that makes 
the munition of war^ And we should give freely and 

I have no patience with those who are ever ready 
to condemn a movement by declaring it is a money 
making venture. It is often but a convenient excuse 
for such people to tighten their purse strings. 

Members of Parliament are not paid by the Gov- 
ernment. It is brains, not men of means that Ireland 
needs. Nor should we grudge them their meagre 
support. How many disinterested Congressmen have 
we in Washington who would serve their country 
without pay? I never heard of any Irish patriot 
making money on his patriotism, though I have heard 
of many whom it cost their fortune and their life." 

The speaker then told a pathetic story of an Irish 
patriot of the Boyle O'Reilly and Michael Davitt stamp, 
a man who had visited his home in this city in the 
Land League days and whose story of self-sacrifice made 
a lasting impression on his mind. He, of late years, 
had wondered where this man was, but some time ago 
he read an account of his death in a New York poor 
house. This was the manner in which poor Patrick 
Melledy was rewarded for his patriotism. 


In conclusion Rev. Fr. Delany said: "God has given 
us freedom in this republic and in appreciation thereof 
we should show proper sympathy for every land strug- 
gling- to be free. We should especially give our moral 
and financial support to the present movement for the 
benefit of Ireland. It is a movement adopted by the 
people as best calculated to achieve reforms and it is 
one in which we can all assist by contributing even a 
small amount to the support of this branch of the 



When the Manchester diocese was bereaved of its 
first Bishop all hearts turned to the young- Chancellor 
as his logical successor. And so it came to pass. 

On the ninth of August, 1904, the fortieth anniver- 
sary of his birth, Father Delany received word from 
Rome that he was to succeed the late Bishop Bradley. 

The following tribute paid to Father Delany at this 
time, by a New Hampshire paper, reveals the attitude 
of the people toward their new leader. "The appoint- 
ment of Reverend John B. Delany to be bishop of 
Manchester is one which every citizen of New Hamp- 
shire will cordially commend. It will add to the 
Catholic hierarchy of New England a young, vigorous, 
cultured prelate, trained to the duties of his new 
office and looking forward by God's will to many 
years of fruitful labor. Best of all, Father Delany's 
appointment carries the assurance of the continuance 
of that wise and saintly policy of church adminis- 
tration by which his gifted predecessor made this 
diocese noted for its spirit of progress; for while 
the new Bishop will be no slavish imitator, it cannot 
be but that his years of intimate association with 
Bishop Bradley have enabled him to take in much of 
that zealous prelate's gracious habit of mind and 
manner. Under his guidance we shall look for the 
Catholic Church in New Hampshire to extend its 
work of education, philanthropy, and spiritual eleva- 
tion to a degree of which its past history is merely 
the faintest promise." 



On Thursday, the eighth of September, 1904, in his 
own cathedral Church of St. Joseph, the Rt. Rev. John 
Bernard Delany, D. D., was consecrated second bishop 
of Manchester, by the Apostolic Delegate, the Most 
Rev. Diomede Falconio, D. D., Archbishop of Larissa. 
A date more beautiful and fitting could hardly have 
been chosen, the feast of the birthday of the Mother 
of God, and the first of the jubilee in honor of her Im- 
maculate Conception. Heaven itself seemed to smile, 
for the weather during the hours of consecration was 
all that could be desired. 

The cathedral itself never looked better. The sun, 
shining through the storied windows, cast far into the 
church brilliant rays of varied hue, and the new elec- 
tric lights in the sanctuary showed to best advantage 
the chaste designs of the marble altars, the beauty of 
which had not been marred by any attempt at decora- 

Not before in the Catholic history of Manchester 
have so many distinguished strangers been her guests. 
They came by scores during the day and evening pre- 
vious, and that morning every incoming train was 
crowded with visiting priests and laymen. The family 
of the Bishop-elect and their personal friends from 
Lowell came to the city in a special car. 

Admission to the church was by ticket only. Long 
before the doors were open, the streets in the immedi- 
ate neighborhood of the cathedral were lined with 
patient waiters eager to secure good seats, and with 
hundreds of spectators who, unable to gain admission, 
had to content themselves with a view of the pro- 
cession. Once the doors were opened, the church was 
soon filled to its utmost capacity. 

The ordinary seating capacity of St. Joseph's is 1,600, 
but by the judicious placing of benches and folding 


chairs, it was for this occasion increased to 2,000. A 
glance about the church just before the services began 
disclosed a gathering both representative and interest- 
ing, composed as it was of people from every walk and 
condition in life. There were delegations from all the 
religious orders of the city, both men and women, and 
from many of those in adjoining states and in Canada; 
members of the various organizations with which the 
new bishop had been associated as spiritual guide; 
clergymen of different Protestant denominations; the 
mayor and other city officials; the governor of New 
Hampshire and his staff in full uniform. In the pews 
nearest the altar was the immediate family of the 

The procession formed at the episcopal residence, 
marched down Lowell Street, and entered the cathe- 
dral by the great middle door. As it moved in 
solemn grandeur down the broad aisle, to the inspir- 
ing strains of Ecce Sacerdos Magnus, the vast con- 
gregation turned expectantly. They beheld a sight 
long to be remembered. First came the cross-bearer 
and the acolytes. Then, two by two, to the number 
of nearly 400, the other clergymen followed, passing 
slowly to seats assigned them in chancel or aisles, 
the secular priests in black cassocks and white sur- 
plices, the religious in the sombre habits of their 
respective orders. Toward the end of the long line 
came the monsignori and the bishops, their purple 
vestments lending brilliancy and impressiveness to 
the scene. Just behind these, between the assistant 
consecrators, was the Bishop-elect, in white cope and 
purple biretta. Last of all, with his attend- 
ants, came His Excellency the Most Reverend 
Diomede Falconio, Apostolic Delegate and conse- 
crating prelate, in full official robes of gray, 


his cappa magna borne by two little pages. Every 
eye was upon him as he passed down the aisle, yet 
he was seemingly all unmindful of the homage he was 
receiving. Indeed, throughout the entire service, his 
modesty, his simplicity, his reverence and piety, were 
at all times evident, and made on every beholder, ir- 
respective of creed, an impression deep and lasting. 
So near he stands to the Holy Father, whose direct 
representative he is, that his presence on this day 
seemed to bring all in a special manner near to him 
who guides the Universal Church, and whose watch- 
ful care, as mentioned in the brief of appointment, 
provides bishops for all the churches in Christen- 

After a brief prayer, the Apostolic Delegate went 
to the epistle side of the main altar, the Bishop-elect 
to St. Joseph's altar, where each was clothed in the 
vestments prescribed for the occasion. This done, 
Mgr. Falconio sat on the fald-stool in front of the 
altar, the Bishop-elect and the two consecrators sat 
directly in front, facing him. 

First came the reading of the Papal mandate. 
Then the Bishop-elect took the solemn oath, in which 
he promised obedience to the See of Rome, observ- 
ance of apostolic decrees, fidelity in the discharge of 
the duties of his office, and in rendering to the Vicar 
of Christ on earth a correct account of all things per- 
taining to the welfare, both material and spiritual, of 
the churches and souls committed to his keeping. 

During the examination that followed, the Bishop- 
elect further promised to be faithful to the teachings 
of Scripture and the traditions of the Catholic Church ; 
to refrain from evil and to direct his ways to good ; to 
observe and teach chastity and sobriety; to take hold of 
things divine, and abstain from things worldly and from 
sordid gains; to be merciful to the poor, to pilgrims, 
and to all in need. He also made a profession of faith. 


This finished, the Mass proper began, and went on 
as usual to the Gospel, various minor ceremonies of the 
consecration being- performed as the service proceeded. 

The preacher of the day was the Rev. Win. F. 
Gannon, S. J., President of Boston College, who gave an 
able sermon, strong in its very simplicity. He spoke 
as follows: 


"You have not chosen Me but I have chosen you * * * 
that whatsoever you shall ask of the Father in My name, He 
may give it you." JOHN xv., 16. 

" Your Excellency, the Most Reverend Apostolic Delegate ; 
Most Reverend Archbishop ; Right Reverend Bishops ; Right 
Reverend, Very Reverend, and Reverend Fathers; and Dear 
Brethren of the Laity : 

"When our Lord and Saviour established His Church 
He destined it to be the one and only true Church, 
apostolic and universal, to embrace all nations and 
peoples, and to extend through all time 'even to the 
consummation of the world'; a Church so near and so 
dear to the heart of the God-man that He saw fit to shed 
His life-blood for every soul in it, and every soul that 
should be won to it. 

"And, therefore, when He chose apostles, his first 
bishops, to rule over this vast kingdom, this wondrous 
amalgamation of peoples of all nations, tribes, and lan- 
guages, He created for these rulers and their success- 
ors a position of such high and awful responsibility that 
no man could dare accept it were it not pressed on him 
by the God who can give and does give the strength to 
sustain it. ' No man takes to himself this honor unless 
he be called as was Aaron'; 'for the Holy Ghost has 
placed you bishops to rule the Church of God.' Actsxx., 

"The words of my text were addressed by our 
Saviour not only to the first bishops of His Church, but 


to every bishop in the Apostolic line, from St. Peter to 
our right reverend and beloved Bishop whose consecra- 
tion we are witnessing- to-day. 

"Allow me, therefore, to place before you, with all 
needful brevity, a few thoughts suggested by the words 
of our Saviour: 'You have not chosen me, but I have 
chosen you.' 

"The sublimity and power and responsibility of the 
bishop's office are hinted at in the words of Christ, but 
the office is far beyond human language to compass in 
expression. It includes the power of priesthood and 
goes beyond; for the bishop has power as St. Chrysos- 
tom terms it 'over the real body of Christ.' 

"We read that when Joseph of Egypt had gained 
favor with his king he was placed in power second only 
to the king, and all Egypt was at his bidding. 

"But when the priest, or bishop, enters the sanctuary 
to say Mass, and, coming to the altar, takes mere bread 
into his hands, he acts in the name and with the al- 
mighty power of God Himself as he utters the words: 
'Tnis is MY BODY.' The priest, or bishop, does not 
say: this is the body of Christ, but, 'this is my body'; 
the priest is allowed by his Divine Master to lose, as it 
were, his own personality and to become one with his 
God as he utters the words of consecration, and in- 
stantly a startling change takes place. In the bishop's 
hands there is no longer any bread, but the God of 
heaven and earth, the Judge of the living and the dead; 
He who in the hollow of his own hand holds and poises 
the universe, is resting in the hands of his priest. 
'I have chosen you' to this. 

"And a second great power, almost equally sublime, 
rests with the priest or bishop; the power as it is called, 
'over the mystical body of Christ, 'over the members 
of the flock of Christ. To bishops and priests God 


has given this power to restore sinners to God's 
friendship. They are the judges of their fellow-men. 
' The tongue of the priest,' as a saint has expressed 
it, 'is the key by which hell is closed and heaven is 

"Rich and poor, learned and unlearned, must sub- 
mit to the priest's judgment and sentence, so that 
when you come to confess your sins, even though the 
crimes be such as cry to heaven for vengeance, if you 
are sorry for them; if you are determined to sin no 
more, when the priest raises his hand above you and 
tells you that the sins are forgiven, such is the power 
that God has given to man, that the judgment of 
God's minister is ratified in heaven, sins are blotted 
out, and man by the power given to man, is received 
back into God's favor. 

"These are powers so great and so alarming that 
St. Anthony, St. Benedict, and St. Francis, despite 
their sanctity, refused to assume such weighty respon- 

"Yet a bishop has all this power, and more. He is the 
consecrator, model, director, ruler, and creator of even 
the sublime priesthood; he must shield his people by 
foreseeing and warding off danger; he must feed his 
flock in the rich pastures of the sacraments, and of re- 
vealed truth ; he must watch and pray, ' taking heed for 
his flock.' 

"A bishop must be a man of prayer. When you de- 
sire to build a house, and you call in an architect for 
consultation, you explain to him your views and wishes. 
He frequently consults you to learn every detail; for he 
is not to act according to his own ideas but according 
to yours. It is to be your house and not his. A bishop 
is God's architect. He is building God's house; he is 
to do God's works. Therefore, he must consult with 


God, learn God's wishes, views, plans, follow every 
detail prescribed by Almighty God. He cannot do 
this without coming to God, talking with Him, learning 
His desires, following His directions. This means 
prayer; and as the work goes constantly on, constant 
prayer is required. The bishop must be a man of 

"More than this, the bishop is a ruler and a king, 
whose power and whose sway as far surpass the sover- 
eignty of an earthly king as heaven is above earth, as 
eternity transcends time, as eternal life eclipses death. 
An earthly king has power, but with limitation of time; 
his subjects are but temporal and decaying; his helpers 
are mortal. But the power of a bishop goes beyond 
the boundaries of earth and time; his sceptre will fall 
from his hand in death, but he is the king of immortal 
souls whom he must rule and guide into eternal heaven, 
and whom, with his indelible 'character' stamped upon 
his soul, he must follow; but not until he has stood in 
presence of God to give account of every soul under his 

"It is awful enough to be responsible for one's own 
soul, but it is a crushing and overwhelming obligation 
to stand before God's searching eye and answer for 
thousands of souls, for whom Jesus Christ died. Yet, 
this is the unevasive responsibility of a bishop. 'I 
have chosen you ' for this. 

"Yet, there is consolation in the words: 'You have 
not chosen Me, but I have chosen you.' 

"The responsibility of a bishop is indeed great, 
but it is a God of infinite power and of all consola- 
tion who has imposed it. Men may impose obliga- 
tions and leave us to our own fretful resources to 
meet them, but not so does God act. Every act of 
duty has its accompanying helpful grace; every irk- 
some obligation has its attendant soothing consola- 


" 'You have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you.' 
The responsibility of choice of this position is not 
yours but mine, our Lord says, and mine shall be the 
care to sustain and console you. Our Lord will see 
that you draw consolation from your people. Your 
people, who are God's people, will work with you. 
These same people of Manchester who faithfully labored 
with the pious, discreet, saintly, and model Bishop 
Bradley, will, heart and soul, enter into the plans and 
views of their new Bishop, be obedient to their prelate 
and be subject to him. 

"Indeed, my dear people, gratitude alone should 
force you to loyal obedience to your Bishop. You 
remember how our Divine Lord appealed to the 
gratitude of His people. 'When,' He said, 'I shall 
be lifted up from earth I shall draw all thing's to 
me,' and He meant that when we, His people, should 
gaze upon Him nailed to the Cross, and see the 
ghastly state into which our sins had brought Him 
through love for us, we should be moved to love Him 
and then do whatever He asks of us. 

"When, therefore, dear people, you realize the 
position of your Bishop, that through love for your 
souls his whole life will be devoted to you, and 
that he stands ready 'to render an account' for your 
souls, you shall love him and love God who has placed 
him over you, and enter heartily and obediently into all 
his plans. Then in his consolation the right reverend 
Bishop will be able to give you the blessing given by 
St. Paul to his flock. 'May the God of peace, who 
brought again from the dead the great pastor of the 
sheep, our Lord Jesus Christ, fit you in all goodness 
that you may do His will.' 

"As the people must be united with their bishop, so 
the bishop must be united with his fellow bishops, 


and they all with the Holy See. A bishop is a Catho- 
lic bishop not because bound to the apostles by the 
links of time, but because by apostolic succession he 
derives from the Vicar of Christ his power, his au- 
thority, his jurisdiction. This unity it is which gives 
him strength and encouragement, this unity of bishops 
with their head makes the teaching body of the church 
(under divine assistance and guidance) invincible; and 
this unity is not simply a unity in doctrine, but in 
heart and sentiment, leading all bishops to enter into 
all views of the Holy Father to further the interests 
of the Holy Church. And I look upon this, dear Bishop, 
as a guarantee of your future sentiments towards the 
Holy Father, that you had the singular privilege of 
being consecrated by the Apostolic Delegate, nearest 
in authority in this country to the source of authority. 
I doubt not that when his hands were laid on you in 
consecration, you felt a thrill as if they were the hands 
of Pius X. that touched you. 

" Our Lord will again sustain and console you in His 
and your priests who, by their zeal, cooperation, and 
loyalty, will support your hands and fight with you 
the battles in the cause of God and of His Church. 

"You will have the support in prayer and in Mass 
of your fellow-bishops and other prelates of God's 
Church, who from their own experience know the 
weight of your responsibility. 

"Then again will come the sacramental grace to aid 
and bring to success all your episcopal work. 

"And, with it all, comes Christ Himself who has 
chosen you to your office. He who will stand with His 
church to the consummation of days, behold He is with 
you! Whom or what shall you fear? 

"And now, dear Bishop, I am sure I may be allowed 
in union with the assembled prelates, priests, and 


people, to wish you every blessing-, every joy, and all 
success in your episcopal work. May we ask a great 
favor in return, the aid of your prayers and the gift 
of your episcopal blessing 1 ." 

After the sermon, the consecrator, turning- to the 
Bishop-elect, announced the responsibilities to be laid 
upon him: "A bishop judges, interprets, consecrates, 
ordains, offers, baptizes, and confirms." Then, while 
the consecrator, his assistants, and the Bishop-elect, 
were prostrate before the altar, the clergy, in the 
solemn chant of the Litany of the Saints, invoked for 
the new prelate the aid of God's saints and of His 
own divine grace. After this came the essential part 
of the rite, the imposition of hands by the consecrator 
and assistants, with the words, "Receive the Holy 
Ghost." The hymn Veni Creator was intoned by Mgr. 
Falconio, taken up and chanted to the end by the 
assembled priests. 

Next the hands of the newly-consecrated were anoin- 
ted with holy chrism. He had already received the 
pectoral cross; now the pastoral staff was blessed and 
given him with the admonition to be lovingly severe 
in the correction of vices, to judge without wrath, but 
to let not love of peace cause him to neglect discipline. 
The pontifical ring was likewise blessed, and placed 
upon the third finger of his right hand. "Receive the 
ring," said the consecrator, "the symbol of fidelity, 
in order that, adorned with unspotted faith, you may 
keep inviolably the spouse of God, namely, His Holy 
Church." The book of the Gospels was now delivered 
to him with the charge to go forth and preach, after 
which the consecrator and assistants received him to 
the kiss of peace. 

From this point the Mass again went on as usual 
until the offertory had been said, when Bishop 


Delany made to the consecrator the customary offer- 
ings of two candles, two loaves of bread, and two 
tiny casks of wine. The new Bishop then read the 
offertory in unison with the consecrator, and from 
that time the two together celebrated the one Mass; 
one host was consecrated, of which both partook; 
both, too, drank of the Blood of Christ from the 
same chalice. 

At the close of the Mass proper the new Bishop 
was crowned with the mitre, the helmet of protection 
and salvation, and was invested with his gloves. 
Then by the consecrator and the senior assisting 
bishop he was led to the throne, the crosier was 
placed in his hand, and the long-vacant See of Man- 
chester had its second bishop. 

After the singing of the Psalms, and just before 
the Te Deum, Bishop Delany descended to the altar 
rail, and in tones clear and steady, yet full of emo- 
tion, delivered his 


"It is consummated! The event so long looked for 
has been accomplished. The widowed diocese of 
Manchester has again a spouse and a bishop. You 
have seen the most august ceremony of Holy Church. 
Not in all her rites and ritual is there so solemn, so 
sublime an act as that which you have this day wit- 
nessed, which makes of one of her priests an apostle, 
imparts to him the plenitude of his office, and estab- 
lishes him in her hierarchy forever. I, the unworthy 
subject of all these honors, am filled with conflicting 
emotions. The first is confusion and humiliation, 
knowing as I do my unworthiness of these favors. 
Fear, too, I feel, lest by my incapacity I fail in the 
great charge committed to my care. Yet there is 


joy, withal. For what priest of God would not re- 
joice to know that he has this day received the Holy 
Spirit of God in its fulness, and that henceforth it is 
his right and privilege to engender sons in the priest- 
hood, to cause that Holy Spirit of God to take up His 
abode in the temple of the human heart, and to per- 
petuate as none other than a bishop can the kingdom 
of Christ upon earth! 

"You have seen how this has been accomplished. 
The outward rite is full of mystical meaning and 
represents to our bodily eyes what has transpired in 
the soul. 

"My head has been anointed with holy chrism, as 
was the head of the first high priest, Aaron, to sym- 
bolize the spiritual unction that God pours forth in 
the soul of His elect. On my head has been placed 
the mitre, a helmet of salvation, that I may lead the 
people in the battle and that they may safely follow. 
In my hands was placed this crosier, the symbol of 
authority, that I from this day forward may rule in 
the Church of God, being admonished at the same 
time to correct with loving severity, to render judg- 
ment without wrath, and to neglect not discipline 
through love of tranquility. On my finger has been 
placed the episcopal ring, the sign of fidelity and the 
mystical tie that marks my espousal to this See of 
Manchester. God grant that I may keep her, my 
spouse and the spouse of Christ, 'without spot or 
wrinkle or any such thing.' 

"The ceremony is over. Let me thank His Excel- 
lency, the Apostolic Delegate, who has honored our 
city and our diocese by his presence here to-day; let 
me offer him, the highest representative in this 
country of our Holy Father the Pope, our sincerest 
homage and gratitude. I assure him for myself and 


my people of our undying- love and loyalty to the 
Holy See of Rome, proclaiming- that our first and last 
prayer will be for the great and good pontiff, Pius 
X., who fills the chair of St. Peter as Christ's vicar 
upon earth. I thank the other illustrious prelates 
here who honor us on this occasion, and my brothers 
of the clergy who in such great number testify by 
their presence their love and veneration. 

"It only remains for me to impart my first episco- 
pal benediction. This I do: first, to those who are 
united to me by blood and kinship, and to whom, 
under God, I owe that I am what I am. I give that 
blessing to my brethren of the clergy, especially to 
the priests of this diocese, with whom I have been 
associated all the years of my priestly life in the 
closest bonds of love and friendship. I give it to the 
religious of the diocese, the men and women who, 
having consecrated their lives to God, are laboring 
with unselfish devotion for the salvation of souls of 
this generation and of generations yet to come. I 
give it to the people of this Cathedral parish, who 
know me best and from whom I have received so 
many kindnesses in the past. I extend my blessing 
to the people of this city of Manchester, and to the 
citizens of the State whose spiritual welfare is com- 
mitted to my care. I ask God to bless this our 
country, our rulers, and our institutions born of free- 

Crosier in hand, and attended by the assistant con- 
secrators, Bishop Delany then went down the broad 
aisle, blessing the congregation as he passed, but 
stopping a moment at the front pew to give his first 
greeting and benediction to his beloved mother. Upon 
reaching the main door of the cathedral he stepped 
outside, and gave his blessing to the throng that had 


been unable to gain admission. The singing of the 
Te Deum concluded the ceremony, which had occu- 
pied a little less than four hours. 

The determination of the new Bishop to have even 
the least detail of the consecration ceremonies in 
strict accordance with the highest religious spirit of 
the Church, led him to select for his musical pro- 
gram the "Mass of the Angels" in plain Gregorian 
chant. This was a fitting tribute to Pkis X., the 
more so as the occasion was the first of its kind in 
America at which the desires of the Holy Father in 
this regard had been fulfilled. 

The success of the Gregorian chant depends en- 
tirely upon the work of the chorus; there are in it 
no solos, no elaborations, no orchestral accompani- 
ments to hide defects or heighten effects only the 
organ aids in the production. How well the chorus 
of this day consolidated from the various Catholic 
choirs of the city performed its difficult task may 
be judged from the fact that Mgr. Falconio said he 
had never heard in America, and seldom in any 
other country, music so effectively rendered. Arch- 
bishop Williams, too, and not a few of the bishops 
and the priests, added their word of praise. 

It is safe to say that no layman present had ever 
before heard the "incarnatus est" given with such 
religious devotion and finish. The mystery, the sub- 
limity of the birth of the God-Man, its message of 
promise to the human race in every age all this was 
whispered in tones so hushed yet so majestic as 
never to be forgotten by those who heard. In strik- 
ing contrast was the "unam sanctam Catholicam." 
In this the real strength of the chorus was evinced. 
The volume of tone was tremendous, the expression 


triumphant, as those hundred and fifty voices rang 
out that grand finale of Catholic hope and faith. 

The gathering of priests was notable. From all 
parts of this country they came, from Canada, Ireland, 
and France, testifying by their presence their faith in 
the Church they serve, and their affectionate regard 
for the new bishop. 

Most prominent among them was His Excellency 
Diomede Falconio, D. D., the consecrating prelate. 
Next to him the figure that attracted greatest atten- 
tion was the Most Rev. John J. Williams, the beloved 
and venerable head of the Archdiocese of Boston. All 
the bishops of New England were there : the Rt. Rev. 
John Michaud of Burlington, the Rt. Rev. Matthew Har- 
kins of Providence, the Rt. Rev. M. E. Tierney of 
Hartford, the Rt. Rev. T. D. Beaven of Springfield, the 
Rt. Rev. Wm. H. O'Connell of Portland, and the Rt. Rev. 
John Brady, Auxiliary Bishop of Boston. Other pre- 
lates were the Rt. Rev. Edward P. Allen of Mobile 
and the Rt. Rev. Mgr. Decelles of Hyacinth, P. Q. 
Archbishop Farley of New York was represented by 
the Mgr. D. J. McMackin, D. D., of St Patrick's 
Cathedral, New York City, and from Boston came the 
Rev. Frederick J. Delany, brother of Bishop Delany. 

From Paris came the Rev. Paul de Foville, 
S. S., of the faculty of the seminary of St. Sulpice, 
where Bishop Delany made his theological studies. 
Ireland was represented by the Rev. D. I. Donnehy 
and Rev. D. W. Kent of Queenstown. 

The monsignori in attendance were the Rt. Rev. Mgr. 
D. W. Murphy of Dover, N. H., the Rt. Rev. Mgr. Thos. 
Magennis of Jamaica Plain, Mass., the Rt. Rev. Mgr. A. 
J. Teeling of Lynn, Mass., and the Rev. Mgr. Thos. 
Griffin of Worcester, Mass. 

St. Anselm's College in Manchester was represented 
by its president, the Rt. Rev. Hilary Pfraengle, O. 


S. B. From St. John's Seminary in Brighton came 
its vice-rector, the Rev. Matthew Flaherty, A. M., and 
the Rev. J. C. Brophy; from Boston College the Rev. 
Wm. F. Gannon, S. J., who preached the consecra- 
tion sermon; and the Catholic University at Wash- 
ington was represented by the dean of its faculty, 
the Rev. Edmund T. Shanahan, S. T. D. 

Still other well-known clergymen were the Very 
Rev. T. F. Doran, V. G., of Providence, the Very Rev. 
Wm. Byrne, V. G., of Boston, the Very Rev. E. F. 
Hurley, V. G., of Portland, the Very Rev. John I. 
Madden, V. G., of Springfield, and the Very Rev. E. 
M. O'Callaghan, V. G., of Concord, N. H. 

After the services Bishop Delany entertained the 
clergy at dinner in Mechanics' Hall. The decorations 
of the interior of the big building were most artistic, 
the central theme being a combination of the papal 
colors, yellow and white, in honor of the Apos- 
tolic Delegate, and of the episcopal colors, purple 
and white. The ceiling was almost hidden by 
the national colors. These covered, too, the edges 
of the balconies, where potted plants were 
also used with charming effect. The stage, where the 
orchestra was stationed, was almost hidden behind a 
mass of green. 

During the banquet Archbishop Williams was asked 
to respond to the only toast of the day, that to the 
Pope. This he did in a most interesting manner, 
pointing out a few of the characteristics that mark the 
Holy Father, especially in his relations with the poor 
and the common people. The Archbishop spoke with all 
his old-time vigor and eloquence, his every word being 
distinctly heard throughout the great hall. 

Later, two presentations were made to Bishop 
Delany. The first was by the Very Rev. E. M. 


O'Callaghan, who, in a finished address, offered to the 
new leader of the diocese the homage of his clergy 
and a substantial testimonial. Fr. O'Callaghan spoke 
in part as follows: 
Right Reverend and dear Bishop: 

"We, the priests of your diocese, deem it a pleasing 
duty to offer you our sincere congratulations this 
memorable day, when, having received by consecration 
the fulness of the priesthood, you have been placed 
by the Holy Ghost amongst the rulers of the Church 
of God. 

" Were a stranger to our diocese appointed by the 
Holy See our bishop, we would receive him in fitting 
manner, and promise him reverence and obedience; 
for, in common with all loyal Catholics, we recognize 
the Vicar of Christ as the supreme source on earth 
of all ecclesiastical jurisdiction, but to-day we approach 
our new spiritual leader with far warmer feelings; 
for in him we see one associated with us all through 
his priestly life, one whom we know well, and who, 
knowing us so intimately, cannot but be interested 
deeply in our welfare and that of our diocese. 

"Hence, Right Reverend and dear Bishop, all unite 
this day in hailing you as their spiritual chief, and in 
the sincerity and loyalty of their hearts pledge you their 
sympathy and co-operation. 

"By your ability and zeal, by your loyalty to those 
under whom you have served, by the throughness 
with which you have performed all your clerical duties, 
and by the success which has crowned your efforts 
as a priest of the diocese, you have won the esteem 
of your superiors, and merited the respect of all. 

"As one so long near to our late beloved Bishop, 
as one who has honored his ministry, we welcome you 
and salute you, raised this day to the exalted dignity 


of Prince of the Church, and with crosier in hand and 
mitre on brow solemnly enthroned as shepherd of the 
flock; and we pray that all through the years of your 
future life and may they be very many indeed 
you may be ever enthroned in the hearts of both clergy 
and people. * * * 

"By you we know the traditions of our diocese will 
be loyally and carefully observed. Hence, Right Rev- 
erend and dear Bishop, we feel that its future is safe 
in your hands; and we only hope and pray that the 
same measure of success which attended the labors 
of our first Bishop may crown also those of your 
episcopal life. 

"In conclusion, we beg to assure you of our con- 
stant sympathy and hearty support in all you may 
undertake for the advancement of religion and the 
welfare of the diocese, and we pray you to accept 
this gift which we offer as a proof of our good will 
and of the sincerity of our professions. 

"Lastly, that God may give you length of days, 
and that He may crown your labors as second Bishop 
of this diocese with untold blessings, is the heart- 
felt wish and prayer of your friends and brethren, 
the clergy of your diocese." 
Bishop Delany Responded: 

"My fathers, my brothers, let me thank you from 
the bottom of my heart for this testimonial of re- 
spect and regard. More than words can tell do I 
appreciate the sentiments which prompted it. Yet 
I needed no such manifestation of your good will. 
All my priestly life I have received only kindness 
and consideration from your hands, and I feel that it 
is I, rather, who should, to-day, testify my gratitude, 
my love, my admiration, for the priests of New 
Hampshire. No one knows better than I what man- 


ner of men you are. No one knows better your 
labors for the glory of God and the salvation of souls 
committed to your care. No one knows better nor 
appreciates more highly than I do your zeal, your 
sacrifices, your piety, and your disinterestedness. 
It has always been my pride and boast to be counted 
one of your number, and now that it has pleased 
Almighty God to make me your Bishop, you have 
given me the highest proof of faith that men can 
give to another in the loyal, sincere, complete alle- 
giance that you have this day tendered me. God be 
praised, you could do no more! It remains for me 
to make the best use of the devoted services you 
have placed in my hands. 

"Let me say here that I have no policy to lay down. 
I simply say that I will be the Bishop, the whole 
Bishop, and nothing but the Bishop. Having sought 
not the office, I owe it to no man. I have no favors 
to repay, no grudges to requite. I have no princi- 
ples to follow other than those given in the solemn 
monitions of the pontifical. Justice, charity, and fair 
dealing will be my endeavor, that the body of Christ 
may be built up, and that right, truth, and virtue 
may prevail among priests and people. 

"If I have one ambition, it is to honor and perpet- 
uate the memory of my beloved and sainted prede- 
cessor, and if I have one desire, it is to follow in the 
straight and narrow path he trod to God. His work 
and his example is a priceless heritage to every priest 
of New Hampshire, and will be to me a never-failing 
source of inspiration. May he look down from heaven 
to-day upon us, and may he continue to guard and 
guide the destinies of the diocese he loved and served 
so well ! 

"I cannot let this occasion go by without testifying 
my gratitude and that of the priests of the diocese 


to our esteemed brother in Christ, who, during- the 
trying period of the vacancy, has filled the office of 
administrator. His term of office was marked with 
ability, with zeal, with kindness to us all, and he has 
deserved the lasting- gratitude of every one of us." 

The second presentation was made by the Rev. 
Louis S. Walsh, supervisor of the parochial schools 
in Boston. On behalf of the alumni of St. Sulpice, 
he presented the Bishop with a beautiful chalice of 
Gothic design in Roman gold, bearing- four raised 
medallions, its knob studded with diamonds, its base 
set with pearls. To this address, also, Bishop Delany 
responded in his usual happy manner. 

Mitres were so common that day as to cause con- 
siderable comment, the ices being- served in miniature 
mitres, which were kept by the priests as souvenirs of 
the occasion. 

After the banquet, those of the alumni of St. Sulpice 
there present formed a permanent organization, of 
which the newly consecrated Bishop was unanimously 
chosen president. He at once invited the society to 
hold their first annual reunion in Manchester some 
time the next year, as his guests. 

The first Mass said by Bishop Delany after his con- 
secration, was on Friday, September 9, for the Catholic 
school children of the city and their teachers, members 
of the various religious orders. On the Monday follow- 
ing he celebrated his first pontifical Mass for the re- 
pose of the soul of his predecessor. 

On Monday evening, September 12, occurred one of 
the larg-est parades ever seen in Manchester. In this 
the Catholic men of the city, hundreds of whom had 
not been privileged to assist at the religious celebration 
took part. The various parishes vied with each other 
in sending out large representations, and the result 
was a showing most creditable. 


The parade was formed on Elm street, passed over to 
and through West Manchester, thence back to the city 
proper, and finally before the reviewing stand in front 
of the cathedral chapel. 

The scenes along the route of march were every- 
where memorable. Many of the business houses dis- 
played decorations, and red fire was so profusely burnt 
that the streets were ablaze with light. Every avail- 
able point of vantage was occupied with spectators, 
who greeted each division with generous applause. 
Perhaps the parish that received most hearty praise 
was St. Hedwidge's, youngest of the eight, represented 
by over three hundred loyal Poles. They were headed 
by thirteen mounted aids, and their neat appearance 
and fine marching won favorable comment from all. 
The delegation from St. George's parish was headed 
by the pastor, the Rev. I. H. C. Davignon. All the long 
way the aged priest marched with his men, and his 
presence evoked the heartiest applause. 

The reviewing stand, with the vine-clad walls of the 
chapel for background, was beautifully festooned with 
hangings of the national and episcopal colors, and was 
lighted by three electric arc lamps. The houses in the 
neighborhood were elaborately decorated. On the 
stand, with the Rt. Rev. Bishop, were all the priests of 
the city, many clerical visitors from out of town, and 
the laymen who were to deliver addresses. In front of 
the platform, when the marchers had passed, surged a 
vast gathering of humanity, eager to hear the presenta- 
tion speeches. After a wait of a moment or two for 
quiet, the Bishop and the priests rose, and stood with 
uncovered heads while the addresses were made. 

They were made in English and French. The 
Bishop was deeply touched by such a manifestation 
of the esteem and loyalty of his people. He then ad- 


dressed the vast assemblage first in English. He 
said that it was a source of great joy to witness 
such a magnificent demonstration tendered to him in 
his honor by the Catholics of the city. Continuing, 
Bishop Delany said: "Only a few weeks ago word 
was received from Rome that I, though unworthy as 
I am, had been appointed Bishop of Manchester. The 
news was received with submission. I have been 
made an apostle of the Lord, and as such have the 
care and spiritual welfare of my people. 

"Only a few days ago our city was honored by the 
presence of the Apostolic Delegate, the greatest re- 
presentative of the Pope on this side of the water, 
and you saw him anoint my head with holy chrism, 
which made me an apostle of the Lord. 

"This demonstration to-night is an evidence of 
your loyalty and faith. Men of different nations and 
languages have assembled to take part in this recep- 
tion. Christ gave to men their gift of tongue. He 
did not ask them to change their tongue. I can only 
wish that the Lord had granted me every tongue so 
that I might thank each of you in your own language 
for this honor you have shown me. I came to you with 
affiliation for all and as the shepherd to guard the 

"I thank the committee in charge of the affair, and 
also all who have participated in this great demonstra- 
tion in my honor. 

"To my Polish friends, I would say that I thank them 
for their part in this event, and only wish that I might 
be able to address them in their own language. They 
have been persecuted for their faith in their country 
and have come here. It is my duty to assist them in 
their spiritual welfare and aid them in becoming good 
and loyal citizens." 


Bishop Delany then made a brief address in French, 
in which he thanked the French Catholics who had par- 
ticipated in the event. 

In French, he said: 
"My Dear French-Speaking Friends: 

"I thank you with all my heart for the sentiments 
expressed in your address, and for this magnificent 
demonstration of your faith and your devotion towards 
me as the head of the diocese of Manchester. 

"Nobody appreciates more than myself the loyal 
French-Canadian race, and no one knows better than 
I what you have done for the city of Manchester, this 
State of New Hampshire, and the entire diocese. 

Now that God has placed me at the head of the dio- 
cese, and that the Holy Ghost has named me pastor 
of this field, is it necessary for me to profess the love 
that I feel for each of you? It was not to-day that I 
learned to love the French spirit. It was among 
you that I made my theological studies. It was in 
France that I received the sacrament of Holy Orders. 
It is France that I esteem as the Country of my soul. 
How, then, could it be possible that I should not love 
the sons of that land, the best part of which, I affirm, 
has been named Canadian, and part of which God has 
placed under my care. 

"It is with sentiments of love and respect that you 
have greeted me to-night, and it is with the same 
sentiments that I receive you. If I have any advice to 
offer you, as your spiritual chief, they are that you 
be true to the Catholic traditions that you have brought 
with you to this land; be ever faithful to the voice of 
your pastors, and, let me add here, be faithful, be true 
to the land that gives you a home; remembering that 
the better Catholics you are, the better citizens you 


The following extracts from editorial comments on 
the appointment of the new head of the Manchester 
diocese are sufficient evidence of the high regard in 
which the Bishop-elect was held by the newspaper fra- 
ternity in New England: 


Genuine grief was felt by Catholic and Protestant 
alike at the death of Bishop Denis M. Bradley, and 
genuine concern as to the choice of a successor to 
him, for it was a matter of the utmost importance to 
the Church and the community. Equally genuine are 
the expressions of gratification that the choice has 
fallen upon the Rev. J. B. Delany, one of Bishop 
Bradley's trusted priests and one of Manchester's 
most highly esteemed citizens. Those who know him 
are confident that he will administer the spiritual and 
temporal affairs of the diocese faithfully and wisely, 
and many are the prayers that will be joined to his, 
asking that he may be made a worthy successor to 
that good and gentle man with whom the diocese was 
blessed, and whose presence here worked for good 
among us all. 

Father Delany is not new to the task that lies be- 
fore him. He comes to it with a full knowledge of 
its responsibilities, in the prime of life, and with a 
mental and physical endowment peculiarly suited to 
the work. He has a wide acquaintance, and is loved 
and respected wherever he is known. The same 
considerations and emotions that led men of all creeds, 
and of all sorts and conditions, to lament the death of 
Bishop Bradley, will lead them to rejoice over the se- 
lection of Father Delany to succeed him. 


The position to which Father John B. Delany has been 
assigned by the head of the Catholic Church is one 


which only a great and good man can fill successfully. 
It is a difficult place, not only because it is one of tre- 
mendous power and responsibility, but because the in- 
cumbent will necessarily be contrasted with the be- 
loved, respected, and admired Bishop Bradley, whose 
worldly wisdom, tact, and executive genius were as 
commanding as his piety and devotion were untiring 
and unfailing. 

Father Delany has a cordial welcome to his new post. 
His profound learning, his piety and his loyalty have 
been proved and are known. He was the associate of 
Bishop Bradley for many years, and is thoroughly famil- 
iar with the duties of his position, with the more than 
fifty churches in his jurisdiction, and with the thous- 
ands of communicants. His own people believe in him, 
and from the beginning he commands not only their re- 
gard but their affection. Others must necessarily ac- 
cept him largely upon trust, but they do it in the belief 
and with the sincere wish that he will justify his ap- 


The report which received official confirmation at 
Washington late on Saturday had its origin almost 
contemporaneously with the death in last December 
of the great first Bishop of Manchester. In far away 
corners of New Hampshire, if there be those who say, 
"Is he fit? Is he worthy?" their anxiety for their 
church will be removed when they know that almost 
with that dark day when Bishop Bradley's people 
turned to one another in tears to ask, "Where shall his 
successor be found?" the answer was nearly always in the 
name of the young priest who had been at his side and 
in his closest confidence for five worthy years. And 
from that moment, notwithstanding reports of one kind 


and another that have been put forward for various 
reasons in the public press, there has been no disquiet 
in the hearts of Manchester Catholics. 

Perhaps it would not be right to say that this is the 
only case of the kind, but it is at least worthy of re- 
mark that here was a case, anyhow, wherein no word 
of objection was raised from one end of the diocese 
to the other. We say that this is remarkable, because 
all men are human; and here was a young- man of ten 
years' experience in the priesthood, who had never been 
in charge of a parish, and who was at once to be el- 
evated to the nobility of the Church over the heads, 
as the world says, of men of riper experience and of 
many years' self-sacrificing labor in the vineyard. Not 
one word of protest. In a See where the children of 
the Church are of many lands, and where they speak 
a various language, the appointment of Father Delany 
to the bishopric was taken for granted, and on all sides 
there was, and there is, the most complete satisfaction. 

It is a heavy burden that this young priest is about 
to take up. An exalted place, truly, a station of the 
highest dignity, but carrying with it cares that the 
world knows little of. Endowed by nature with un- 
usual abilities, he brings to meet these duties a rugged, 
fearless, sincere faith. 

We may congratulate Bishop-elect John Bernard 
Delany on the honors that have come to him. Much 
more may we congratulate the Roman Catholics of the 
diocese of Manchester upon their new Bishop. 


In Nashua the elevation of a man so deserving as 
Father Delany brings a sense of pleasure to members 
of the Catholic Church as well as to those of other creeds. 
All recognize in him a clergyman of exceeding ability, 
and predict abundant success in his conduct of church 
work throughout the State. 



An honest, noble, spiritual leader has been put at 
the head of the Manchester diocese of the Catholic 
Church in the person of Rt. Rev. John B. Delany, 
D. D., of Manchester, recently appointed to the 
bishopric. The Catholics of Nashua are not alone in 
welcoming- to the front so able and so whole-souled a 
man as Rev. Fr. Delany. All churches sorrowed in 
the passing 1 of one so firm and true in the way as 
the late Bishop Bradley, who was a foremost cham- 
pion of many of the great and good works done 
throughout the State for years. There was no hesi- 
tancy in marking- his successor, however, and at once 
all eyes were turned to Rev. John B. Delany. 
Through the weeks of uncertainty there has never 
been a doubt in the minds of his followers that he 
would receive the honor and responsibility. Now 
that it has become assured all alike rejoice. Rev. Fr. 
Delany from boyhood up has led a life devoted to 
the Church, always interested in public affairs, ath- 
letic and robust, he has not sacrificed either body or 
mind in developing- himself for great work. There is 
every confidence in his ability, and rejoicing in his 


The election of Rt. Rev. John B. Delany to the 
office of Bishop of Manchester was very pleasing to 
the people of New Hampshire, Catholics and Protest- 
ants alike. Bishop-elect Delany has long been recog- 
nized as one of the ablest clergymen in the State, and 
he is, at the same time, one of the most popular. 
No better selection could have been made. 

Rev. Fr. Delany has a great many friends in 
Portsmouth, gained while he held the position of 
curate of the Church of the Immaculate Conception 


in this city. His advancement especially pleases 
Portsmouth people therefore, because he is regarded 
as almost one of themselves. His friends here are not 
confined to those of his own faith, but include many 
people prominent in the local Protestant churches. 

The office of Bishop of Manchester, making its 
holder, as it does, the spiritual adviser of thousands of 
citizens of the State, is a most important one, and it is 
cause for congratulation that a man of Rev. Fr. Delany's 
ability, energy, and broad-minded character has been 
chosen to fill it. 


It is with intense satisfaction that the friends of Rev. 
John B. Delany in this city have heard the news of his 
official appointment by the Holy See as Bishop of Man- 

Father Delany is a young man of rare attainments as 
a scholar, an organizer, and a writer. As editor of the 
Guidon, a Catholic magazine, published at Manchester, 
with a circulation extending all over New England, Rev. 
Fr. Delany has proved himself an able writer, a keen 
controversalist, although he seldom enters a contro- 
versy voluntarily. His progressive work in his maga- 
zine shows that he is a believer in the power of the press 
as a valuable adjunct to the pulpit in the propagation of 
religious doctrine as well as of general intelligence. 

As a rule the priests of the Catholic Church avoid 
publicity; they consider it inconsistent with true 
humility to have their sermons published or even their 
names favorably mentioned in the public press. For 
this reason they are largely averse to the reporting of 
sermons or of religious ceremonies of any kind, but 
Rev. Fr. Delany, while as humble in manner as any of 
them, believes in using the press to guide and enlighten 
those who go to church as well as to reach with religious 


appeals those who do not go to church and who cannot 
be reached in any other way. He realizes the vast 
power of the press, and he believes in using 1 it in spread- 
ing 1 the light of the gospel as an adjunct to the pulpit 
and the ministry. 

It is in this light that his sterling ability and zeal have 
been recognized by the Holy Father. The universal 
opinion is that the choice is the best that could be made. 
Those who know Rev. Fr. Delany believe he will more 
than fill the highest expectations of his friends as an 
administrator, an organizer, and a missionary. 


With all the cares of responsible offices, and his work 
as chaplain and confessor of several religious communi- 
ties, Father Delany founded The Guidon, an excellent 
illustrated monthly magazine, which he has edited with 
singular ability until now. It has been the official organ 
of the diocese, and it has had a great educative value in 
diffusing among the people a knowledge of sacred art 
and of past and current Church history. It must be 
said, also, as of everything in which its editor has 
had a hand, that it has been a success on the busi- 
ness side. 

His close association with Bishop Bradley has given 
him an intimate knowledge of the affairs of the dio- 
cese, and in his direct, simple, and kindly nature he 
is very like his beloved predecessor. Bishop-elect 
Delany is scarcely thirty-nine years of age. He takes 
charge of a diocese whose priesthood is singularly 
united. Priests and people rejoice in the youth, 
strength, and energy of their new Bishop, and all his 
friends unite with these in wishing him many years 
to build up the Church of God on the broad founda- 
tions which are his happy heritage. 



The appointment of Father Delany is a distinct 
tribute to his excellent work as secretary and chancellor 
of the diocese, during- the long- episcopate of the late 
Rt. Rev. Denis M. Bradley, and his excellent cooper- 
ation with the Very Rev. Eugene M. O'Callaghan 
since Bishop Bradley 's death in the administration 
of the diocese. 

Father Delany has had a bright, brilliant, and beau- 
tiful career. He is a Boston College graduate, and with 
Bishop O'Connell of Portland comprises that institu- 
tion's showing- in the episcopacy of New England. 
A man of culture and very talented, his literary work 
has been a feature of his efforts. For years he has 
very ably edited The Guidon, the illustrated Catho- 
lic monthly of the diocese. 


Official announcement of the election of the Rev. 
John B. Delany to the Bishopric of Manchester has 
followed repeated rumor, and there is joy among the 
Catholics of New Hampshire. The Bishop-elect is 
known throughout the diocese and far beyond its 
limits. He is a man of many works and, though 
young in years, is old in achievements. 

Bishop Bradley, quick to discern the capabilities of 
the zealous Father Delany, called the young priest to 
his personal assistance and named him Chancellor of 
the See of Manchester. He found in the youthful 
official a veritable Lawrence. 

Of true apostolic timber, Father Delany suffered 
his zeal to carry him far beyond the walls of the 
chancery and beyond the limits of the episcopal city. 
Like St. Paul, he was impatient for the conversion 
of those without, and so he labored with tongue and 


pen but always wisely and with splendid success. 
The non-Catholic missionary movement found in him 
an able champion. He is, and no doubt will continue 
to be the editor and leading spirit of The Guidon a 
periodical which commands the respect of Catholics 
wherever it is read. 

There is no more indefatigable worker in the Ca- 
tholic Church of New England than Bishop-elect Delany. 
His advancement to the episcopate is a recognition 
of demonstrated worth. We have no doubt that the same 
zeal and success which characterized him as chancellor, 
editor, and missionary, will attend him in the higher 
labors of the episcopate. 

The second Bishop of Manchester succeeds to a dio- 
cese well ordered and prosperous. He brings to the 
exacting duties of bis post exceptional equipment. 
His Paris education will make him a power among the 
French speaking portion of his flock. His experience 
as missionary and writer will enable him to speak 
forcefully and send his voice from end to end of his 

Amid his manifold duties as chancellor and editor, 
Father Delany found time now and again to court 
the Muse. His verses have about them a flavor of 
true Christian poetry. It is to be hoped that the ex- 
alted cares of the episcopate will silence neither 
preacher, nor editor, nor poet. Leo XIII. indited in- 
spiring stanzas, even when weighed down with years 
and with the care of all the churches. May his 
spirit descend upon Manchester, bringing with it 
longevity and ever-increasing intellectual vigor. 


The nomination of the Rev. John Bernard Delany 
as Bishop of Manchester is officially announced. 


This nomination will bring- satisfaction to the dif- 
ferent elements of which are composed the Catholics 
of New Hampshire, particularly to those of Irish 
descent, who, though in the minority, have again suc- 
ceeded in having- a bishop of their own nationality. 

The French Catholics would have greatly desired a 
bishop taken from the ranks of their own clergy. It 
was a legitimate desire. But they are consoled in 
their disappointment by the fact that they look at 
the Bishop-elect as almost one of their own, consider- 
ing his profound knowledge of the French language. 
We must bear in mind that for four years Father 
Delany studied theology in the celebrated Seminary 
of St. Sulpice in Paris, where he became familiar 
with French ideas and imbued with the French 

We are told that the members of our French- 
American clergy are most satisfied with this nomina- 
tion, that in fact the majority of them had desired it. 
Under the circumstances it is a duty, and without 
doubt a pleasure, for the French-American faithful 
to share the satisfaction of their pastors. 

The episcopal throne of Manchester will be held by 
a titular highly qualified in every respect. Having 
for many years filled the office of chancellor, he is 
familiar with all the needs of the diocese, and no one 
is better equipped than he to continue the works of 
the prelate whose zeal, charity, and tireless labor for 
the glory of God and salvation of souls will long be 

We feel convinced that the Rev. Father Delany 
will show the same kind of administrative ability that 
distinguished his regretted predecessor. Relatively 
a young man, he is learned, full of ardor for the 
works of his ministry, he is just, and loved, and revered 
by all his fellow-citizens to whatever religious denomi- 
nation they belong. 


LSAvenir National expresses the sentiments of all 
the French-Catholics of New Hampshire in placing at 
the feet of his Lordship, Bishop Delany, the homage 
of their filial devotion and entire submission. 


The Rt. Rev. John Bernard Delany, D. D., successor 
to the beloved Bishop Bradley, assumes charge of the 
flourishing diocese of Manchester, N. H M under the 
most auspicious circumstances. He is the youngest 
prelate in New England, and one who enjoys the esteem 
and respect of all who know him. In many respects 
he resembles his predecessor, who was the youngest 
bishop in the United States when consecrated twenty 
years ago. Bishop Delany has reached his fortieth 
year and the thirteenth of his priesthood. He is strong 
and vigorous in body, well and carefully trained intellec- 
tually, with a perfect knowledge of the English and 
French languages, an essential requirement for the 
diocese of Manchester. 

As chancellor and private secretary to the late Bishop 
for the past six years, he became thoroughly acquainted 
with the affairs and management of the diocese, and by 
his zeal, industry, and prudence won the esteem and 
confidence of his Bishop. As editor of The Guidon 
since the time of its inception, his scholarly attainments 
have been widely recognized and highly enjoyed by all 
readers of current Catholic literature. 

The new Bishop is a prime favorite with the young 
men of the State. He has been for many years spirit- 
ual director of the Knights of Columbus, a society ex- 
erting a far-reaching influence not only throughout New 
Hampshire but likewise in all the great cities of the 
United States and Canada. 

Bishop Delany is to be congratulated in presiding 
over a diocese so well equipped as that of Manchester, 


with a population of upwards of one hundred and four 
thousand devoted Catholics, one hundred and seven 
priests, and nearly four hundred religious teachers hav- 
ing- under their care thirteen thousand pupils. The 
diocese and city of Manchester are blessed with a fine 
diocesan college, one of the best hospitals in the State, 
and charitable institutions for young and old. That 
Bishop Delany will follow in the footsteps of his saintly 
predecessor goes without saying. 


It is gratifying to know that the nominee the Rev. 
John B. Delany of the Manchester priests under the 
presidency of the Archbishop of Boston has been ap- 
pointed to succeed the late Bishop Bradley. After all, 
the clergy of the diocese have the best means of know- 
ing the merits of their fellow priests; their deliberate 
choice is in itself a high honor as well as a proof of 
supereminence. The Holy Scriptures enumerate some- 
what in detail the characteristics of a bishop; he should 
be blameless, sober, prudent, hospitable, and "more- 
over he must have a good testimony of them who are 
without." This "good testimony" of the Protestants 
of New Hampshire to Bishop Delany's worth is posi- 
tive and outspoken. The Manchester Union, speaking 
for the Protestants of the State, saysthatBishopDelany's 
appointment "will be received with profound satisfac- 
tion throughout the State" and that "he is loved and 
respected wherever he is known." 

We should offer the good Bishop not simply our con- 
gratulations but our prayers also, that God in the 
future as in the past may be with him. His duties 
and responsibilities now are greater than ever, for now 
he is in a special manner the steward of God. Here- 
after the apostle's warning must be constantly before 


his eyes: "Take heed to yourself and to the whole 
flock wherein the Holy Ghost hath placed you Bishop 
to rule the Church of God." 


The first editor of The Guidon, the Rt. Rev. John 
B. Delany, has turned apostle and become a prince 
of the Church. He received episcopal consecration 
in his own cathedral, Thursday, Sept. 8th, at the hands 
of the apostolic delegate, the Most Reverend Diomede 
Falconio, D. D. We wish to add our heartfelt con- 
gratulations to the chorus of voices which have greeted 
him with joy on his accession to the See of Manches- 
ter, and to hail him as our spiritual chief. A brief 
eight months ago sorrow filled our hearts when death 
claimed our first and ever-to-be lamented Bishop 
Bradley, a prelate whose great works for God's glory, 
whose self-sacrifice, learning, simplicity, and true 
humility must serve to secure for him a lasting place 
in the minds and hearts of a devoted clergy and laity. 
But, to-day, sorrow gives place to joy as we welcome 
his successor, appointed by the Vicar of Christ, Pius 
X.; and we bespeak for him the same affection, re- 
spect, and esteem which was ever shown to good 
Bishop Bradley. It could not be otherwise, for in 
Bishop Delany we behold goodness of soul, greatness 
of intellect, integrity of life, sanctity of morals, and 
an apostolic zeal which will prompt him to consecrate 
all his strength to the services of the Church of 
Christ. In him we firmly believe that the priests of 
the diocese will find a kind, most charitable, and 
most exemplary Bishop; the people, a faithful spiritual 
father and true friend, and the Church a pious and 
most devoted servant. We all unite in asking the 
divine blessing upon him, that he may have the grace 


and power of an apostle now that he is in the seat 
of the apostles. May God grant him length of days, 
health, and joy to "go on prosperously and to reign" 
over a loving- and beloved flock. 

Reverend and Dear Father: 

In conformity with the wish of our Holy Father, 
the Pope, we hereby proclaim the jubilee in honor 
of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Mother 
of Our Saviour. This jubilee is intended to commem- 
orate the fiftieth anniversary of the definition of that 
dogma of our holy faith which declares that Mary, 
the Mother of Jesus, was conceived without sin. 

It is the desire of the Holy Father that, during 
these days of grace, the faithful throughout the world 
manifest by special and signal acts of religion their 
love and devotion for the Blessed Mother of God. 

Called to the office of Bishop, we had the happi- 
ness to be consecrated on the feast of Our Lady's 
nativity and it is, then, a source of sincere joy that 
our first official announcement to all the flock com- 
mitted to our care should be to proclaim this jubilee 
of prayer in honor of our Blessed Mother in Heaven. 
As loyal subjects of the Church and as loving clients 
of Mary we are sure that the faithful of the diocese 
will hail with joy the opportunity to honor her whom 
God honored above all creatures, and to invoke the 
aid of her whom God made the dispenser of His 

Wherefore we declare that the time of gaining the 
indulgences of the jubilee will be from the first Sun- 
day of October to the 8th of December inclusive. 

The conditions required for gaining the plenary 
indulgence are these: 

1. Three visits to the church. 


2. One day of fast and abstinence. 

3. Confession and Holy Communion and a prayer 
for the intention of our Holy Father the Pope. 

As to the visits prescribed: Incur episcopal city we 
require that the members of all parishes shall make 
the jubilee visits to the Cathedral church. In other 
places these visits may be made to the parish church. 
All three may be made on the same day. 

Those living in religious communities may make 
these visits to their house chapel. 

The fast required, by commutation of the Bishop, 
is the usual Lenten fast, allowing the use of milk, 
butter, eggs, and cheese. Confessors may substitute 
acts of piety for those who, by reason of age or infirm- 
ity, are unable to comply with this general condition. 

We recommend pastors to appoint certain days as 
days of retreat when more than the ordinary facilities 
can be given the people to approach the sacraments. 

The extraordinary faculties granted to confessors 
during this time will be found and explained in the 
circular accompanying this letter. 

It is our intention to leave for Rome within a short 
time and, in response to the invitation of the Holy 
Father, to assist at the magnificent ceremonies of the 
jubilee at the tomb of the apostles. Rev. dear Father, 
we shall have you and your people continually in our 
mind and frequently in our heart in fervent prayer. 
Pray then for us that God may prosper the long 
journey and bring us back to resume the great work 
committed to our care. Extending to one and all my 
episcopal benediction, I remain 

Yours faithfully in Christ Jesus, 

Bishop of Manchester. 
Given at Manchester, 
Sept. 28, 1904. 


One month after his consecration, in response to the 
invitation of Pope Pius X. to the Bishops of the world 
to assist in Rome at the celebration of the fiftieth anni- 
versary of the definition of the Dog-ma of the Immaculate 
Conception, the new Bishop, accompanied by two of his 
sisters and his intimate friend, Father Anderson, 
now Auxiliary Bishop of Boston, sailed for Europe. 
Before going- to Rome he spent some weeks revisit- 
ing- the places endeared to him during- his seminary 

The following- extracts from his letters written 
during his travels in Ireland, England, France, and 
Italy tell of the pleasant days spent in the Old 
World : 

Manchester, Oct. 9, 1904. 
My dear Sister: 

Here I am almost on the eve of my departure and 
I come to say good-bye. As you can imagine I have 
been very busy since the consecration and will be 
rlad to get away. I have confirmed fully a thousand, 
dedicated two churches, given all the orders from 
tonsure up and ordained four priests, to say nothing 
of all the receptions and dinners I have attended and 
the schools and convents I have visited. At all of 
these I was obliged to speak. 

It seems like six months instead of one since I 
have been a Bishop, but only because of hurry, not 

I have never felt better in my life, and am in good 
condition to enjoy the trip abroad. You will hear from 
us as we go along, and I will ask the Pope for a special 
blessing for you and Trinity. 

This is only a little word to tell you how happy we all 
are, to say good-bye for a little while, and to give you 
my heartfelt blessing. 

Your own Bishop, 



Lakes of Killarney, Oct. 24, 1904. 

We have just returned from a tour of the Lakes, and 
I want to tell you of the good time we had. No matter 
about the voyage, and I won't say anything about Cork, 
for the weather was "beastly," as the English call it. 
We forgive all for to-day's pleasant experience. How 
fortunate we were! Here, in the midst of an Irish 
winter of cold and rain, we had a day as fine as any in 
June, and probably the last of its kind for months. 

After Mass at an old cathedral, eleventh century 
model, we were off. Picture a side car, the two girls in 
traveling suits, Father A with his soft hat and Eng- 
lish raincoat, myself with the old cap, and a jarvey with 
little white side whiskers and the richest, sweetest 
brogue you ever listened to. All along the road he 
pointed out the beautiful places, told fairy tales, quoted 
poetry, paid compliments to the ladies, and " milord "- 
ed me. Along the green lanes, by haunted houses, 
lordly demesnes, and little thatched cottages we drove in 
the glorious sunlight, until we came to the Gap of Dun- 
loe and Kate Kearney's cottage. Here we all mounted 
horses quiet little fellows they were, to be sure but 
horses, nevertheless. Up the narrow mountain we 
started. The ascent was gradual and of course per- 
fectly safe, and we tried to look unconscious and accus- 
tomed to it, but if the pony started on a little jog the 
bouncing he gave us showed we were all very green at 
the business. I wish I could describe the trip, but it 
must be seen to be appreciated. Narrower and narrow- 
er the mountains converge, steeper and steeper they 
rise on both sides, their rugged surfaces covered in 
spots with the heather, now turned to a rich brown 
color. Up, up we go and turn and twist along the side 
of a stream or lake, over quaint stone bridges built hun- 
dreds of years ago, stopping to look back through the 


opening's in the mountains to a stretch of fertile plain 
beyond, topped by a gorgeous sky of clouds. Our pony 
boys so called, though one of them must have been 
sixty told all the legends of the places we passed 
stories of the devil, St. Patrick, and Colleen Bawn. Here 
and there we passed though never without stopping 
a little wayside inn, where goat's milk was sold. Bare- 
footed beggars followed us, and such persistent rogues 
were hard to find. After two hours without dismount- 
ing we came to the head waters of the Lakes. To ease 
our tired bones we sat in a charming little grove and 
had tea. 

Our boatmen were waiting for us, and at three we 
began our trip. The hotel people had provided a dainty 
lunch. A good appetite did the rest as we sped over the 
waters. The Upper Lake is in the midst of the high 
mountains, and the low October sun lighted all with 
glory. Surely it is hardly exaggeration to say 

"Angels fold their wings and rest 
In this haven of the west," 

for it seems but a step from the top of these sun- 
capped hills into heaven. 

Our boatmen were types. All along, one of them, 
Mick Gleason, told stories and sang songs. One of the 
songs told of a wedding, and brought in as guests all 
the personages of history from Nebuchadnezzar and 
Alexander the Great to Napoleon Bonaparte. He point- 
ed out the footprints on the rocks where giants leaped 
across the stream. Here I won a wager with him a 
kind of "heads I win and tails you lose." We came to a 
bend in the Lake with no visible outlet but a number of 
little bays. We were to find the way out. The rest of 
the party guessed this one and that, but I dropped my 
cigar ashes into the water and watched the direction it 
took. My guess was right. 


A winding- river-road of five miles, with a new scene 
at every turn, leads to the Middle Lake. On the way 
Mick told us of his matrimonial experiences. He had 
been married three times. The first wife, the most 
beautiful woman in the world, God took to Himself after 
six months of wedded bliss. The second wife God 
took also. The third ! he only wished and prayed that 
God would take her, for she was the bane of his life. He 
told us of his pride and joy at having rowed Cardinal 
Vanutelli over the same course. Whenever he spoke of 
him he raised his cap and called him "His Immense.*' 

Along- we sped to the Lower Lake. The great hills 
behind us were shrouded in black, but the water be- 
fore us was like a sea of gold. A purple sky, and 
one lone bright star, with Ross Castle, marked our 
way. Innisfallen, the most historic and sacred spot 
in Ireland, lay beside us. The little islands in this 
light looked what their names described O'Donog- 
hue's Prison, O'Donoghue's Dove Cote. A quiet bay 
before landing-, and Mick entertained us once more 
with a vocal selection, this time "The Cruiskeen Lawn" 
with variations of words and music of his own. The 
golden moon was just rising- above the ivy-covered 
castle as we reached the landing at its foot. Our 
side-car was waiting, and off we were for a two mile 
drive and home. So ended the happy day. Good 
night. God bless you. 

Paris, Nov. 3, 1904. 

This is my first night in Paris and I spend it in 
writing to you. The rest of the party have gone to the 
theatre. After supper I went to St. Sulpice, the dear old 
place of long ago, and found your letters there and 
pleased I was to get them. Of course you have my 
"Irish" letter by this time, and I hope it put any 
fears as to my health at rest. I was never better in 
my life, but am getting fat how ungenteel. 


Where shall I begin this time? Perhaps I had better 
tell you briefly what we have done so far. Well, we 
saw Limerick. Next we visited the place where 
Father was born and saw the "slate house" we had 
heard so much about and the good, simple souls re- 
maining there. We took some snap-shots, and if they 
come out they will tell their own story, but they can't 
tell the awe and reverence with which I was received 
under their humble roof. 

Dublin proved very interesting to the girls, and we 
saw everything of importance. We had a letter to the 
Rev. Dr. Delany, head of the Catholic University, 
founded by Newman, and we learned more of the 
family from him than we had known before. He 
told us that in scholarship the University has won 
more honors than all the royal universities in Ireland 
put together. Six of the professors are government 
fellows and their salary is the principal income of 
the institution. He also told us something of Newman 
who founded this university. On a visit to the Car- 
dinal, Dr. Delany begged his blessing and asked for 
an occasional prayer for the success of the univer- 
sity. The Cardinal answered: "I have never said 
Mass since the day I left, but I make a special me- 
mento for the Catholic University of Ireland, for I 
know of its need and the powerful good it can become 
for the greater glory of God." 

In London we had real London weather, fog but no 
rain to speak of. I said Mass at the new cathedral 
and assisted at the service on Sunday morning and 
evening. The music was superb and by choir boys 
entirely. I met the Archbishop and had a pleasant 
visit with him. 

The night of All Souls we went to the Brompton Ora- 
tory where Faber and Newman lived and saw a beautiful 


procession of the Confraternity of the Precious Blood, 
a society established by Faber. Of course Westmin- 
ster came in for its share of attention, with its mon- 
uments of illustrious dead, names so familiar that these 
brought close to us. Some of the most touching 
were Edward the Confessor, a saint in very bad com- 
pany; Mary Stuart; poets and writers the soldiers; 
I care little about, they wrote, too, but wrote in blood. 

During- these stormy days, when England is roused 
at the outrage of the North Sea, as it is called, I think 
I can understand better than ever one secret of the 
patriotism of her people She knows how to reward 
her servants. Living, she grudges them nothing by 
way of honors, titles to themselves and their posterity, 
palaces, and wealth; the dead, she hallows their mem- 
ory by every way art can devise. Is not this an 
inspiration? Yet how cruel the story her monuments 
tell! Here is Cromwell, the destroyer of the Church, 
and Henry VIII. and Elizabeth. Here are the beautiful 
cathedrals turned over for Protestant worship, or left 
in mouldering ruins, and a whole country bereft of the 
true religion. 

We visited London Tower, and saw the cells where 
so many illustrious prisoners were kept, saw the axe 
and block where they were beheaded, and the spot 
where Anne Boleyn was executed. We visited Hamp- 
ton Court, built by Wolsey, coveted by Henry and 
presented to him. The chapel stands just as it did 
in his day. It was here he was married three times, 
and the royal box is shown where Anne, escaping from 
her keepers, besought the king to spare her life, but 
in vain. 

We stopped at Stratford and Oxford on the way to 
London, and enjoyed the sight of these historic places. 


Genoa, November 16, 1904. 

Our stay at Paris was very pleasant. I had the 
opportunity to visit old scenes and old friends, both 
rejoiced me very much. I said Mass at St. Sulpice, 
at the altar where I said "my first Mass; visited Issy 
where I came for the first time, as a student, thirteen 
years before and, of course, was received right royally 
everywhere. Poor old St. Sulpice was as I left it. 
Even the seminarians looked so natural that I was al- 
most on the point of calling- them by name, so much 
did they resemble their prototypes of my day. The 
old "concierge" remembered me, called me by name 
without hesitation, and was overjoyed to learn that I 
was now a bishop. The few old professors remaining 
were like children in their reverence, love, and simpli- 
city. I dined with the Community at Issy, and the 
boys had "Deo Gratias" in my honor. Since I was 
there they have finished the new part and added a 
beautiful chapel, so exquisite, that I know of nothing 
better in all of Paris. A cloud of sorrow hangs over 
all. It is the iniquitous laws that are now being en- 
forced. The Sulpicians have been given their notice 
to leave and all is blank before them. 

In the crypt of the new chapel are the cells of the 
Archbishop of Paris, and Paul Segnany, a seminarian 
of St. Sulpice, who was shot during the Commune, and 
a piece of the wall against which they stood. 

Paris is a gay place, it is true, and a wicked one, 
too, if we can judge by what appears on the surface, 
but for me it has, and it will always have, holy mem- 
ories above all other places in the world. After seeing 
the gay places until my sisters wondered if any holy 
places could be found there at all, I showed them some 
of these. We went to the Church of the Carmes 
a place where visitors seldom go, but one well known 


to me. It is occupied now by the Catholic University, 
and an old professor of mine is its president. In the 
crypt are the skulls and bones of more than a hundred 
priests who were slain during- the Revolution. Here, 
too, is a cross on which Lacordaire had himself sus- 
pended during 1 three hours on Good Friday. Here 
also, is the simple slab that marks the grave of Fred- 
erick Ozanam. One of the presidents of this institution 
was Cardinal Lavigerie. It is just such men as these 
three that France needs now, but they do not seem 
to be in sight. 

Every day brings new stories of tyranny and per- 
secution in the treatment of religious orders, especially 
in what concerns the women. I heard of one case 
where two Sisters, sisters by blood, and nuns of the 
same convent, were obliged to leave with the rest. 
They naturally went together. When the authorities 
found this out, these poor women were told they must 
separate "two made a community" and was forbidden 
by law. 

Here is a piece of information that I venture to say 
will not receive wide circulation. While I was still in 
Paris, a hot scene occurred in the "Chambre des De- 
put<s. It was shown that the Ministry employed the 
Masonic lodges to spy on army officers and report 
to the Minister of War. After denying this for a week 
and lying shamelessly, proof was produced and the fact 
was admitted. If the wife of an officer went to Mass 
or the children attended a Catholic school, this story 
was duly recorded and promotion refused the officer. 

The Minister of War, Andre\ was struck by a de- 
pute\ Sventon. Two duels resulted with the usual 
ridiculous ending. This fact, perhaps better than any 
other, shows who and what are at the bottom of the 
present religious persecution. It shows this, too, that 


a government where merit, capacity, service, and hon- 
esty are passed over, and where promotion and pre- 
ferment depend on simulation and moral cowardice, 
that government cannot long stand. Imagine what 
must be the feelinsr of honest, patriotic soldiers and 
sailors to realize that they are governed by such 
men. France is laying up a store for herself in the 
great day of wrath. 

Another feature of Paris to-day is the shocking 
pictures and literature found everywhere. These 
things have not even the excuse of art. They are 
low, stupid, brutal in their sensuality. This seems 
to be part of the propaganda to demoralize the people. 

The Riviera is a little earthly paradise. Always 
summer, not a burning, wasting summer, but almost 
like our month of June. The great mountains came 
down to the water edge and often project in promon- 
tories far out to sea, making those beautiful harbors, 
such as Nice, Monaco, and Villefranche. 

The palm is found everywhere; oranges, lemons, 
olives, grow in profusion, and the walls and roadsides 
are covered with beautiful flowers. The hills are 
dotted with castles and villas with here and there a 
little village, its church spire rising between the trees. 
The tops of the highest mountains are crowned with 
fortifications guarding the approaches from the fron- 

The drive from Nice to Monte Carlo is sublime. 
Up, up winds the road along the face of the cliff. Every 
turn brings a new scene, and most of the journey 
we are in sight of the blue Mediterranean. At places, 
we could lay our hand on a precipice that rose a 
thousand feet in sheer ascent above us, and look 
below into a chasm a thousand feet in depth. Then 


Monaco and Monte Carlo came into view, lying- far 
below us and extending 1 out into the sea. It is im- 
possible to describe the grandeur of the scene. 

Monte Carlo is a town apart from Monaco but 
forming- one principality with it. The Casino, of 
course, is the principal attraction. 

We dined with the cure' of the Church of St. Devote*, 

a friend of Father A 's, and called upon the bishop 

after dinner. Monday night was like a night in fairy- 
land. It was the fte of the Prince and the town was 
illuminated. Such a scene! The buildings all along the 
shore and on the hills about were outlined with lights 
of various colors, as the moon rose over all and lighted 
up the beautiful bay. If Monaco is a paradise by 
day, it is a fairyland by night. 

On the hill overlooking Nice we visited an old 
Monastery, occupied for five hundred years by 
Franciscans. These have been chased away with the 
rest, but the cur of the church let us into the old clois- 
ter and garden. It is the fairest spot of all. Such a 
view as you get looking up and down the river from the 
Alps to the sea! The garden is overgrown now and 
going to ruin, and the poor old monastery looks des- 
olate indeed. We saw the solitary care-taker, an old, 
bare-footed, bare-headed monk, carrying 1 a big basket 
of vegetables. Humble looking enough he was, but 
while we stopped to admire a complicated sun dial on 
the wall, the cur told us that the old monk was its 
maker; moreover he is a member of the Academy of 
Science and his published works have received medals 
from learned societies. 

On the walls of the cloister were old prints repre- 
senting the martyrdom of Franciscans. I read this 
beautiful thought from St. Francis De Sales: "La joie 
de mourir sans peine vaut le peine de vivre sans joie-" 
" The joy to die without pain is worth the pain to 
live without joy." 


Nice, Nov. 13, 1904. 

The dear little message from the doves of the 
cenacle came to me to-day, and I was indeed pleased 
to hear from them. I needed not the assurance their 
letter gave me that their prayers had followed me 
even so far as I am now from them. Please thank 
them, Reverend Mother, for me, and tell them I 
have not forgotten them. 

We have had a very pleasant trip so far, and have 
reason to be grateful to God, who gave us the oppor- 
tunity of seeing so much of His beautiful world. 

In Ireland we visited the Lakes of Killarney, and 
were favored with a perfect day, all sunshine and the 
glory of the sky. Every spot of this dear old land 
has some quaint legend about St. Patrick, Finn 
McCool, the Devil, and the like. I remarked to our 
guide, who told us these stories in all earnestness, 
that the Devil seemed to have a good deal to do with 
Ireland. "He had, sir," he replied, "but he is an 
absentee landlord." 

We went to Muckross Abbey and saw the ruins 
of Innisfail, mute reminders of the days when Ire- 
land was the home of saints and scholars. The 
beautiful ivy-covered ruins still glorify God, for the 
visitor feels the truth of the lines: 

"Still at Muckross we must pray, 
Though the monks have gone away." 

In England I had several happy reminders that the 
Precious Blood is honored there. In the first place 
the magnificent new cathedral is dedicated, as you 
know, to the Precious Blood and I said Mass there on 
the Sunday after our arrival and on the feasts 
of All Saints and All Souls. On the evening of 
All Souls I went to the Church of the Oratory. 
During the service a procession of men was formed. 


They wore a long red habit with black cape 
and carried lighted candles. They were over a hun- 
dred in number, and behind them followed all the 
Fathers of the community, one carrying a large black 
cross of wood. It was the confraternity of the 
Precious Blood, founded by Father Faber himself. 
The verger of the church gave me a very edifying 
account of these young men and their fidelity to the 

Poor France I found in a bad way. The expulsion 
of religious is working untold harm. I have heard 
most harrowing tales of the suffering and shame to 
which the women have been subjected, and many 
have died from broken hearts. It is no wonder. The 
disgrace of it all is to think that their fathers and 
brothers will stand by and allow it. One would think 
that the ties of blood and kindred should prevent it 
if the simple claims of justice and decency were de- 
nied. Though the prospect looks bad I still have 
confidence "the gates of hell will not prevail," and 
that God will look after His own. 

Here we are now on a beautiful summer afternoon 
at Nice. The palms and cactus are growing and the 
flowers are in blossom as with us in June. The spot 
is a veritable earthly paradise. The fairest spot of 
all is the site of an old monastery built in honor of 
your namesake, St. Francis, more than five hundred 
years ago, and occupied by his sons until a year and 
a half ago. I sat in the old garden, now overrun 
with weeds, and looked upon the fairest scene my 
eyes ever beheld. The monks must have felt as did 
St. Peter on Tabor and said to themselves: "Lord, 
it is good to be here." They were near heaven, 
surely, but they have been driven away, all but one 
poor old man. He did not cut much of a figure, 


barefooted and bareheaded, old and shaggy, yet he 
was a learned astronomer, a member of the Academy 
of Science, and the recipient of medals of honor for 
his work. He is the only one left of all the com- 

I sincerely trust you are all well. Please give my 
kindest regards to all the Sisters and ask them to 
continue their good prayers for us and for poor 

Venice, November 20, 1904. 

Genoa was pleasant and interesting 1 , but Milan was 
better, especially for its association with three great 
saints of God. The cathedral is a marvel. Such 
work, such skill, such time and money needed to 
make a church like that! You have seen its picture 
so I will not attempt a description. What you do not 
see is the crypt where Saint Charles Borromeo is 
kept. The chapel is made almost entirely of silver, 
the scenes of his life portrayed in embossing, and 
the walls covered with silk and gold tapestry. The 
casket is of crystal and the body in plain view. The 
head and face are pretty well preserved, and his form 
is arrayed in his robes of state. I had the happiness 
of saying 1 Mass before the remains. I found the 
name of g-ood Bishop Bradley on the reg-ister for 

Milan also has the Church of St. Ambrose and his 
mortal remains. They show the very pulpit where 
he preached when he converted St. Augustine, and 
the doors he closed ag-ainst Theodosius. If we had 
bishops like him now we should have a different 
story to tell in these so-called Catholic countries. 

We came to Venice by night, the best time to 
come, I think, over the long line of bridges, with 


water on every side. The moon was almost full, and 
the air mild and clear, though it is after the middle 
of November. Had Venice lost its charm? I think 
not, but perhaps a little of the romance and mystery 
of my first visit was wanting- in this. It is the in- 
evitable result of getting old. It is a charming place 
all the same. A stillness pervades, a quiet, restful 
feeling takes possession of you, and you want to 

St. Mark's seems more beautiful than ever. It is 
especially dear now, from its association with the 
Pope. I said Mass there this morning (Sunday) at 
half-past nine, and thought how often Pius X. did 
the same, and how much his heart must be attached 
to the dear old church he will never see again. 

To-morrow is a festa of the Church Maria de 
Salute, opposite our hotel on the Grand Canal, and 
we will wait to see the procession over the temporary 
bridges before we leave for Florence. 


I had fitted myself out au fait^ in Roman costume; 
the great broad hat with its green tassels, such as 
is worn by bishops; the little purple skull cap worn 
under it at the same time; a silk purple feriola or 
mantle; cross, and all; and I presented myself at the 
Propaganda to pay my respects to His Eminence 
Cardinal Gotti. I sent in my card and, after a little 
delay, was ushered into a beautiful reception room. 
There at a table sat a handsome old gentleman. He 
wore a red zucchetta and a large pectoral cross. I 
advanced toward him, made my best bow, saluted 
him as "Your Eminence," and began to tell him 
how pleased and honored I was to meet him, when 
the personage in question rose and, preventing me 


from kissing- his hand, said in the Queen's own 
English, "Why, man alive, I am only a poor little 
bishop like yourself!" It was Bishop Brindle of 

Well, I got out of the predicament as best I could 
by telling- him that he looked as fine and as vener- 
able as any cardinal. 

A few moments after, I was in the presence of the 
real cardinal. No mistaking him this time, so much 
he resembles his familiar picture. He has a face 
ever to be remembered. Intelligence and benignity 
are the dominant traits that strike one at first 
glance. His features are regular, his forehead very 
high and ample, and his little scarlet skull cap 
covers a crown of snowy white. He wore a simple 
black cassock trimmed with red, and a plain pectoral 
cross. He spoke with the gentlest, sweetest voice, 
and sat me down beside him on a sofa. He is a 
man in whose presence anyone would feel at ease. 
After the usual exchange of courtesies, he inquired 
where I was stopping in Rome, how long I was to 
remain, and proffered to get me an audience with the 
Holy Father. I made a few requests, to which he 
listened with the greatest consideration and then 
asked me to put them in writing. He told me he 
would be pleased to see me at any time during my 

stay. I then introduced Fr. A , my "secretaire pro- 

visoir" as the cardinal smilingly called him. After 
a few words more of good wishes and a pleasant 
visit, with a good night and an au revoir, we retired. 

And this is the man who, after the Pope, bears 
the burden of the universal Church. May God 
lighten his load ! It were a pity to break so good, so 
gentle, so lovable a soul as his. 



November 30. This is a never-to-be-forgotten day 
for us, for this day we have seen the Pope. What 
a happy privilege! To come into the presence of the 
highest representative of Christ upon earth, the very 
head and center of the Catholic Church, to talk with 
him whom hundreds of millions revere and love, to 
touch his hand and kiss his ring-, to hear from his 
lips words of affection, and to carry away with us 
his blessing- for ourselves, our friends, and for all 
those who asked for a share in his prayers ! This 
was our joy to-day. 

That is really all there is to tell, but 1 know that 
every detail of the visit will be of surpassing inter- 
est to our friends at home, and so I will give the 
particulars of it all. 

Courtesy demands that a bishop from a mission- 
ary country such as ours pay his first visit to the 
Cardinal Prefect of the Propaganda, and the second 
visit to the Holy Father. The audience is arranged 
by the Maistre di Camera, at present the affable 
Mgr. Bisletti, and notice is sent to one's city address, 
usually the day before the one appointed for the 
reception. Mine came last evening. In it was stated 
that the Holy Father would receive me at 11:30 to- 
day and that I would be accompanied by my secre- 
tary and my two sisters. There was a little flurry 
of preparation. Etiquette requires ladies to wear 
black dresses and a black veil or mantle. We had 
many beads, crosses, pictures, to be blessed, and 
these had to be got in order. What we were to 
say, what we were to do for it was a private 
audience that was accorded to us was a source of 
preoccupation all the evening previous. This at last 
was the end of our long travel ; for this especially 
had we come; and now the long-looked-for event was 
at hand. 


The morning was bright and crisp. It was the 
day of the opening of the Italian parliament. The 
streets were filled with soldiers. The procession 
looked like a medieval pageant. The carriages of 
the officials were rich, and ornamented with gold 
trappings ; that of the king was drawn by six 
horses caparisoned and mounted by out riders in 
elaborate uniforms. On the carriage behind rode 
the footmen, in red, with white wigs and three- 
cornered hats. A double file of soldiers lined the 
streets from the Quirinal to the Parliament House, 
and between these, in a closed carriage, passed the 
king, bowing right and left. There was little 
enthusiasm. Hats were lifted as the king and 
queen passed, and that was all. We enjoyed the 
sight, but it was not for that we had come. It was 
to see a greater being that we were on our road 
this day. 

Arrived at the Vatican, we passed through the 
various antechambers. These were rich and beauti- 
ful. The Swiss guards in their multi-colored uni- 
forms and their long halberts, presented arms as 
we passed. Pages in red velvet attended to our 
wraps, and led the way. In the waiting chamber 
was a throne and a dais where the Pope receives in 
state. Here were a number of bishops and priests 
from all parts of the world. An Irish bishop told 
me there were waiting with him a bishop from Nor- 
way, one from South Africa, and one from Pata- 
gonia, "and," he added with his native humor, "the 
one from Patagonia isn't a bit savage, either." 
Here, too, were gathered in picturesque groups 
members of the Noble Guard, distinguished by their 
helmets and great horse-hair plumes ; counts with 
their court costume of black and gold, and their 


decorations of many orders. In a few minutes our 
turn came. I was ushered alone into what seemed 
to be a private study or library of the Pope. The 
Holy Father was alone in the great room, and sat 
behind a desk near the door. As I entered, he 
arose and came toward me. He was all in white, 
from the white silk skull cap to the white slippers 
embroidered with gold. His face was as white as 
the cassock he wore, but his eyes beamed a warm, 
kindly welcome. Taking my hand in his after I 
had kissed it, he led me to a chair beside his own 
and bade me be seated. I spoke to him in Latin, 
told him who I was, that I had been consecrated on 
our Lady's Nativity day, and had come to thank 
him for the honor he had conferred upon me in 
making me a Bishop of the church, and to assist at 
the great feast of the Immaculate Conception. As I 
spoke my thanks, he raised his hand in protesta- 
tion. I begged his blessing for myself, my family, 
my priests and religious, and my people. He fore- 
stalled my petition and said, oh, so tenderly and 
devoutly: "I bless them all, and all to whom you 
shall bring my blessing." He then asked me how 
many Catholics there are in my diocese. I told 
him, and added that their number is about one-third 
of the population. 

"You must strive to make the remaining two- 
thirds Catholics also," he said. He asked me the 
names of the religious communities in the diocese. 

"Are your people good Catholics?" he pursued. 

"Good Catholics, Holy Father," I answered. 

"And your priests?" he added. 

"Faithful and devoted," I assured him. 

"Deo gratias," he said devoutly. 


He asked me my age. I told him I thought I was the 
youngest bishop in the United States, to which he 
replied "Forsitan in tota ecclesia," ("perhaps in the 
entire church.") 

I then asked His Holiness for some special bles- 
sing's for Trinity College, Washington, for the 
Carmelite Convent in Boston, for a few devoted 

friends of Father A , who was with me, and 

then asked him to sign his name to his 
picture. This he did most graciously, adding a few 
words of prayer beside. Instead of using- a blotting- 
paper, as we do at home, he used a little box of fine 
sand, which he sprinkled on the wet ink. I then 
presented him a bound volume of The Guidon, our 
diocesan mag-azine. I told him I was its founder, and 
its editor until my present appointment. He looked 
it over with interest, and exclaimed with a smile 
when he saw a picture of himself and the account of 
his coronation. I showed him our dear dead Bishop's 
picture, that of the cathedral and residence, and, as 
I began again to ask his blessing-s, he again fore- 
stalled me, saying: "I bless the editor, the writers, 
the readers, and I pray God to prosper the work." 

I then beg-ged our Holy Father to allow me to pre- 
sent Father A and my sisters, who were waiting 

without. He said "Assuredly," and they came in. 
We all knelt. His Holiness arose again, and, giving 
his hand to each, said: "I bless you all, all that you 
have in your hands, all that you have in your hearts 
and in your minds." Bidding us "Addio! Addio!" 
and bowing gently, he then brought our interview to 
an end. 

Once outside the room, the first expression of all 
was "How pale he looks, how tired, but how kind 
and gentle!" What wonder he should look weary and 
careworn with the weight he bears and the responsi- 
bility of the Church of the world upon him! 


The second time I saw the Pope was on the Sun- 
day following 1 . An audience was given to those atten- 
ding the Congress in honor of Our Lady. The hour 
fixed was half-past three, or 15:30 o'clock as the 
notice read, according to the official manner of reck- 
oning- time in Italy. The place was St. Peter's. 
Great confusion occurred, owing to the manner of 
admission. Everyone inscribing- as a member of the 
Congress was given a special medal of Our Lady to 
serve as a tessera or badg-e of recognition. This they 
were told was all that was necessary for admission 
to see the Holy Father on the day appointed. In 
the mean time, some enterprising rogue had counter- 
feited the medals and sold then broadcast at a lire 

Promptly at the hour fixed, the Holy Father 
came in the simplest manner possible. He was 
accompanied by a few cardinals, several Monsignori 
and chamberlains, and a dozen or so soldiers of the 
Swiss Guard. Unlike his predecessor, Pope Leo 
XIIL, of blessed memory, Pius X. does not use or- 
dinarily the sedia gestatoria carried on the shoulders 
of attendants ; this time he walked between the 
dignitaries, bestowing his blessing right and left 
upon the kneeling crowd of pilgrims. A simple 
throne was placed in one of the transepts of the 
great church. Here the Pope sat for a few moments 
while Cardinal Vincenzo Vannutelli made an address 
and presented to His Holiness a crown for Our 
Lady's Statue, the gift of the Catholic world on 
the occasion of this fiftieth anniversary. The crown 
is a crescent about four feet across, on which are 
set twelve stars of diamonds, each star measuring 
about twelve inches in diameter. When the address 
was finished, Pope Pius arose, and a hush fell 


upon the people. As he stood facing us, wearing 
the usual white cap, and a shoulder cape of red 
trimmed with ermine, to us, familiar with the 
picture of Pius IX., the pontiff seemed like his 
illustrious namesake come back to life, so much 
does he resemble him in face and figure. As he 
spoke, his voice rose in rich cadences until it 
reached the extremity of the assembled crowd. He 
made few gestures, but these were graceful and 

He spoke with feeling and unction, and the words 
came without any apparent effort. Such a preacher, 
too, was Pius IX., the memory of whose eloquence is 
still fresh in the minds of those who were ever priv- 
ileged to hear him. At the close of his address, the 
Holy Father entoned loud and clear the "Sit Nomen 
Domini benedictum," the beginning of the pontifical 
blessing. "Ex hoc nunc et usque in saeculum" came 
back in a thundering response from the hundreds of 
ecclesiastics about. Then came again in sweet, clear 
tones from the pontiff, "Benedicat vos Omnipotens 
Deus, Pater, et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus." 

The ceremony of the blessing of the crown being 
over, a number of gentlemen, probably of the com- 
mittee, were presented to the Pope, who received them 
cordially, spoke a few words to each, and then resumed 
the little procession back whence he had come, to the 


It is not the privilege of many foreign bishops to 
assist at papal consistories, for the reason that they 
are seldom in the Eternal City when these are held, or 
are not concerned with the subject under discussion. 
The present consistory was held to pass final judg- 
ment on the canonization of two saints, Alexander Sauli 


and Majella. Of course the lives of the saints in ques- 
tion had been previously examined by the customary 
process, and their heroic virtues proved by all the 
tests required by the Church. It only remained then 
to give the formal sanction of the Pope, and this is 
usually preceded by a consultation with bishops and 
cardinals in what is called a consistory. On account 
of the approaching 1 feast, many more than the usual 
number of bishops and patriarchs were present in 

The hall of consistory is one of the beautiful salons 
of the Vatican. A throne for the Holy Father was 
placed at one end, under a dais of red. In front were 
ranged the cardinals in their scarlet robes and ermine. 
Behind these were the bishops. and patriarchs. Noth- 
ing could better illustrate the Catholicity of the Church 
than an assembly like this. Here were gathered 
bishops from all parts of the world; one just in front 
of me came from India; the one beside me was a 
German; three Irish bishops were but a few seats 
away; South America, Mexico, Canada, Australia, Nor- 
way, Armenia were all represented. 

Promptly at the hour appointed, the Pope entered 
and took his place on the throne. He wore a rich, red 
cape and a gold mitre. Addressing the assembly in 
Latin, he briefly indicated the purpose of the meet- 
ing and asked for the consensus of opinion. One by 
one each cardinal arose in his place, and, lifting his 
little red zuchetta, began " Beatissime Pater," and read 
from a paper the reasons why he approved of the 
process and why he asked for the canonization of these 
servants of God. Closing, the cardinal lifted again 
his red cap and genuflected, while the Holy Father 
raised his hand in blessing. After the cardinals had 
finished there were about forty to be heard a few 


of the bishops and patriarchs were called upon. The 
rest rose in their places and, saluting- the Pope in the 
customary fashion, said simply: "Placet ob rationes 
a me scriptas et subscript allatas." The reasons 
alleged were written on the back of the ballot supplied, 
which was then handed to an attendant. The con- 
sistory lasted two hours and a half. The Holy Father 
remained during all the proceedings, and closed the 
exercises with benediction. 


The fascination of a grand religious solemnity in 
the world's cathedral is always potent both for the 
native residents and for visitors to Rome. But it is 
difficult to see how the interest and enthusiasm of this 
feast of Our Lady could be surpassed. Many thou- 
sands of persons this morning did not wait for the sun to 
rise before they were up and on their way to the great 
basilica of St. Peter, the doors of which were not 
opened until half past seven. The vast piazza at that 
hour was crowded with people. Whole regiments of 
Italian soldiers were stationed about the approaching 
streets, and a military cordon was placed around the 
steps of the church to regulate the entrance of the 
crowd. In the piazza an enormous number of people 
in carriages, in tramways, and on foot, was constantly 
gathering. Groups of pilgrims, seminarians, sisters, 
priests, brothers, passed along every moment. In 
elegant equipages came diplomats in their bright uni- 
forms, and ladies of the aristocracy and royal families. 

The morning was cloudy and damp. About nine 
o'clock the sky brightened a little and a few rays of 
sunshine pierced the dark clouds. In the church the 
soft light of the cloudy winter's day contributed to 
render more mystical the religious atmosphere within. 


St. Peter's church needs little adornment. From floor 
to ceiling it is covered with most beautiful marbles. Its 
mosaics rival the finest paintings in the world, but, on this 
occasion, the columns in the central nave were draped 
with rich red damask. In the dome and arches were 
little clusters of electric lamps whose brilliant lights 
were reflected in the gold decorations of the Church. 
Upon entering one stood entranced. 

Beneath the picture of our Blessed Lady was the 
papal throne, covered by a rich red canopy of velvet. 
The marble floor in front was covered with carpets 
of red and green. On each side of the throne were 
long files of benches, draped with scarlet cloth, for 
the cardinals and bishops. Behind these, the spaces 
between the arches were cut off from the rest of 
the church by curtains of velvet and silk, and here 
were built tribunes for special guests. One was in- 
tended for members of the diplomatic corps and 
ministers accredited to the Holy See. Among those 
seen here to-day was the ex-ambassador of Spain, 
Merry del Val, father of the Cardinal Secretary of 

Another tribune was reserved for the Knights of 
Malta, and a third for members of royal families. 
Among these were the Countess di Barda, the Countess 
di Frani, Count and Countess d'Eu, the four prin- 
cesses, daughters of Count di Caserta, the Archduch- 
ess Elizabeth of Austria with her husband and Prince 
Lichtenstein and wife. The fourth tribune was re- 
served for the Roman nobility. At the extreme end 
of the apse, directly opposite the main entrance, the 
thousand electric lights gave the impression as of the 
sun shining with its golden rays, and from out 
the glory gleamed the figure of Our Lady in azure 
mantle, in attitude of ecstasy, surrounded by clouds, 
and with a crown of electric stars above her head. 


In the center of the church a passageway was 
made from the main entrance to the confessional of 
St. Peter, and around these on both sides to the papal 
throne at the extreme end. Here the palatine guard 
was placed to keep order. 


The wonderful pageant, which for richness and 
beauty of color recalled the scenes of the Middle Ages, 
proceeded from the chapel near the right entrance up 
the middle aisle. First came two Swiss guards dressed 
in the multi-colored uniform designed by Michael An- 
gelo, with steel cuirasses and helmet, and carrying 
halberds. Then followed representatives of all the 
religious orders dressed in their distinctive monastic 
habits. Two Canons of the Vatican in red cassocks 
and white ermine mantles then preceded a long file 
of chanters of the Sistine choir, in violet soutanes and 
white surplices. Following these came the Vatican 
Canons, making a beautiful picture in red and white. 
The second group was formed by Swiss Guards, who 
flanked on each side a number of chamberlains carry- 
ing the precious tiaras of the Pontiff. Four more 
Swiss soldiers followed with clerics carrying a cross, 
beautifully ornamented candles, and the peniten- 
tial rods. The third group consisted of more than two 
hundred bishops from all parts of the world, and these 
made a most imposing appearance in their white mi- 
tres and long white copes. Conspicious among them 
were bishops and patriarchs of the Greek and Arme- 
nian rites, whose rich robes and peculiarly shaped 
mitres attracted the attention of all. 


At Sea, December 21, 1904. 

Here is a line from far at sea. It is the day we are 
due at New York, but we are far from port, and, 


though we are so anxious to reach home for Christmas, 
it looks now unlikely that we can. It will be a great 
disappointment for us and great worry for those at 
home; but we will get over it, and after the experience 
we have had, may well be thankful we are living at 

all. G has probably told you about the storm 

and the hard luck we have had since we left port, so 
I will not bother you with more of it. The girls are 
good sailors and good soldiers as well. They made 
no fuss about danger. They prepared for the worst, 
hoped for the best, and trusted in God and the good 
prayers offered for us. For myself, I should have 
been sorry to go down at sea; not that I am afraid to 
die, but I should find it hard to feel reconciled to 
leaving my work, not only unaccomplished, but not 
even begun. That would be a disappointment worse 
than all else. It was a very trying experience and in 
a measure detracts from the pleasure of the entire 
trip, but that will soon pass, I doubt not, and we shall 
remember only the pleasureable part. 

I think we can say that our trip was a success 
in every respect. We had not the slightest mishap 
or disappointment. Nobody was sick, weather was fine 
everywhere, so we lost not a day nor an hour. The 
girls saw historic and beautiful places and things for 
the first time. We met many distinguished people and 
received much consideration on every side. We wanted 
for nothing on the way, and are bringing home some 
souvenirs for everybody that we may share our joy 
with them. Surely all this is much to be grateful for, 
and if a disappointment waits for us in the end we 
can make the sacrifice in a Christian spirit. 

You will be pleased to know I received a special 
blessing for Trinity. I explained to the Holy Father 
the work of the college and asked him to sign a pho- 
tograph. This he did adding a few words of blessing. 
I will send it to you as soon as I reach home. 


I will close by wishing you a happy, holy Christmas 
and sending you my blessing over a thousand miles at 
sea. * * * * 

After the most tempestuous voyage she has ever en- 
countered, battling with storms which exceeded in 
severity anything her captain has met in the quarter 
of a century he has been sailing the seas, the Prinzess 
Irene, of the North German Lloyd line, five days over- 
due, reached her pier in Hoboken. 

Only by their thankfulness to Captain Gerhardt Dan- 
nemann and the other officers of the vessel for 
bringing them safely through the dangers which be- 
set them was the gratitude of the passengers exceeded 
for having at last reached their home port. So great had 
been the ship's distress that she had to put into Hali- 
fax with what to an ocean liner was little more than 
a bucket full of coal. 

From the moment of leaving Genoa, on December 
9th, until the vessel reached Halifax the voyage was a 
continuous succession of gales of tremendous severity. 
When in mid ocean, the gale against which the Prinzess 
Irene was battling developed into a cyclone which swept 
the ship's decks, carried away all of her forward ven- 
tilators and wrought a panic among the steerage 

Even the officers admitted when there was no longer 
need to encourage the passengers, that for two days 
the situation was critical. When the ventilators were 
broken off by the seas and washed away, water by 
the ton poured through the holes left in the forward 
deck, and swept in a solid body toward where the 
steerage passengers were huddled. It did not take 
long to close the inlets for these rivers, but day after 


day, as the ship became more and more overdue, no 
safe course was left open to Captain Dannemann except 
to make for Halifax. 

Fifty of the passengers, including- Bishop Delany 
and his party, came ashore, being anxious to reach 
their homes in time for Christmas. So eager was the 
Bishop to spend the first Christmas after his conse- 
cration with his flock in Manchester, that he traveled 
all night by special train. He reached Manchester 
Christmas morning at four o'clock and spoke to his 
people at every Mass. He thanked them for their 
prayers for his safe return and imparted to them the 
Papal Benediction. 

It was with the coming of the New Year that the 
new Bishop really took up his burden. He at once 
began to enlarge and extend the work of the diocese. 
Even before his consecration, he had installed in the 
cathedral and residence a system of electric lighting, 
and he now announced to the people that this, the cash 
value of which was about twenty-five hundred dollars, 
was to be his consecration gift to the parish. 

His next thought was of the little ones, for whom 
he had a deep and abiding love. He dispensed with 
the Children's Mass in the low studded, dimly-lighted 
basement, and brought the young people upstairs to 
attend the regular Mass that he himself said when at 
home. He then did away with the adult choir at this 
service, and introduced congregational singing by the 
children, an innovation that is no longer an experiment 
but a decided success. The sight of those hundreds 
of little ones assembled before him to worship God, 
the sound of their voices raised in divine praise, brought 
the good Bishop, perhaps, the purest happiness of the 


He always directed his instructions to them, and 
had the happy faculty of speaking- not only within 
their comprehension but in form acceptable, also to 
the older members of the congregation. 

On Sunday, March 19, 1905, the Bishop paid his first 
official visit to the Holy Rosary Chapel. He said the 
two regular Masses there that day and announced at 
each his intention of begining at once the erection of 
a new chapel. This was an improvement long needed, 
for the old building, which served both as church and 
school, was entirely inadequate for either purpose. 
Eight months later on Sunday, November fifth, the 
Bishop had the happiness of dedicating the new struc- 
ture, in its way a model for the purposes designed. The 
chapel itself is on the second floor. It is light, airy, 
ample, with a seating capacity of six hundred. The 
ground floor, equally spacious, is divided into a hall 
and ante-rooms, occupied by the St. Paul's Temperance 
Society, who, at the Bishop's earnest solicitation, came 
here, enlarged their membership and made of this hall 
a place attractive to the young men of the neighbor- 
hood. The good thus far accomplished by this 
movement can hardly be estimated. The old chapel 
was immediately converted into additional school rooms, 
and now the parishioners of the Holy Rosary district 
are provided with church and school facilities suffi- 
cient for a long time to come. 

In the summer the Bishop again looked to the needs 
of the children. He made some improvements in St. 
Joseph's girls' school, and renovated from top to bottom 
the boys' high school. This was an old and dingy 
building, unattractive without and unsanitary within. 
The exterior he could not alter, but the interior he 
made almost new. Carpenters, painters, plumbers, 
worked on it for weeks, and when it was opened in 


the fall it was as spotless and healthful as any school 
building in town. Changes and additions were also made 
in the course of study, particularly in the business de- 
partment, for which new typewriters were bought, so 
that students are now given practice on all the leading 

That summer, too, the wooden passageway leading 
from the cathedral residence to the church itself was 
torn down and replaced by a brick cloister, in har- 
mony with the architecture of the buildings it connects. 
This was done, primarily, to make room for the 
placing of the monument erected by the priests of 
the diocese to the memory of their first bishop. From 
the day of his consecration to the day of the dedi- 
cation of the memorial, Bishop Delany labored unceas- 
ingly for its completion. He carried out to the letter 
Bishop Bradley 's wishes as to the form it should take, 
supervised its construction, from time to time made 
valuable suggestions both to sculptor and architect, 
and had the grounds about it graded and made beau- 
tiful without regard to expense. 

In form, the monument is a Celtic cross of Troy 
granite, resting on a massive quadrangular base, with 
a total height of seventeen feet, and is at once noble 
and imposing in appearance. On its top are 
two Greek letters, found commonly on ancient crosses 
in Rome, and signifying Christ. On the arms are 
the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet, 
Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. In 
the centre is a triangle, the sign of the Blessed 
Trinity. A bishop's mitre, representative of the sacred 
office held by the deceased, is carved on the stone. 
On the plinth are the symbols of the four evangelists, 
the head for St. Matthew, the lion for St. Mark, the 
bull for St. Luke, the eagle for St. John. 


Below, in the side of the quadrangle facing- the 
street, is a medallion of the bishop executed in bronze 
by the famous sculptor, Samuel Kitson. This is an 
excellent likeness of the beloved prelate, as his people 
prefer to recall him, before care had lined his face, 
or failing- health had bent his frame. Near the face, 
in low relief, is a chalice with a Host raised in glory, 
a reminder of the devotion of the bishop to our Lord 
in the Sacrament of His love. Below the medallion 
is the inscription: 



1845 1903. 

and in large raised letters on the granite beneath is 
the one word, "BRADLEY." 

On December 24th, with appropriate ceremonies, 
Bishop Delany dedicated the graceful yet massive 
memorial on which his own name was so soon to be 
carved beside that of his lamented chief. At the same 
time he caused to be placed in the cathedral itself a 
memorial tablet bearing a more extended inscription 
to Bishop Bradley's memory than was possible on the 
cross itself. Nor did he deem all this enough. When 
soon after his return from Rome, he announced the 
taking of a parish census, he told the people that! the 
offerings they would make when the priests called 
should be the nucleus of a building fund for a new 
high school to be known as the Bradley Memorial 
School. This he planned on a big scale, albeit he knew 
that the realization could not be immediate. It was 
to take the place of the present boys' school and 
accommodate also all the children of the city who wished 
to pursue, free of expense, a higher course of study 
under religious teachers. It was to have, too, a large 


hall, an adjunct much needed in St. Joseph's parish. 
Some months later he seized the opportunity to secure 
a favorable site by buying a large tract of land facing 
Tremont Common and near the cathedral itself. This 
property, even if not used for years for school pur- 
poses, is a profitable investment, as the rents of 
the buildings thereon more than pay the interest on 
the principal invested. 

But the project that lay nearest to the Bishop's 
heart was also nearest to fulfillment at the time of his 
death. In the spring of 1905, when the city farm 
was discontinued, the mayor and aldermen gave to the 
Bishop, at the nominal price of one hundred dollars, 
seven acres of the land for a new orphanage. 

What a wave of indignation swept Protestant 
Manchester at what was termed sectarian distribution 
of public property! 

Press and pulpit, clergy and laity protested. When 
all had had their say, Bishop Delany had his, and in 
a manly, sensible letter declined the gift but asked 
the privilege of buying it at public auction. This 
was granted, and in August he purchased the seven 
acres for sixty-one hundred dollars, its market value. 
The situation is ideal. The first sod was turned by 
the Bishop on St. Joseph's Day, and he had accepted 
plans and specifications for the work just before his 
summons came. Five buildings were to have been 
erected. A chapel was to stand in the center of the 
lot facing Bridge Street; on one side of this was to 
be an infant asylum, on the other a gymnasium; be- 
yond these, at each end of the lot, were to be the two 
orphanages, one for boys and the other for girls. Of 
these, the boys' home was to be erected first. To 
that end a building fund had been started, and a so- 
ciety formed, called St. Joseph's Guild, whose members 


pledge themselves to assist in erecting and maintain- 
ing- the new home. The yearly fee for membership 
is but nominal, the spiritual advantages were many, 
and the membership was already very large. Shortly 
before his death, in speaking of his hopes and plans 
for this building, the Bishop said: "This will be my 
monument." It is devoutly to be hoped that this good 
and great work will be accomplished some day. 

One other big act of charity that Bishop Delany 
hoped to accomplish at no very distant day was the 
erection of a new, up-to-date hospital in the center 
of the Hanover Street Grounds. At the last annual 
meeting of the Sacred Heart Hospital staff he at- 
tended he announced his intention and showed how 
this much-to-be-desired end could be achieved with 
no additional burden to the people. 

It was not to be expected, of course, that all these 
vast undertakings could be proposed without calling 
forth adverse criticism. Some wondered in silence, 
but many gave expression to their fears that their 
young Bishop would plunge parish and diocese into 

They did not realize the prudence and caution he 
possessed. Not one of these things was a castle 
built on air. Each one rested on a foundation, firm 
and sure. The Bishop knew where the means was 
coming from, but that information he purposed with- 
holding until conditions should justify its disclosure. 
Some of these sources of revenue, promised as they 
were to the Bishop himself apart from his office, 
may now never be available; others were so secured 
that later the diocese will receive them just the same. 
Not until then, perhaps, will Bishop Delany's finan- 
cial foresight receive the appreciation it well deserved. 

The priests of the diocese, however, had reason 
to trust the Bishop's wisdom in such matters. Hard- 


ly had he assumed the duties of his office when he 
looked about to see how the diocesan debt could be re- 
duced. Up to that time, mortgages and notes owed by 
the different parishes throughout the State were held 
largely by local banks or individuals, who charged al- 
ways five per cent interest and sometimes as much as 
the law allows. The Bishop soon negotiated with solid, 
conservative banking institutions in Manchester to take 
all these at a uniform rate of four per cent, thus saving 
the diocese every year the large sum of sixty-five hun- 
dred dollars. When this was announced to the priests 
at the semi-annual conference in 1905, for the first and 
only time in the memory of those present, the solem- 
nity of such meetings was broken by hearty applause. 

His examination of affairs also disclosed that the 
diocese was paying an extortionate insurance rate. 
In the twenty years of its existence it had paid in- 
surance companies about two hundred thousand dol- 
lars, and had drawn for losses less than twenty-five 
thousand dollars. The Bishop made a study of the 
matter of insurance, until then a subject entirely 
strange to him, and he became convinced that Cath- 
olic church property is a minimum hazard and should 
be rated accordingly. He soon perfected a plan 
that promised to save the diocese a very large part 
of its yearly insurance bill, and had the matter so 
well in hand that its success was practically assured. 

From what has been thus far said it might be 
concluded that Bishop Delany's effort during these 
twenty-one months were all directed towards mater- 
ial ends. Nothing could be farther from the truth. 
Enormous as these projects were the tasks of a 
lifetime, indeed they were but incidental to the 
more important task of saving souls. 

In the eight months preceding his elevation to the 
episcopacy, of necessity no confirmations or visita- 


tions had been made in the diocese, so that, begin- 
ning- in the first week of January, 1905, Bishop 
Delany had to go from one end of the State 
to the other, visiting convents and schools, and 
giving confirmation, and not until the end of 
the next October was this accumulated work 
cleared away. This year, during the month of 
January, he again visited all the religious houses 
under his jurisdiction, and had a personal interview 
with every member of their communities. On the 
8th of May he confirmed at Newport the first class 
in 1906, and between that date and the 5th of June 
he had given confirmation in eighteen different places. 
On these occasions he usually examined the children 
himself, heard confessions, and preached both in Eng- 
lish and French. Here, too, he did effective work in 
the cause to which he was most devoted, by pledging 
every child that he confirmed to total abstinence from in- 
toxicating drink until the age of twenty one. More- 
over, if he was told of people in the parish too old or 
too sick to come to church he often went to their 
homes, and it would be hard to say which received 
the more pleasure from the visit. 

Between times the Bishop also officiated at special 
church dedications and delivered addresses at many 
noteworthy functions both in and out of the diocese. 
At school entertainments and commencements, at 
meetings of sodalities or other organizations, he was 
glad to contribute his mite toward encouragement 
and inspiration. He particularly liked to speak to 
young men, for whom his ideals were high. Twice 
in Lowell and at the cathedral in Boston he addressed 
immense gatherings of the Knights of Columbus. 
He urged upon them an appreciation of all that the 
title implies of privilege and duty. 


The following was his address to a large gather- 
ing in his native city: 

"The nature of this audience -Knights of Colum- 
bus suggests as the subject of my address, "Knight- 
hood and the Duty of the Hour." 

Unless your name bear something of significance it 
is a silly assumption. But it has a significance. In 
the design of the founders of this order, men of lofty 
purpose, in the sanction of the Church and the en- 
couragement of the priests and bishops which your 
order has received, from the composition of your 
body the choice young Catholic men of the country, 
you are expected to emulate, as far as conditions 
will admit, the example of those whose proud name 
you bear. 

There is no brighter page in the world's history 
than that on which is written the deed and daring 
of the knight of old. After the institution of the 
holy priesthood there was, perhaps, no higher, holier, 
nobler institution than that of knighthood. The 
flower of youth was chosen. They were trained in 
virtue, skilled in arms, devoted to the cause of right 
and to the elevation of womanhood, and they were 
consecrated by the solemn vows of religion to the 
profession for which they had given their lives. 
Remember, too, this was in a semi-barbarous age 
when might prevailed over right, when the claims of 
the weak and helpless passed unheeded. Christen- 
dom itself was threatened with extinction by the 
ravages of the Turks. Then began the magnificent 
exploits of the Crusaders. At the call of Peter the 
Hermit, vast armies arose all over Europe. Kings 
and princes forgot their petty differences, ceased 
their internal strifes, banded together in a common 
cause, and set out for the far East to deliver the 


sepulchre of Christ and the Christians of Palestine 
from the thraldom of the infidel. Those were days 
before the invention of the railroad and the steamboat, 
and the distance of thousands of miles had to be 
traversed with the poor conveniences the times 
afforded. Yet neither the distance, nor the difficul- 
ties, nor the dangers of the undertaking- daunted the 
courage of these knights of old, when it was the 
cause of Christ and the cry of the oppressed that 
appealed to them. 

Monks like St. Bernard quitted their monasteries; 
kings like St. Louis of France left their kingdoms, and, 
though disaster and death awaited them, they were 
ready and anxious to brave all for the glorious cause 
in which they were enlisted. Six different times 
during the tenth and eleventh centuries their vast 
armies of chivalrous knights traversed Europe. And 
five times they failed. The road they trod was marked 
with the bones of their dead, and many of the sur- 
vivors fell into the hands of the enemies they had 
gone to conquer, where a slavery worse than death 
awaited them. But, even in their failure, they ac- 
complished more for Europe and for subsequent 
civilization than did all the victorious campaigns of a 
Charlemagne and Napoleon. They lived for the cause 
of right, they fought and died for it, and they have 
not died in vain. Our ideals of honor, our appre- 
ciation of the heroic, are all derived from them, and 
our highest standard of Christian devotedness is the 
cross of the Crusaders on the walls of Jerusalem. 

But how, you may ask, does all this, bright and 
glorious as it is, how does it apply to us and what 
can we do to emulate examples like these ? It is 
true the days of chivalry are passed. The Crusader 
goes on his raid no more. In his shroud of armor 


he sleeps, through the centuries, with his sword 
upon his breast, yet the cause for which he fought 
and died still lives, though the enemy be different 
from the one he faced. You are Christian Catholic 
Knights, who else but you should continue the 
struggle ? You are not required to leave your home 
or native land. The test of blood is not demanded, 
but there is a warfare none the less real, none the 
less vigorous to which you are called, if you would 
be faithful to the title you bear. " For God and the 
Church " was the device of knighthood. So it should 
be yours. We hear a great deal these days of the 
rights of men, of women's rights, the rights of 
labor, the rights of capital, the rights of nations, 
how seldom we hear of the rights of God! In all 
this world, created by Him, redeemed by the pre- 
cious blood of His Divine Son, among all the millions 
of His children here upon earth is there no cham- 
pion to stand up and fight for the rights of God ? 
And his holy spouse, the Church, shall she be as- 
sailed and oppressed, shall she, the Mother of Saints, be 
put down from her high place and driven out from 
her kingdom among nations and no son rise up in 
her defense? It shall not be. It is to you, 
Catholic young men, the call comes. It is to you, 
who acknowledge the one true God as your Father, 
who recognize the one true Church as your mother, 
and you will not prove recreant to the trust con- 
fided to you. 

The candidate for knighthood was prepared for 
his vocation by the practice of virtue as well as the 
drill of arms. Honesty, truth, loyalty, and purity 
were his constant endeavor. So should they be yours, 
if you would strive against the powers of dark- 
ness. The violation of any one of these virtues 


was a stain upon the scutcheon of a knight which 
disgraced him forever. These virtues were the 
source of his strength and so shall they be yours. 

"My good sword carves the casques of men, 

My thrust is swift and sure, 
My strength is as the strength of ten, 
Because my heart is pure." 

The eve of the ceremony of knighthood was passed 
by the young candidate in the sanctuary in prayer be- 
fore the Blessed Sacrament. Those knights of old 
knew well the source of strength. They knew that 
if they would be faithful to the obligation about to 
be imposed their help must come from heaven, and 
the Blessed Eucharist is the food of the strong. The 
same blessed Lord whom they served still abides in 
the tabernacle, and the knight who would serve Him 
now must first find strength at His feet. 

The ceremony over the young man was brought 
into his ancestral halls, to the gallery of the por- 
traits of his forefathers. Pausing before each 
picture, the life and exploits of these heroes 
were recounted to him, how this one excelled 
in the arts of peace, how this one fell in 
the front of battle, how another administered 
justice, how this one brought renown by his learning 
or virtue, and while the new knight's breast heaved 
with pride to belong to so glorious a line, he was told to 
be worthy of his sires, to do nothing that would ever 
bring shame or discredit on the proud name he bore. 

No royal house ever had a hall of fame such as 
the Catholic Church. Saints and heroes, scholars and 
sages, without number, such as the world beside can- 
not boast. It is to such a lineage you belong. Will 
you by any word or deed disgrace your heritage of 


This may seem very well in theory, but you may 
ask what is the practical application of it all? Well, 
I answer, it is all very real, it is all very practical. I 
am not sending you off on vain quests, on romantic 
pursuits. There was a knight once, Don Quixote, 
who in another age sought to revive the glories of 
chivalry, and fought windmills. While we may admire 
his zeal we can only smile at his judgment. Windmills 
there are in our days as well, but they are only wind- 
mills and are not worthy of our prowess. 

You are Americans living in the twentieth century. 
You love your country and would serve it. There is 
no better way than to strive to make it Catholic. It 
has been contended that Catholics cannot be good cit- 
izens, because, forsooth, they "owe allegiance to foreign 
power." I declare that a Catholic true to his faith 
must be and can be only a good citizen, for his reli- 
gion makes the violation of the law not only a crime 
but a sin as well. 

You are Catholics and would serve your Church? 
Here is a work at your very hand. Leave it not to 
priest or bishop. You can reach people these never 
can. It is true you are not called upon to preach 
as they, but the best possible preaching is the influence 
of an upright life. "Let your light shine before men 
and they shall glorify your Father who is in Heaven." 
A timely word, a kind act, a generous deed, will re- 
dound not only to you but to the religion which inspires 
it. Be sober, industrious, loyal, courteous, God-fearing, 
and brave, and the proudest knight of old would hail 
thee as brother. You are one hundred and twenty 
thousand strong. What could not such an army do 
if animated with the zeal of Crusaders? You 
need not sigh for the days gone by. The 
world never offered such opportunity as it does 


at present. Protestantism is disintegrating-. The 
supernatural is losing its hold on the souls of 
men. The Catholic Church is the only bulwark be- 
tween them and infidelity. The American people are 
fair-minded, honest, truth-loving. They are ready for 
the word "the fields are white for the harvest." How 
can they believe if they have not heard, and how can 
they hear if there be no one to tell them? Suppose, 
each of you, Knights of Columbus, brings one a 
year into the fold of Christ, the spiritual conquest of 
America will not be far off. 

Then there are the corporal works of mercy. These, 
too, come within the scope of your order. I know well 
the work your Massachusetts branch is doing for de- 
pendent children, the stray lambs of the flock of 
Christ, and I congratulate you for it. Be not content 
simply with the work of your council be you active, 
earnest, zealous in every work of Christian beneficence, 
but let the spirit of faith vivify all that you do, otherwise 
you will not differ from the heathen and the publican. 
There was once a Christian knight, Sir Launfal by 
name. He went in search of the Holy Grail, the cup 
used by Our Saviour at the Last Supper. Blameless 
of life he was, but his quest proved in vain. Broken 
in spirit and health he returned to his ancestral castle 
to find himself an outcast. Beside that closed gate he 
learned from a poor beggar what true Christian char- 
ity meant. He had no gold to give now, and when 
asked for an alms said to the poor leper who stood 
beside him: 

"Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, 

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns; 

And to thy life were not denied 

The wounds in the hands and feet and side, 

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; 

Behold, through Him, I give to thee." 


Sir Launfal shared with the beggar his crust of 
coarse brown bread. He broke ice on the stream near 
by, and gave him to drink from the wooden bowl, when 
lo! the beggar stood up before him glorified 1 It was 
none other than Jesus Himself whom he had fed and 
who had assumed the guise of the poor to teach the 
lesson of perfect charity. Had he not declared 
"Whatsoever thou doest to the least of these my 
brethren, thou doest unto Me?" And now, revealed 
in glory, He turned to the Christian knight and said: 

"Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, 
Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me." 

The Knights of Columbus of Manchester, of whose 
Council Bishop Delany was a member and chaplain since 
its organization tendered him a banquet and grand re- 
ception. In all the toasts of the evening their loyalty 
and esteem, as well as their pride and satisfaction, were 
feelingly expressed. 

As the Right Reverend Bishop rose to resp&nd he 
was greeted with prolonged applause. Three cheers 
were given him before he was allowed to open his 
impromptu remarks, at the conclusion of which he 
thanked all present for the many tokens of friendship 
which had been given him in the past, and which he 
prized most highly. 

Manchester, October 2, 1905. 

It must have been my Guardian Angel on this, his 
feast day, who reminded me I had not answered 
your letter for my anniversary. I sent everybody 
else a card of acknowledgment but promised you a 
letter and here it is, though long coming. 

One year a bishop! Who would ever think it? 
But it is so and a full, busy year it was, and not an 


unfruitful one, I hope, for the work God gave me to 
do. I have had many consolations during that time, 
a thousand times more than I had reason to hope 
for. My priests have been graciousness itself and 
not once have I seen or heard anything in my 
regard but what was respectful and affectionate. 
The Sisters have been a source of consolation and 
edification. The people here in the city, and all through 
the State, indeed, have shown in many ways their 
confidence. The work has been going on well every- 
where and I have been spared any grave disorder. 

By rearranging the church debt I have saved the 
diocese $6,500 a year in interest, and I am now per- 
fecting a plan for insurance that will save almost an 
equal amount under this head. 

The schools are thriving and the children increas- 
ing in number all the time. We have more children in our 
Catholic schools, according to the proportion of popu- 
lation, than any other diocese in the country. 


By the mercy of God and the favor of the Holy Apostolic See, 


To the clergy and faithful of the diocese, health and every 


My Dearly Beloved Brethern : 

For many years the first Sunday of Lent brought 
you wholesome and holy counsels from our late good 
bishop now dead and gone. His words thus ad- 
dressed to you were always listened to with love and 
veneration, and his instructions and advice bore 
abundant fruit in your lives. As his successor in 


the office of chief pastor of this diocese, I feel it my 
duty to say to you a few words on this occasion, 
knowing full well that you will receive them with the 
same filial piety that has ever marked your conduct 
in regard to those whom God has placed over you 
for the government of the Church and for the sanc- 
tification of your souls. 

I have chosen for the subject of this, my first 
pastoral letter, the Duties of Parents to Children. 
The importance of this subject cannot be overesti- 
mated. The family is the foundation of the Church 
and the State. It is the very cornerstone of our 
whole social fabric. When parents acquit themselves 
of their responsibilities and govern their families ac- 
cording to the law of God, peace, order, and morality 
flourish ; when parents fail in these duties, strife, 
contention, and immorality prevail. It is, then, to 
parents that I wish to address myself and ask them 
if, before God, they are doing their full duty in what 
concerns those whom they have brought into the 

St. Paul compares the union between man and 
wife to that which exists between Christ and His 
Church. Now the end Christ had in view in His 
espousal with the Church was the creation of souls 
to love, honor, obey, and glorify God. Such, too, 
should be the end of Christian marriage. And what 
a glorious privilege that is 1 We could not serve God 
enough if we had ten thousand hearts to love Him, 
ten thousand mouths to praise Him, ten thousand 
hands to labor for Him, ten thousand bodies to 
sacrifice to Him. But a father and mother can, by 
their children, and their children's children, multiply 
themselves and glorify God on earth for ages and 
ages to come when they themselves are here no 


more, and in them will be fulfilled the words of the 
psalmist, "My seed will serve the Lord and I will 
bless Him for all time." This, I know, my beloved 
brethren, is your understanding- of the blessings of 
holy wedlock. Let us see how these may be 

It has been well said, if we would make a gentle- 
man we must begin with his grandfather. If we 
would make a saint we must begin with his parents. 
For proof, you have many examples in Holy Scrip- 
ture. Recall the beautiful story of Anna, who asked 
God for a son, vowing the child at the same time to 
His service in the temple. God heard her prayer 
and sent her the child, who became the great 
prophet Samuel. The lives of the saints furnish us 
many similar instances of children offered to God 
before they were born, who afterwards became the 
glory of the Church. If then, parents, you would 
have your children holy, you must first sanctify 
yourselves. Remember, too, that as surely as you 
impart your physical defects to your offspring so 
you transmit to them your moral weaknesses as well. 
The leopard cannot change his spots and the young 
crow will be as black as the parent bird. Your first 
duty, then, is to keep your minds and your hearts 
pure and free from sin. 

Of the care you should have for the bodies of your 
children, I have little to say. The natural love of 
parents for children is usually enough to cause them 
to guard carefully the health of their little ones and 
to help them wax strong for the future battles of 
life. Some there are, however, who fail, even in this 
primary duty, unnatural parents that refuse their 
children the little education within their reach, and 
put them to work to gain a mere pittance, or to 


leave a shiftless father in idleness. Such parents 
hardly allow their children the time the law requires 
before sending them into the mills. They permit 
them instruction barely sufficient for receiving their 
first Holy Communion, so desirous are they to profit 
by their toil. They make poor little slaves of their 
children, and stunt them forever in mind and body, 
Shame, say we, on such parents ! What affection can 
they expect from children subjected to such abuse? 

More often, however, parents fail in their duty 
towards the spiritual needs of their children. 

Now the first right the child has is that of relig- 
ious instruction. God made the child to know Him 
and love Him and serve Him. How can he know, 
love, and serve God unless he be instructed in these 
duties? For three thousand years children had no 
other teachers than their parents. They learned 
from them the mysteries of faith, the duties of 
religion. "Listen, my child," says the prophet, "to 
the teaching of thy father and depart not from the 
law of thy mother." What lessons do they learn 
from you, Christian parents? If nothing worse, are 
they not lessons of vanity, worldly ambition, avarice ? 
Do you give them the opportunity to learn their religion 
in their own schools ? Or do you find excuses for send- 
ing them elsewhere, flattering yourselves that while 
other children require such instruction to keep them 
in the straight and narrow path, your children, by 
some mysterious exemption, may be preserved with- 
out it? If you do you deceive yourselves. For un- 
less your children know their religion, and know it 
well, they run grave risk of losing their faith or of 
having it degenerate into a superstitious practice and 
become a mere hollow form, without benefit to their 
lives or profit to their souls. As these children grow 


up, they will be surrounded by those of no religion 
or by those of beliefs contrary to their own, and, 
unless they know their religion and can give a rea- 
sonable account of the faith that is in them, they can- 
not long preserve it. They will go the way of the 
flesh ; they will bring ruin upon themselves, and 
sorrow and shame upon those who bore them. Ignor- 
ant of their religion, such children grow up without 
the knowledge of the first principles of truth, of 
honesty, of morality, though they are often wise in 
their own conceit. They cannot tell you the number 
of sacraments, but they can tell you an ingenious 
lie; they cannot tell you the commandments of God, 
but they can deceive their parents and cheat their 
employers; they know but few prayers, yet they can 
curse and swear, and say immodest words, and blas- 
pheme like young demons. This wisdom, indeed, 
they have, the wisdom that is folly and worse than 
folly in the sight of Almighty God. 

As the children grow older, they are sometimes 
sent to non-Catholic schools and colleges for reasons 
of business or social advantages. Even if these ad- 
vantages be real and certain which is by no means 
sure are they not dearly bought at the cost of the 
faith of these children; for "what doth it profit a 
man to gain the whole world and suffer the loss of 
his soul?" 

Besides the duty of Christian education, parents 
have the obligation of good example. No matter 
what religious instruction the child may receive in 
the church or in the school, if the example of the 
parents at home be bad these lessons will not avail. 
St. Augustine said of his mother that she softened 
her reproaches with her tears but strengthened them 
by her example. You, too, may have cause to lament 


the faults of your children, but in their correction 
your example will have more effect than your tears. 
They may hear of angels, of saints, of holy souls, 
but they see you, you who are continually before 
their eyes and their minds, and if your lives contra- 
dict these beautiful lessons of faith, love, charity, 
humility, modesty, how can they ever learn them? 
It is useless for you to bid them go to Mass if you 
yourself stay at home without sufficient cause. You 
may teach them their prayers, but if they seldom or 
never see you upon your knees imploring God's 
blessing and protection, your instructions will soon 
be forgotten. What will avail lessons of love and 
reverence for God and His priests and His Church 
if your children hear at home God's Holy Name pro- 
faned, His priests criticised, His Church abused? It 
is in the home that children learn the first lessons 
of insubordination to the teaching of the Church, and 
the example of a headstrong, heedless parent is the 
cause of the falling away from the faith of countless 
numbers of children. How could it be otherwise? 
"You cannot gather grapes from thorns, nor figs 
from thistles." 

Wherefore, Christian parents, set your children a 
good example. If you would have them pray, pray 
yourself; if you would have them faithful to attend- 
ance at holy Mass, do you never fail in that duty; if 
you would have them honest, truthful, sober, modest, 
reverent, let these virtues shine forth in your own 
lives and your children will follow your example and 
follow you to heaven. 

One more duty yet remains. It is that of parental 

Where the devil fails on all other points he often 
succeeds in this. Many parents who are careful of 


the instruction of their children, who never fail to set 
them a good example, know not how to correct them. 
Some are too indulgent, some unreasonably severe. 
You know the evil over-indulgence will bring upon a 
child and how it redounds to the parent. You re- 
member how Almighty God punished Heli for the 
wickedness of his sons; how David, holy man that he 
was, brought misery on himself and destruction on 
his sons, one after another, by his laxity. 

If you correct not your children you will be not 
less excusable than these. If under your care your 
children learn to curse and swear, to lie and steal, 
and frequent bad company, and you shut your eyes 
to these faults, and fail to correct them while you 
may, your responsibility will be great before God. 
It is said that the ape often hugs his young to death 
by excessive caresses. But that is to act apelike. It 
is no kindness to a child to give him his way, when 
your best judgment tells you it should be otherwise. 

Our Blessed Saviour said: "Let the little ones come 
unto Me, and forbid them not, for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." Into your keeping He has 
placed them as a sacred trust, and from you he will 
one day require them. May you esteem this holy 
charge as did St. Hilary, and pray as he: "Grant 
me, my God, that I may regard them as Your creat- 
ures, not mine; as Your children, not mine; grant that 
I may always look upon them not as a part of my 
body but as the temple of Thy Holy Spirit; grant 
that I may never do anything that would cause them 
to offend Thee and bring malediction on us both. 
Thou blessed the little ones presented to Thee. Put 
Thy hands upon these my children, bless them, and 
keep them forever Thine." 

Given at Manchester on the Feast of St. Matthias, Apostle, in 
the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Five. 


At the time of his death the Bishop was planning 
a mission of his own. In many parts of New Hamp- 
shire there are districts remote from the centers of 
activity and rarely, if ever, visited by a priest. People 
live in these parts who are Catholics in name, but who, 
deprived of every spiritual advantage and consolation, 
have grown careless in the practice of their religion 
or have unhappily fallen away from the Church. It 
was the Bishop's intention to spend most of his sum- 
mer vacation among these. The good he might have 
accomplished had he been spared can be known only 
to God. 

While the Bishop fulfilled thus exactly what might 
be called the exterior duties of his office, he by no 
means neglected the interior, i. e., the direction of 
those to whom details must be entrusted: his priests 
and religious. The different communities were ob- 
jects of his various solicitude. He often said he had 
never known the magnitude of their work until he 
became Bishop. Last winter he secured the services 
of the Sisters of the Holy Family, an order especially 
trained for the management of bishops' households. 
He neglected nothing that could contribute to the com- 
fort or success of those whose lives were consecrated 
to God. 

As the Sisters of Mercy are in charge of all insti- 
tutions directly connected with the cathedral, the 
Bishop was brought into closest relation with them. 
Every member of the institute felt she had in 
Bishop Delany a true friend. While he did not inter- 
fere in the government of the community, he made, 
from time to time, suggestions for increasing the 
efficacy of the work. One of these was for a system- 
atic visitation of the sick. Two Sisters were appointed 
for that duty alone. One of these is a graduate nurse, 


and together they go over the city, wherever they are 
called, attending the sick, without remuneration. Be- 
sides giving the comfort of personal ministration, they 
accomplish much for the patient by showing those in 
charge how to care for him intelligently. The Bishop's 
purse was always open to these Sisters, who had or- 
ders to call upon him for help at any time. 

In educational matters he took a deep interest. 
He was a frequent and welcome visitor in his parish 
schools, where he delighted in conducting recitations 
himself. So well did he question and bring out the 
best in a pupil that it was often said of him that if 
he had not been a priest he should have been a 
teacher. He watched particularly the progress of 
the higher classes and strongly urged them to con- 
tinue their course beyond the grammar grades. 
Every week, when in the city, he visited the cou- 
vents and the different charitable institutions, talked 
over affairs with the Superiors, and sometimes as- 
sembled all the Sisters for a little chat. During 
the Lenten season he gave the Sisters weekly con- 
ferences, suited to the special needs of their state. 
These lectures were strong, helpful, holy, " a revela- 
tion," in the words of one who heard them, "not 
only of the dignity of the religious calling but of the 
Bishop's deep spirituality." The discourse on daily 
Holy Communion made a lasting impression on all. 
The keynote of all his talks, whether to the Sisters 
individually or in community, was the keynote of his 
character courage. He inspired. "I always felt 
so much more like work," says one, "after I had 
had a talk with the Bishop." 

Of his relations with his priests, his chancellor 
said : " He was growing every day in our affections, 
and this wholly because of his own attitude toward 


us. As a father loves his children, so Bishop Delany 
loved his priests. He rejoiced in our success, left 
nothing undone to promote it, and was troubled only 
as those who have his loving- nature are troubled, 
when difficulties arise in their work. He was not at 
all demonstrative, but no man could be more appre- 
ciative. Nothing escaped his notice, and every good 
work of his priests, every effort however slight, was 
treasured in his memory. He kept an eye on men 
often overlooked humble, simple, hard workers 
and knew just what each one was doing. He was 
the curates' friend. With the consent of his council, 
he decreed after the November conference in 1905, 
that all curates who had served three years should 
receive one hundred dollars increase in salary. 
He was proud of his priests, and often spoke of 
them in words of praise. His confidence in us was 
implicit, but never did one of us dare to abuse that 
confidence, for although he was gentle as a child, 
yet he ruled with a firm hand and never hesitated 
to rebuke or chastise when occasion demanded. To 
none will his death be so great a loss as to his own 

Not alone in the affections of his own people was 
Bishop Delany winning a place. Those not of his 
faith respected him for all that he was and all that 
he meant to do. They recognized that he was work- 
ing, not for his own glory but for the advancement 
of a common cause. The highest dignitaries of the 
Church had set the seal of approval on his work. 
One of these, who, by reason of position, knew 
something of his labors and plans, said to a brother 
prelate : "I like the Bishop of Manchester. I like 
his piety and zeal. I am more than ever convinced 
that he is the right man in the right place." 


It would be impossible to relate all the instances 
that have been given of Bishop Delany's friendship 
and devotedness to the Religious of his diocese. The 
following 1 words are from members of some of the 
communities that were under his care. 

"The consoling and encouraging- words and chari- 
table deeds of our ever regretted Bishop I can never 
forget and I wish I could make them known to the 
entire world. 

" I feel convinced that next to God and His Blessed 
Mother I owe my vocation as a Sister of the Precious 
Blood to Bishop Delany. From the time I first spoke 
to him of my desire to give myself to God he, like a 
good father, continually watched over me. 

"I had the happiness of having- the preparatory 
retreat of my profession preached by my dear Bishop. 
Notwithstanding the many duties claiming his time 
and attention he delighted in giving several instruc- 
tions a day. His conferences from the beginning to 
the end of the retreat were most inspiring and plainly 
revealed the secret charm of his inner soul and deep 
spirituality. The one grand virtue which he dwelt 
and insisted upon more than any other was Charity. 
Since he himself possessed this sublime virtue in all 
its characteristics he could fittingly dwell upon it at 
length and encourage others to its practice. Words 
fall far short of expressing his great estimation of it. 
In one of his conferences he said: 'My dear Sisters, 
our hearts should be altars on which the fire of 
charity should ever burn, and the love we bear to God 
and our neighbors should be the oil which will con- 
stantly feed the flames.' 

"The series of instructions on the 'Apostles' Creed' 
given by our beloved Bishop, can never be forgotten 
by those who were privileged to hear them. 


"I found a depth of kindness in him far beyond any 
I had ever met before. He truly had the heart of a 
mother. Nothing- was a trouble to him ; no amount 
of time too much to give when there was a question 
of comforting- or consoling- a soul in trouble. All was 
so natural and unaffected that his kindness seemed to 
be part of himself. To my mind he was a perfect 
model of candor and honesty. I never knew him once 
to say 'I will do so and so' and not keep his word. 
When once he said he would do a thing-, you were as 
sure of its being done as if it had already been ac- 

" His charity was really remarkable ; he never made 
an uncharitable remark. One word said contrary to this 
virtue in his presence was like driving a sword through 
his heart. He always spoke kindly of the absent and 
if one hundred faults were mentioned ag-ainst them he 
was sure to find a virtue which they possessed. Anyone 
who wished to be his friend had to make up his 
mind from the beginning to be perfectly charitable. 
When once he was your friend he was your friend 
forever. No matter what happened he was the true 
faithful father. His love for our Community was plainly 
shown in the personal interest he took in each sister; 
not only in their souls, but in their work also. He was 
always ready to make a pleasant little joke to help us 
forget our weariness. To one sister, who took a 
notion to do carpenter work, he said : 'Why sister, you 
will be well, sawdust is fine board.' No matter how 
he was pressed with work, if there was anything he 
could do for a sister, or the Community, he left every- 
thing aside to come to their assistance. On one 
occasion a sermon had been announced, and the priest 
who was to preach sent word a few hours before that he 
could not come. Our Superior sent word to Father 


two hours before the time for the sermon, asking- him 
what she would do. He replied: 'Do not worry 
about that, I will see to it.' The chapel was then 
crowded. As soon as the bell rang 1 he came up through 
the chapel, took his place at the pulpit, and preached 
for over half an hour. When the Superior saw him 
coming- she said: 'Oh, that faithful Father, no one 
will ever find herself in a difficulty where he is.' 
No matter where he went we always knew he was 
our Father and our friend. In every trouble, we could 
turn to him for help with entire confidence. May 
God rest the soul of good Bishop Delany." 

" One Sunday afternoon in winter, only a few months 
before his death, he rode in a double sleigh to the 
new chapel to visit the Sunday school. He conducted 
the classes and delighted the pupils with stories of 
the beautiful Child Jesus at Nazareth. One very sweet 
illustration of prayer was given by him to the 
younger children. He told them a pleasing- story of 
a child speaking to its father through the telephone. 
From this he explained how prayer might be called 
God's telephone, connecting- our hearts with the 
Sacred Heart of Jesus. He concluded by saying: 
'When we pray our desires are borne to heaven, and 
carried in the golden censers of the angels to our 
Almighty Father.' When singing time came he 
asked the boys and girls what hymns they would like 
to sing. A chorus of voices responded : 'Vivat Pastor 
Bonus!' 'Oh, no!' the Bishop said, 'I want to sing 
too!' They sang 'Holy God' and 'Veni Jesu,' his 
rich, full notes mingling with the childish treble. 

"After dismissal many of the children remained out- 
side waiting for the Bishop. When he appeared he 
was beseiged on all sides. Noticing the boys' ad- 


miration of the horses, his thoughtfulness suggested a 
ride. The driver was dismissed, and the sleigh was 
soon filled with happy children. With an injunction 
to the Sisters to keep the remainder of the group 
until he would return for them, off he drove with his 
load of joyous little folks, and his own great be- 
nevolent heart the happiest of all. In an hour's time 
he returned with his laughing, rosy-cheeked company. 
Quickly the waiting ones were in the sleigh and as 
quickly rode away, with a remark from the Bishop 
that this was an instance where, 'the last may not 
be the least.' The next day, the boys were enthu- 
siastic in their descriptions of the ride. An absentee 
from Sunday-school argued modestly that he preferred 
coasting. The conscience-stricken lad was almost 
mobbed by a group of boys shouting: 'Ah, you think 
stolen fun on a double-runner better than a dandy 
ride with the Bishop!' 

" At one of our ceremonies of Reception and Profess- 
ion at which our good Bishop condescended to preside 
and also to preach he took for the subject of his 
sermon 'The Love of God,' saying that a ceremony 
of this kind had no meaning except it could be explained 
by the love of God on one side in choosing the crea- 
ture to be His own and the love on the creature's side 
in leaving all for God. After the ceremony was over, 
the Bishop went to the cloister and entered into fa- 
miliar conversation with the Sisters. One of them, 
still under the impressions produced by the sermon, 
congratulated him on the choice he had made of a subject 
and his beautiful treatment of it. 'Well, 'he replied, 
'love is a better motive to serve God from than fear. 
For my part I cannot fear God, I can only love him.' 

" Until the recent decree of our Holy Father Pius X. 
on Holy Communion, our devoted confessor always 


desired the Sisters to abstain one day in the week from 
the Sacred Table. His reason for this was that so 
holy an action might not become one of routine. After 
the decree on Daily Communion, on the Feast of the 
Precious Blood, our good Bishop came to say Mass at 
the Monastery. When the Holy Sacrifice was finished, 
the Sisters assembled to hear his words of instruction. 
He spoke to them for over an hour, and before leaving 
he presented them with a copy of the decree of the Holy 
Father, saying: ' My dear children, I could not offer you 
a more precious gift on this beautiful feast of your 
Institute than this decree of our Holy Father. Profit 
by it, receive Holy Communion daily. I have always 
believed that the Holy Sacrifice was not consummated 
without the distribution of Holy Communion, and for 
this reason, I have always wished to give It to some 
of those in attendance at Mass.' 

" His compassion and tenderness of heart towards all 
who were in affliction were Christlike. Hearing that 
death had taken the mother of one of the Sisters he 
came immediately to offer her his sympathy and with- 
out being asked said Mass for the repose of her soul. 
When a second bereavement came shortly after he 
made another visit to comfort the same Sister. Taking 
her hand in his, as the kindest of fathers and most 
sympathetic of friends, he said: 'Come Sister, tell 
me all about it.' As she related the details of the 
death, he wept with her, and yet comforted her as the 
Consoler of the afflicted, as the True Shepherd of souls 
would do. 

" On one occasion, the older children in the Cathedral 
schools were having a picnic, some miles out in the 
country. The Bishop did not forget the 'little 
Rosaries' as he loved to call them. He spent the 
morning listening to their recitations in different les- 


sons, at intervals sing-ing a bright song with them. 
When he was leaving 1 , he said : 'Sister, I came to 
give these pupils a holiday ; instead, they have given 
me two hours of solid enjoyment.' He placed a sum 
of money on the desk as he remarked: 'I wish the 
children in all the rooms to have a feast to-morrow 
afternoon.' The Sister considered the amount given 
too large, as the mothers of the pupils were exceed- 
ingly generous on such occasions. His only answer 
to her remonstrances was: 'What is spent in giv- 
ing innocent pleasure to God's little ones is placed 
at a high rate of interest for that eternity which is 
not far away for any of us, and very near for some.'" 

By the mercy of God and the favor of the Holy Apostolic See, 


To the clergy and faithful of the diocese, health and every 


My Dearly Beloved Brethern : 

Although we hold you always in pious memory, yet 
the approach of the holy season of Lent, the spring- 
time of God's grace, impels us to address to you, in 
a special manner, words of warning and advice on 
the grave concerns of your spiritual welfare. Last 
year, on this occasion, we spoke to you of the Duties 
of Parents to their Children, and we have every 
reason to hope that our words of counsel have borne 
fruit in your lives. This year we would speak to 
you on the all-important subject of Religious Instruc- 


Our Faith is our most precious earthly possession. 
It is the pearl above price. To appreciate it we must 
know its nature and its purpose, and to preserve it 
we must exercise a constant care. 

Faith, according 1 to the Catechism, is a gift of God, 
a divine virtue by which we believe all that God 
teaches us. Now, God teaches us not only by his 
written words, which we call Holy Scripture, but by 
the living 1 , active, spoken words of his authoritative 
teachers as well. This is evident from the commis- 
sion our Blessed Lord g-ave to His apostles when He 
said: "Go ye into the whole world, and preach the 
gospel to every creature" (St. Mark, xvi., 15). We 
must, then, know what God requires of us. This 
knowledge comes to us, principally, from Religious 
Instruction. Let us try to realize how important 
this is. 

In a recent Encyclical, our Holy Father, Pope Pius 
X., ascribes all the irreligion of our day to ig-norance 
of divine things. This ignorance is not confined to 
those of the humbler classes, who have little time or 
inclination for intellectual culture. It extends to those 
even who are conspicuous for their knowledge of pro- 
fane science. "How many there are," he adds, " who 
know nothing of God, the Supreme Ruler of the world; 
who know nothing 1 of Jesus Christ, their Saviour ; 
who know nothing of His saving grace, nor the sac- 
raments by which this is applied to the souls of 
men!" Well may we say with the prophet: "There 
is no knowledge of God in the land. Cursing and 
lying and killing and theft have overflowed, and blood 
hath touched blood. Therefore shall the land mourn, 
and everyone that dwelleth in it shall languish " 
(Osee, iv., 1). How many there are who go down to 
their death in this lamentable state without ever hav- 


ing propitiated the anger of God for the sins of a 
lifetime ! It is no wonder that the holy pontiff, Bene- 
dict XIV., declared "the greater part of those who 
are damned have brought the calamity on themselves 
by ignorance of the mysteries of the faith, which 
they should have known and believed in order to be 
united to the elect." 

God forbid, my dearly beloved brethren, that such 
should be the lot of any one of us ! Yet it behooves 
us to see to it that we have the knowledge of relig- 
ion which God demands of us, and that we instruct 
those whom God has committed to our care. There 
has never been a time when religious instruction was 
more necessary than at present. Every doctrine of 
our holy faith, from the existence of God down to 
the least Catholic practice of devotion, is denied or 
assailed. Sometimes it is attacked by open hostility, 
but more often by a chilling indifference, or by a 
bitter ridicule of all the claims of religion. We must, 
then, be ever ready to give a reasonable account of 
the belief that is in us : first, to ourselves, lest we 
succumb to the temptations that beset us; and, 
secondly, to the honest inquirer who asks light and 
guidance from us. We do not maintain that know- 
ledge of religion is an absolute safeguard of faith. 
Would that facts did not prove the contrary ! "But," 
says our Holy Father again, "where the mind is en- 
veloped in the dark clouds of ignorance there cannot 
be either rectitude or morality. For although a man 
with eyes open can turn away from the right path, 
the blind man is constantly in danger of going wrong." 

Let us see how this religious instruction can be 

IN THE HOME. The home is the first school, and 
the parents are the first divinely constituted teach- 


ers of religion and morality. Holy Writ says: 
" Listen, my child, to the teaching of thy father and 
depart not from the law of thy mother." This 
instruction should begin at the very dawn of the 
child's intelligence. The first words he utters should 
be the sweet names of Jesus and Mary, and his first 
coherent sentences a simple, childlike prayer. As 
the mind and heart open, the child should be told of 
God, of our Saviour, of His Holy Mother, of his own 
guardian angel. Later, he should be told of sin, and 
how displeasing it is to God. He should be taught 
to be honest, truthful, candid. No occasion should 
be let pass to impress upon his mind the love and 
fear of his heavenly Father. He should be taught 
his prayers, and made to kneel by your side, morn- 
ing and night, and to repeat them devoutly. He 
should be brought to the church occasionally to 
assist at Holy Mass, and there instructed in pious 
reverence for holy things. When he reaches the age 
of seven, he must be prepared for making his con- 
fession. Already you must be watchful of the com- 
panions that he keeps and the examples that are set 
before him. In this early instruction of the child, 
there is one word of warning we would give the 
parents : let not your lessons in religion be lessons 
of rote simply. Prayers are not formularies only, 
nor are reverences merely postures of the body. 
They are the expressions of love for God. Make not 
these pious practices burdensome and distasteful to 
your little ones. Render them, rather, as beautiful 
and attractive as you can devise. Early training like 
this has made saints. St. Louis of France never forgot 
the lessons given him in childhood by his mother. 
All the days of his life he recalled her words: "My 
child, much as I love you, I would sooner see you 


dead than to know you had committed one mortal 
sin !" Christian parents, make saints of the children 
God has given you. 

IN THE SCHOOL. After the home training-, in point of 
importance, as well as in point of time, comes relig- 
ious instruction in school. Without this, home in- 
fluence will count for little or nothing. So convinced 
is the Church of the necessity of this training that she 
commands us to build schools and maintain them at 
whatever cost or sacrifice, in order that her children 
may acquire an adequate knowledge of their religion 
when it can best be imparted to them. This is the 
Church's way of making faithful, loyal Catholics. 
Her thousands of years of experience have proved 
the truth of the adage, "Bring up a child in the way 
he should go, and when he is old he will not depart 
from it." So necessary are these schools for the 
preservation of the faith, that, were we obliged to 
choose between their maintenance and that of the 
church, we would close the church, rather than the 
school, knowing full well that if we bring up children 
as good, faithful Catholics they will provide churches 
for themselves in the future. If, on the other band, 
our schools should cease to be, we would have no 
need of churches for the next generation. 

In secular training our schools are not inferior to 
the public schools, as public authorities themselves 
testify. Our children learn all that other children 
learn in school, and more, besides. They learn to 
know God and His holy precepts. They learn how 
to serve Him in this world that they may be happy 
with Him forever in the next. This is the science 
of the saints, this is wisdom greater than all the 
wisdom that the world can supply. Let parents, 
then, look to it that they deprive not their children 


of so necessary a help for the preservation of their 
Catholic faith. Nay, let them do more. Let them 
take an active interest in these schools, follow care- 
fully the studies of their little ones, encourage them 
in their work, and permit them to remain at school 
as long 1 as possible. It is during 1 these years that 
religious vocations usually manifest themselves. 
Should it please God to mark one of your children 
as His own, to serve Him either at the altar or in 
the cloister, praise and bless His holy name and 
thank Him for the choice. That child shall be your 
joy here and your crown hereafter. 

One means of religious instruction we feel we can- 
not pass over without mentioning- in this place. It 
is that of good reading 1 , especially of Catholic liter- 
ature. No Catholic family should be without at least 
one such publication, and we particularly recommend 
our own diocesan mag-azine, The Guidon. 

IN THE CHURCH. Religious instruction does not 
stop with the school. As long 1 as we live we can 
learn of God, of His Church, and of our duties, for 
such is God's inexhaustible g-oodness. Every Sunday 
we come to the church. Here is read to us Christ's 
Holy Gospel, here its lessons are expounded. The 
sermon need not be eloquent nor elaborate. Simple 
words of instruction, of advice, or of edification, 
suffice, so long 1 as they are the wholesome doctrine of 
Jesus Christ. "Our preaching 1 is not in the persuasive 
words of human wisdom, but in showing- of the 
Spirit and power that your faith mig-ht not stand on 
the wisdom of men but on the power of God." (I. 
Co. ii., 4, 5.) The Lord declared : "I will give you 
pastors according- to my own heart and they shall 
feed you with knowledge and doctrine." (Jer. iii., 15.) 

Of old, when God sent His messengers, the people 


heeded not the lowliness of their person nor the im- 
perfectness of their speech. They regarded only Him 
in whose name they spoke, and they did penance in 
sackcloth and ashes. So, too, should you. When the 
priest delivers his message, he declares: "Thussaith 
the Lord Jesus." It is the word of eternal life. 

Besides the instruction delivered at Holy Mass, there 
is the hour for catechism on Sunday afternoon, when 
the children are gathered at the foot of the altar to 
recite these lessons in Christian doctrine and to listen 
to the explanation given by the priest. In many places, 
parents are accustomed to come with the children, 
to encourage them by their presence, to listen to their 
answers, and to learn not a little themselves of the 
saving truths of religion. This is a laudable custom, 
and we hope to see it more generally followed through- 
out the diocese. 

Then there is the Sunday evening service. This 
should be attended with more fidelity. It is true this 
attendance is not compulsory, it does not oblige us 
under pain of mortal sin, as does assistance at Holy 
Mass, yet it is an opportunity for instruction we 
should not let pass by. Often the pastor will take 
this occasion to address some words to his people 
on the subject of the feast, the life of their patron 
saint, the duty of their state, or the like, but, even 
when there is no sermon given, you are in the presence 
of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the tabernacle, and He 
will speak to you Himself with the voice of holy 

To you, my dear father, is given the care of the 
flock of Jesus Christ. You fill the office of the Good 
Shepherd in their regard. It is yours to lead the 
sheep and lambs to green pastures, beside the pure 
waters. It is you who will nourish their souls with 


the doctrine of the word. "Not in bread alone doth 
man live, but in every word that proceedeth from 
the mouth of God " (Deut. viii., 3). All the week long 
your people are engrossed with the sordid cares of 
the world. At least once a week cause them to look 
up, to lift up their heads and to direct their thoughts 
to Heaven. Inflame their hearts with the love of God, 
with veneration for His Holy Mother and with em- 
ulation of the saints. 

In order that this may be done the more effectively, 
we renew here the command that has already been 
given : 

First: That there will be given an instruction at 
every Mass on Sunday. 

Second: That catechism classes will be held for 
one hour on Sunday afternoon, following the plan laid 
down in a previous letter. 

And that no departure be made from these prac- 
tices without authorization from us. 

May the blessing of Almisfhty God, the Father, 
Son, and Holy Ghost, descend upon you and your 
people and remain with you forever. 

Given at Manchester on the Feast of St. Matthias, Apostle, 
In the Year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Six. 

My Dearly Beloved Brethren : 

The angel who announced the birth of the world's 
Redeemer brought to us " tidings of great joy," but 
the angel of the resurrection, who sat by the tomb 
of Jesus on that first Easter morn, gave to the world a 
message of far greater import. That Christ the Lord 
should come down from Heaven, that He should be 
born among men, was, indeed, a glorious, joyful 


mystery. Yet had He not risen from the dead, as 
He himself had promised, His birth, life, and death 
would have been all in vain. But He did rise on that 
glorious and immortal Easter, and, as He died for our 
sins, so did He rise for our justification, and is it 
any wonder, then, that the Church exults and repeats 
over and over the glad refrain : " This is the day the 
Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad therein "? 

How far removed from us seem the sorrowful 
events of Good Friday. Yet to appreciate the joy of 
this day we must not forget the sorrow of that. But 
three days since and we stood at the foot of the 
Cross. We saw our beloved Saviour hanging there 
between earth and heaven. We saw Him bow His 
thorn-crowned head upon His breast. We saw the 
shadow of death creep over His eyes, we heard His 
agonizing cry, "My God, my God, why hast Thou 
forsaken Me " ; we saw the soldier with the cruel 
lance pierce His Sacred Heart to make His death 
doubly sure. When evening came we saw Joseph of 
Arimathea and Nicodemus take down the body of the 
Crucified, wrap It hastily in spices, for the Sabbath 
was at hand, lay It away in a new sepulchre under 
the hill and seal the door with a great stone. 

The enemies of Jesus had seemingly triumphed. 
Yet they were not wholly free from anxiety, though 
they had compassed His death. They remembered 
He had said: "After three days I will rise again." 
They therefore went to the governor and demanded 
that a guard be set around the tomb until the third 
day, lest the disciples might steal the body and start 
an error worse than the first. "You have a guard," 
said the governor, "go guard the tomb as you know," 
and accordingly the enemies of Christ set a watch of 
soldiers upon the place. 


How fared it with the friends of Christ? The 
very thing- had happened which had been foretold. 
The shepherd had been stricken and the sheep had 
been scattered. It seems strange to us now, but it is 
a fact that the disciples never seemed to have realized 
the mission of their Master. To the last they hoped 
He would redeem Israel, not from its iniquities, but 
from the rule of a foreign power. When He died 
their faith in Him died too. It looked as if His 
cause was lost forever. Is it not strange that the 
enemies of Jesus remembered better than His follow- 
ers the words He said? Yet, is it not the way of 
the world? The hatred of an enemy outlasts the love 
of a friend. Six times at least our Saviour had de- 
clared that He would die and live again. Yet the care 
some of his disciples took to embalm His body indi- 
cated that His resurrection was the last thing they 
looked for. 

"No man taketh My life away from Me. I lay it 
down Myself and I have power to take it up again," 
were the very words of Jesus. The first part of this 
saying was verified on Calvary, the second part was 
now to be made good. And it was made good on 
that first Easter morning. How? The Gospel tells 
us. The earth was shaken, the guards fled in fright, 
an angel of God rolled the stone away from the mouth 
of the sepulchre, and Jesus rose in triumph from the 
dead. The sorrow of Good Friday was swallowed up 
in the glory of Easter. 

Early on the third morning the pious women 
coming to complete the embalming of the body of 
Jesus, found the tomb open and the body gone. Two 
angels clad in white, sat by the slab, on which the 
dead body of the Lord had rested, who said to the 
wondering women: 

"Be not affrighted ; you seek Jesus of Nazareth who 
was crucified; He is risen, He is not here, behold the 


place where they laid Him. But go tell His disciples 
and Peter that He goeth before you into Galilee, there 
you shall see Him as He told you." 

Presently John and Peter came. They saw no 
vision; the death clothes stained with blood was all 
they found of Jesus there. Later Magdalen came, and 
by the empty tomb wept as if her heart would break. 
A voice spoke to her. Through her blinding tears she 
thought she saw the gardener or caretaker of the place 
and said to him : 

"Sir, if you have taken Him hence, tell me and I will 
take Him away." 

Then the vision spoke this one word : " Mary." Now 
she knew. It was the same voice that called her child, 
that forgave her sins, that summoned her brother 
Lazarus from the tomb. It was Jesus and none other, 
and prostrate at His feet she fell and cried, "Rabboni, 
O my Master." When she would embrace His sacred 
feet, the Lord forbade her, saying: "Do not touch Me, 
but go to My brethren and tell them what I say to 

That same evening Christ appeared to two disciples 
on the road to Emmaus. They were heavy with grief 
at the events that had transpired. He explained to 
them how Christ must suffer and die and rise again to 
enter into His glory. Their eyes were held and they 
knew not it was the Lord until He revealed Himself to 
them in the breaking of the bread. Returning to Jeru- 
salem the disciples told what they had seen to the 
apostles assembled in an upper chamber ; then came 
Jesus Himself and stood in the midst of them. Breath- 
ing on them He said, " Peace be to you." 

For forty days after our Saviour appeared to His 
apostles and disciples at different times and places, 
and on one occasion manifested Himself to 120 persons 


assembled tog-ether. He walked with them, talked 
with them, ate with them to convince them that it was 
really He. He showed them the imprint of the nails in 
His hands and showed them the wounds that the spear 
had made in His side. And at length in the sight of 
them all He was taken up into heaven. 

My dearly beloved brethren, the lessons of this 
blessed mystery are many. Let us learn a few. 

First let me call your attention to Magdalen's priv- 
ilege. It was not to Peter, the head of His church ; 
it was not to John, His beloved disciple, that Jesus 
first revealed Himself; it was to Magdalen, the sinner, 
but the repentant sinner. Was it not thus the purpose 
of our merciful Lord to show us sinners that as He 
died for our sins so He rose for our justification? 

Again, on the very first occasion of His coming to 
the apostles after His resurrection He breathed on 
them and said : " Receive ye the Holy Ghost. Whose 
sins you shall forgive they are forgiven them, and whose 
sins ye shall retain they shall be retained," instituting 
thus the sacrament of penance, which may well be 
called the sacrament of the resurrection. By this sac- 
rament those who lie in spiritual death are raised up 
to life, to the spiritual life, and are given the freedom 
of the sons of God. 

But the greatest lesson of the mystery of Easter is 
this: The resurrection proves Jesus Christ to be the 
Son of God, and it proves His religion to be divine. It 
was the test proposed by Jesus Christ Himself. When 
the Scribes and Pharisees asked of Him a sign from 
heaven, He said: "An evil and adulterous generation 
seeketh a sign and a sign shall not be given it but the 
sign of Jonah, the prophet. For as Jonah was in the 
whale's belly three days and three nights, so shall the 
Son of Man be in the heart of the earth three days and 


three nights." Again challenged by the Jews to prove 
His divine authority, Jesus said to them: "Destroy 
this temple and after three days I shall rebuild it." 
He, however, spoke of the temple of His body. This, 
then, was the test. God and God alone is the master 
of life and death. The founders of false religions have 
been men of wisdom, men of power, men of virtue 
sometimes; they have done wonders of their kind, but 
not one of them has ever proved the divinity of his 
mission as has our Saviour Jesus Christ. 

About the time of the French revolution a certain 
religious enthusiast submitted to Talleyrand a project 
of founding a new religion. That astute statesman 
listened with apparent interest to the plan and said : 
"There is but one thing necessary for the success of 
your scheme. Do that and your religion will be adopt- 
ed ; your name will go down to posterity with glory." 

"What is it?" eagerly inquired the other. 

"You must first be crucified and then rise on the 
third day." 

The reply extinguished the zeal of the would-be 
founder of a new religion. That is the test, and God 
alone can furnish it. 

The enemies of our faith in all ages have recognized 
the force of this proof and have tried to combat it 
by denying that Christ has risen. They declared that 
the apostles stole the body of their Master, or that they 
were deceived and imagined that they saw Him. The 
refuge is vain. The testimony of the apostles is reli- 
able in every respect. They bore witness to what 
they themselves saw; they were many; there was no 
collusion; they had nothing to gain by practicing de- 
ception, but had everything to lose ; they were not 
fanatics with overwrought imaginations, but plain, 
blunt men, slow to believe, cautious and calculating, 
rude of intellect perhaps, but possessed of strong 
common sense. 


If civilized nations accept the verdict of twelve jury- 
men as the best mode of deciding- the gravest ques- 
tions, how can we refuse the testimony of the apos- 
tolic witnesses who saw with their eyes and heard 
with their ears and touched with their hands the 
risen Lord ; who devoted their lives to promulgate 
this marvel ; who preached it not in obscure corners 
but in Jerusalem within forty days after the event 
had occurred ; who converted thousands to that be- 
lief ; who suffered stripes and imprisonment rather 
than deny it, and finally sealed their testimony with 
their blood? Surely if ever witnesses were worthy 
of belief it was they. 

Christ, then, is risen and proven by this very fact 
that He is truly and really God. His religion, then, 
is divine, and it is your blessed privileg-e and my 
blessed privilege to be partakers of it. In vain does 
the unbeliever attack our faith ; the nations rail, the 
Jews cry scandal, the Gentiles call it folly. Jesus 
Christ risen from the dead is an answer to it all. 
Every objection is broken on the stone of His holy 
sepulchre. It is just and right, then, that we should 
hail this day with joy and thanksgiving 1 , the most 
glorious day of all God given. 

As the resurrection of Christ is the foundation of 
our faith, so also is it the ground-work of our eternal 
hope. As Christ rose from the dead so shall we one 
day rise again. He is " the first fruits of them that 
sleep." "For by a man came death and by a man 
the resurrection of the dead ; and as in Adam all die, 
so also in Christ all shall be made alive." 

It is true there are two kinds of resurrection, one 
to misery and suffering- without end and one to bliss 
eternal. It is the sweet consciousness of living and 
dying in Jesus' favor that gives us the hope that 


this last shall be ours. Need I tell you what this 
hope means? See the two men who died by Jesus' 
side on Calvary. One with curses and blasphemy 
upon his lips, the hatred of hell within his heart and 
the blackness of despair within his soul. The other 
with resignation upon his lips and charity within his 
soul. What was the cause of the difference? It was 
because of hope. The dying 1 Jesus said to the one 
upon his right, "This day thou shalt be with Me in 


The public library may aid in two ways the work 
that the Church is striving 1 to do, namely, by indirect 
means and by direct means. 

The library helps the Church indirectly when it 
furnishes the people with good wholesome reading-. 
Such reading enlightens the people's minds with sal- 
utary knowledge, cultivates their affections for the 
good, the true, the beautiful, and finally bears fruit 
in their lives by bringing them nearer to what God 
wishes them to be. That this is the aim of our 
libraries, 1 do not doubt; that they accomplish much 
in this direction, I do not question. All the librarians 
whom I know are earnest, Christian men and women, 
striving to make the most of the means at hand. 
The policies of our public libraries are generally 
just and liberal. If, then, I point out a few ways 
in which they fail of achieving all the good that 
they might do, it is not for the sake of fault finding 
a task as easy as it is ungrateful but rather in 
the hope that, these being remedied, our libraries 
may become agencies of still greater good. 

It should first of all be borne in mind that mere 
reading is not profitable for men, women, or children. 


Quite the contrary. Indiscriminate reading-, when it 
has no decidedly evil effects, at least stores the mind 
with rubbish, dissipates the spirit, and makes con- 
centration of thought impossible. One good book, well 
digested is worth a hundred skimmed through. "Read- 
ding" says Bacon, "maketh a full man," but neither 
he nor anyone else affirms that it makes a good man, 
unless the matter itself is good. 

The first care, then, of the librarian, should be to 
exclude from the library all positively bad and per- 
nicious books. His next care should be to exercise 
discretion in the distribution of doubtful books, for 
these cannot be wholly excluded from any general 
collection. In this class I would include works of in- 
fidelity, of socialism, of skepticism. Such works, until 
one is well grounded in his own Christian faith, should 
never be in his possession, for "the weak and unstable 
wrest with them to their own destruction." Ruskin well 
says that "knowledge is good and light is good, but 
man perishes in seeking knowledge as the moth perishes 
in seeking light." And a higher authority has said, 
"Be not more wise than it behooveth to be wise, but 
be wise unto sobriety." 

Another class of books still more common than these 
are even more harmful because their baneful tendency 
so often escapes notice. These are the latter-day 
novels which treat of social problems like marriage 
or divorce; which deal with the lowest of human passions 
and misname it love; which profess to portray so- 
called high life. There was a time when novels like 
these were under the ban of good breeding and were 
excluded from the Christian home, but unfortunately 
our ideas of propriety have been so greatly expanded 
and our moral sensibilities have become so dulled 
that almost everything finds its way to our reading 


table. We have ceased to be shocked at the vile por- 
trayals of what these novels call life. Now, every 
librarian knows that two-thirds of the reading 1 passed 
over his desk is fiction. He knows, too, that his pa- 
trons are composed in great part of the young people 
of our cities and towns. What effect can such read- 
ing have upon youthful minds? It can have but one 
effect, and that one must be bad. Such stories fur- 
nish our future men and women with false and foolish 
ideals, fill their minds with distrust in virtue and 
disregard for what they term our old-fashioned stand- 
ards of morality. Their emotional natures are stimu- 
lated at the expense of both their intellectual and 
moral natures, and the result is disastrous to all 
three. As a moral agent in the community, the public 
library should help to ward off the harm that comes 
from works of this class. Librarians should be re- 
quired to know the character of the books upon their 
shelves, and should then be given the right to refuse 
to applicants under eighteen years of age books which, 
even though not classed as immoral, are yet dangerous 
to the faith or the morals of growing boys and girls. 
By direct means, the library may help the Church 
by supplying such standard works on religion as will 
prove helpful to the seeker after truth, whatever 
denomination he may profess. Here I have a com- 
plaint to make of our New Hampshire libraries, or at 
least of several of them with which I am acquainted. 
When a treatise or publication of a religious nature is 
called for, the librarian replies that the library does 
not buy such books, adding, perhaps, that it will 
receive them if they be donated. This is supposed to 
be an evidence of the broad, non-sectarian policy of 
the trustees. Is it not, on the contrary, an indication 
of the utmost narrowness of spirit, which, while ad- 


mitting trifling-, stupid, indecent, irreligious books, 
excludes those treating of God, His revelation, His 
Church, His dealings with man ! It is no excuse to say 
that these books will be received if donated. If they 
are worth a place on the library shelf they are worth 
buying. It is no excuse either to say that if the 
library bought one of this class it would have to buy 
all. Not so. There is no more obligation to buy all 
so-called religious publications than there is to buy all 
kinds of secular works. Let the librarian use his 
common sense in selecting standard works of recog- 
nized authorities, and nobody will have any fault to 

One other suggestion I would offer. So far as I 
know the plan has not been tried, but I see no reason 
why it is not feasible and in strict keeping with the 
end and aim of the library. In some towns the library 
is already seconding the work of the day schools by 
supplying to them directly such books' for reading or 
reference as the teachers desire for themselves and 
their pupils. Why should it not do the same for the 
Sunday schools ? Many churches cannot afford to 
support libraries, though all feel the need of them. 
Church members are citizens ; they support the 
library, they have a right to such books as they find 
needful. Why should not the library furnish these? 
Again the cry may be raised, "No sectarianism!" But 
it is not a question of sect, it is a question of how to do 
the greatest good to the greatest number. By supply- 
ing holy books, the library would aid in the work of 
making virtuous citizens, and the country would reap 
the benefit a hundred-fold. 

The public library is already a power. These sug- 
gestions offer, it seems to me, ways easy of attainment 
by which it may render more direct and effective aid 
to the Church, and be, consequently, a power for 
greater good. 



Full of the joy of life, happy under the strain of 
labor, the lover of little children, with a nature of sim- 
plicity and openness like unto theirs, Bishop Delany's 
life was cut off while it was but beginning. Not two 
years a bishop, and only in the forty-second year of his 
life, in the flower of his manhood, he was suddenly 
stricken, and, after a few days' illness, passed away. 

He was indeed a young man to have upon his shoul- 
ders the burden of a bishopric, and this fact made him a 
conspicuous figure among the American prelates, and 
had centered upon him widespread interest and univer- 
sal affection. 

The news of Bishop Delany's sudden and serious ill- 
ness came as a great shock to the thousands of Catho- 
lics in Manchester who were happy to claim him as 
their spiritual leader, aad were proud to point him out 
as the youngest bishop in the United States. 

While it was known to a number of his intimate 
friends that he had not been feeling well for the last 
week, his real condition was not known to himself nor 
to his friends. The numerous duties of his office 
necessitated great mental and physical exertion. How- 
ever, he did not give any indication of being in ill-health 
until the Friday previous, when he was attacked by 
severe pains in the abdomen. He was inclined to be- 
lieve that it was the result of riding so much on the 
trains, as the duty of making his usual visitations to the 
different parishes of the State and the administering of 
confirmation had necessitated much travel. 

On Wednesday he attended the exercises of the 
Alumni Association at St. Anselm's College in Man- 
chester, and his address was the feature of the occasion. 
On Friday Bishop Delany visited the home of his mother 
in Lowell, Mass., as had been his weekly custom for 


years. Shortly after reaching there he was attacked 
by severe pains, and remedies were applied that brought 
him relief, which made him believe the trouble to be 
some ordinary ailment that would pass entirely away in 
a short time. 

On Saturday morning he was much improved and 
returned to Manchester. As soon as he reached the 
episcopal residence he went directly to his library and 
for several hours attended to his correspondence and 
the duties of his office. Later in the day, after urgent 
persuasion on the part of his sister, he consented to 
have a local physician called. It was thought that the 
attack was not at all serious, that it was due to fatigue 
and over exertion, and that rest would bring the 
desired relief. 

Members of the clergy at the house had become 
acquainted with the fact that their Bishop was not 
well. Such a thing was so unusual, that though as- 
sured that there was no cause for anxiety, all of the 
episcopal household became concerned and even alarmed. 
As the following day was Pentecost Sunday, one 
of the great feast days of the Church, Bishop Delany 
was to say pontifical Mass in his Cathedral and to give 
the papal benediction. Confirmation was to be ad- 
ministered in the afternoon to a large number of 
children, and the Shepherd of souls was eager to 
strengthen and help the little ones of his fold. His 
solicitous priests argued with him not to officiate at the 
exercises that had been announced, since they were of 
such a lengthy and laborious nature, but he insisted 
on performing them rather than disappoint his people, 
and above all his children, the idols of his tender heart. 
When the morning services were completed the Bishop 
took dinner, and then went to his room where he rested 
until three o'clock. He then returned to the Cathedral 


and confirmed over two hundred children. He spoke 
to them at length, as he always did on such occasions, 
on the nature and importance of the sacrament about 
to be received. He also dwelt on the evil and sin of 
the present age in the use of intoxicating liquor, and 
he besought his hearers to abstain from it all during 
their lives. Then he gave the children the pledge to 
insure their fidelity until they reached the age of 
twenty-one. After all was over he enjoyed a drive 
through the city, saying he wanted to convince every- 
one he was as well as ever. 

Two of his sisters were his guests over Sunday, and 
he chatted lengthily with them while he related his 
plans for the summer. It was his intention to go alone 
through the entire State of New Hampshire in order 
that he might come into contact with all his people and 
that he might bring back to the faith those among them 
who had fallen away. He longed to reach those who 
needed assistance in any way, and above all to help those 
"sitting in darkness and in the shadow of death." 
What that visit might have brought to his wandering 
sheep, what his kind ministrations would have been to 
their hungry souls it is not difficult for those to believe 
who are acquainted with some of the conditions in 
various parts of the State. But God had other plans in 
his regard, and who knows but the young prelate's 
hopes and desires were, or will be, fulfilled in the sacri- 
fice he made of all that his heart held dear ! 

Monday afternoon at five o'clock he went to St. 
Patrick's orphanage, where he administered the Sacra- 
ment of Confirmation to a class of children. One of 
the Sisters in charge writes of that event as follows: 
"After the services were over the Bishop spoke beau- 
tifully to the children. He then partook of the sup- 
per prepared for him, and he greatly relished it; for 


he remarked that it was good to get back his appe- 
tite after the attack he had had of indigestion. He 
was in the best of spirits, as genial and happy as 
ever, and when his supper was finished he asked to 
have the little girls come out to the garden to sing 
for him. He thought no children sang like the orphans, 
and his own clear voice often helped them in the 
rendition of their little songs and hymns. He ob- 
served their pretty white dresses, their curls and 
even their stockings. Nothing was too small or in- 
significant for his notice when it concerned the 
orphans, his special pets, as he loved to call them. 
Being told of a picnic they were to have the following 
day he gave them a generous sum of money for good 
things. After he had blessed them, and said good 
night he departed, leaving their happy hearts filled 
with the sweetest memories of their kind father and 
true friend. Little did they dream that this was 
the last time they would meet on earth! This ad- 
ministration of the sacrament of confirmation was 
the last public function Bishop Delany performed. 
God willed that should it be given to the orphans whom 
he loved so tenderly, with whom he spent so much 
of his precious time, and for whom he had planned 
so nobly and generously in the years to come. 

That night the pains returned, and the doctor was 
again summoned. Some little relief was obtained, 
and the Bishop was restricted to his own room. He 
suffered a great deal on Tuesday, but felt convinced 
that the pains would subside as they did before. 
He was so afraid of giving trouble to those in at- 
tendance upon him that he tried hard to conceal 
what he was patiently enduring. Wednesday his 
sufferings increased and the local physicians becom- 
ing alarmed decided to consult Dr. Richardson, the 


well-known surgeon of Boston. He was called by 
telephone and agreed to come early the next day to 

The condition of the patient throughout the night 
led the members of his family to believe that he was 
suffering from appendicitis, though this was not 
definitely known until the arrival of Dr. Richardson 
on Thursday morning. 

Bishop Delany himself was of the opinion that an 
operation would be necessary. Notwithstanding the 
severe pains from which he suffered, he was in high 
spirits, much more so than the members of his 
family and his clergy. 

Early in the morning he requested that his vener- 
able confessor be sent for, and that the Last Sacra- 
ments be administered to him. Though he was con- 
tinually assured by those around him that there was 
no danger of death, yet he implored them to grant 
his request. "Extreme Unction will relieve me, and I 
am anxious to receive it," was all he would say when 
told by all that he would soon be well. His revered 
confessor quickly arrived, gave the Last Sacrament 
as desired, and the suffering Bishop seemed to re- 
gain strength and courage to hear with perfect 
resignation the opinion of the specialist. 

"An operation at once is the only chance of life" 
the surgeon said after a hasty examination of the 
patient. "I am perfectly willing to undergo it" the 
Bishop replied, then turning to his mother and sisters 
he said, "Do not feel badly. I am not afraid of the 
operation. With my health and strength I can go 
through it all right, but if God wishes to call me I 
am perfectly willing to go." 

He was immediately taken to the Sacred Heart 
hospital, an institution connected with the cathedral, 


but a block away. Upon his arrival there every one 
was visibly affected, for even in the operating- room 
he was happy and cheerful, and tried by every means 
to console the anxious ones around him. "Don't be 
worried about me. Whatever God wills is best in 
my regard" he said as he was placed on the operat- 
ing- table. 

The operation took place about noon in the pres- 
ence of many of the priests, local physicians, and 
nurses. It revealed an alarming- condition of the ap- 
pendix and showed that peritonitis had already set 

The news of Bishop Delany's illness spread like 
fire through the city, and all during the operation 
numbers of people gathered in the waiting rooms of 
the hospital, and even outside its doors, eager to 
ascertain how the patient was progressing. 

One thing- was in the Bishop's favor, notwithstand- 
ing- his serious condition, and that was his youth and 
vigor. He was only forty-one years of ag-e, a man 
who had taken the best care of himself from his 
boyhood, who had, up to the day he had been strick- 
en, enjoyed perfect health. On these assurances, the 
hopes of all were grounded, tog-ether with the feeling 
that God had many things for him to do during his 
episcopal career that had just opened with such 
splendid promise. 

Within an hour after the operation the Bishop re- 
covered consciousness. "I am glad it is over, do not 
worry about me, for I shall be all rig-ht now," he 
remarked to those around him. One of the priests 
congratulated him on bis courage and his cheerfulness 
even in pain. He replied, " Do not fear for me, my 
courage is all right." His mind was keen and alert, 
and he eagerly inquired what was done at the operation. 


He questioned if gangrene had set in, if any of the 
intestines had been removed, and in just what con- 
dition the appendix had been found. Upon receiving- 
evasive answers he said, "You need not fear to tell 
me. Sister. It won't trouble me. I am not afraid to 
hear the worst. Long ago I made up my mind to take 
what God sends." He pushed his inquiries until be 
was told that the appendix had been removed, and 
that a great deal of inflammation had been found. 

That nothing should be left undone for the safety 
and comfort of the patient Dr. Garland, the assistant 
surgeon, was recalled from Boston Friday morning and 
given full charge of the case. All that day the Bishop 
tossed without ceasing. He was consumed with fever, 
and had to be bathed constantly. About three o'clock 
he had a sinking spell. His chancellor and secretary 
was notified and found the condition so serious when 
he arrived that he summoned the heads of the religious 
houses and the priests of the city. In an hour, how- 
ever, the Bishop rallied and seemed more comfortable 
than before. Dr. Richardson came towards evening. 
He made no attempt to minimize the gravity of the 
situation. "The Bishop is a very sick man, "he said, 
"but we have not abandoned hope." 

The night was an anxious one. Two nurses one 
a Sister of Mercy and two doctors were in constant 
attendance. That the Bishop realized his danger was 
clear. Once, when the others were momentarily ab- 
sent, he said to the Sister: "What do you think of 
my chances for recovery?" "The doctor hopes you 
will be better," she replied. He tried to read her 
face. "I am not so much attached to earth that I 
could not give everything up. I gave those things up 
long ago. God's holy will be done !" As he looked 
into his Mother's tear-dimmed eyes he said: "Do not 


worry, Mother dear, do not cry, for I will be all 
right;' 1 then turning to his sister he continued: 
" Look out for Mother, take her away for a little 
while, and do not let her worry." 

He got no sleep until between three and four 
o'clock, when he dozed for a short time. Though 
he tried to conceal his sufferings, he many times 
asked for prayers, particularly that he might have 
patience to endure. His thoughtfulness for others 
was remarkable. Never once did he fail to say 
" Thank you " for the least attention, and he spoke 
repeatedly of the kindness shown him by everyone, 
particularly by the Sisters of Mercy. Saturday morn- 
ing brought no improvement, but he slept, and after 
each nap seemed a little stronger. He asked to 
receive Holy Communion, and when told that he 
would not be able to retain the Sacred Species, he 
questioned if there was no way by which his stomach 
might be strengthened. He was told that there was 
only one thing that could be done, and that was to 
subject him to the painful process of washing out 
the stomach. He made answer: "I will suffer any- 
thing to receive my Lord," and he went through the 
ordeal with the same courage and fortitude he had 
manifested from the beginning of his illness. In the 
afternoon Doctor Richardson found him so bright and 
cheerful that the most encouraging bulletin of the 
week was given out. The priests and people were 
delighted at the good news, and the city papers 
published the welcome word that the patient's recov- 
ery was almost assured. The Bishop was like his 
old self. He talked with the members of his family, 
and bade his mother go out and enjoy herself for 
awhile, for she had never left him from the moment 
he was stricken. Everyone thought that the thous- 


ands of prayers that had been, and were still being*, 
offered to the Most High for the Bishop's restora- 
tion, had been answered, and that God would give 
him back in health and strength to his devoted priests 
and people. As evening came on the nurses and 
Sisters watched closely for the change they knew 
would occur before dawn of the next day. The 
Bishop's patience was heroic even in pain that racked 
and agonized him. When his sister asked him if he 
were suffering greatly he replied : " As I look on that 
crucifix hanging on the wall and think of the suffer- 
ings of our dear Saviour, I feel myself crucified with 
Him. Oh, how I pray that He will look upon me, 
and help me to bear it all patiently 1 This is the first 
time in my life God has sent me suffering, and I 
want to bear it patiently. How many people in the 
world have had years of pain to endure, and I have 
been always well, and so I must not, I will not com- 
plain." All who came near him he besought to pray 
that he might have patience to accept what God 
wished to send. 

The change was noticed at about four o'clock Sun- 
day morning when the Bishop's heart began to weaken, 
his pulse to quicken, and the pain became almost un- 
bearable. Still he made no complaint. When asked 
about the pain by those in attendance he always 
answered, "It is passing." Violent vomiting set in 
soon after daybreak, and he became so weak that death 
seemed imminent. Several of the priests were sent for. 
The Bishop did not realize that a change for the worse 
had set in. Noticing anxiety and alarm on the faces of 
the members of his family, he said, "What mean these 
serious faces? If I am going to die I want to know 
it. I must be told. I have done all that I could, and 
if I am to die I want time to be alone with God 


and to ask forgiveness for my sins. Every moment 
since this operation has been agony, but I have offered 
it to Him, and I am not afraid of Him. Tell me the 
truth." They could not tell him and in tears left the 
room. His secretary entered, talked with him a few 
moments and then heard his confession. Again he 
begged for Holy Communion, but the vomiting re- 
turned and he was told he must wait a little while. 
Recalling the fact that washing out the stomach on 
the previous day had stopped the nausea, he asked 
that this be done. The Sister reminded him of the 
anguish it had caused him then. 

"That does not matter," he replied. "Any agony 
if only I can receive my God !" 

As he insisted Doctor Garland complied. The 
Bishop was so weakened by the operation that it was 
necessary to inject a strong salt solution. This is 
among the most painful of treatments, but he made 
no murmur. After resting a few moments he was 
able to receive Holy Communion. One of his priests 
brought the Blessed Sacrament, and in the presence 
of many of the clergy, of religious, members of his 
own family, administered the Viaticum. Immediately 
the Bishop seemed stronger. His eyes shone with 
almost unearthly brightness, and in a voice strong 
and clear he addressed his priests : 

"Be good priests always, good and faithful. Give 
my love to all the priests and to all the people. You 
have been a comfort to me. You have all been most 
kind to me. I want to beg your forgiveness for any 
fault, any disedification, any unkindness I have ever 
shown you. No, no," as they murmured dissent 
"I mean it. I might have done better. I am sorry 
for any fault." 

He blessed them individually and asked each one 
to pray for him. As their loud sobs filled the room, 


he said : " God needs me more than you do. I am 
ready to go. God chose me for His Work. His 
Will be done." 

He blessed the Sisters as they came one by one 
to his bedside, giving 1 a special benediction to the 
heads of the institutions, for the souls entrusted to 
their care. He then asked that he should see each 
member of his own family alone. No one but them- 
selves knew what that last farewell meant. The most 
loving and devoted son, the kindest and most af- 
fectionate brother was parting with them. Holding 
his mother's trembling hand he said: "Mother dear, 
I do not belong to you now. I belong to God. He 
chose me for His Work. His Holy Will be done. I 
shall see Father and Tommie in heaven and I shall 
tell them all about you." 

All during the day, friends came from far and 
near to receive the Bishop's last blessing. To each 
he said a kind word, raised his hand in benediction 
and sent a remembrance to some one in their homes. 
He insisted on admitting all who called and once 
when there were several in the room he gasped for 
air and the occupants were told to retire as he 
needed all the oxygen. When he rallied a little he 
said, " Do not send them away if I can be any com- 
fort to them. I have always tried to help my people. 
Let me do so to the end." The Sisters of Mercy, 
the Sisters of Jesus and Mary, the Benedictine 
Fathers, the Grey Nuns, the Sisters of the Holy 
Cross, the Benedictine Sisters, the Christian Broth- 
ers, the Sisters of the Precious Blood, and the Sisters 
from his own household all came for the last time 
to speak with their beloved Bishop and best friend. 
To each he bade an affectionate farewell and bestowed 
his last blessing. 


"Ah, Father William!" he said to a young priest 
from the college, "you must be good always, for you 
are my boy. You are the first priest I ordained, are 
you not?" 

"No, Bishop," replied the young priest in a voice 
broken with sobs, "it was Father Ignatius." 

"Was it?" said the Bishop. "Don't cry. You are 
my boy just the same, and you must be good just 
the same." 

To Mother Gonzaga, at whose golden jubilee he had 
pontificated but a month before, he said : " Come here, 
you holy patriarch ! May God bless you. When I go to 
heaven I will pray for your Old Men's Home." 

Finally he asked that all should go to the chapel 
to recite the prayers for the dying, that he might 
be left alone with God. Gladly his thoughts turned 
from earth to heaven. Over and over he said aloud, 
"God's holy will be done," and, "O Sacred Heart 
of Jesus ! in Thee I have hoped, let me not be con- 
founded." When his poor parched lips found it dif- 
ficult to pronounce the words, he would ask the 
Sisters to repeat them for him. 

Gazing at the crucifix on the wall before him, he 
said : " Sleeping or waking I can see that cross, but 
I cannot make out our Lord alone. It is always 
two I see. I imagine I am being tortured beside Him. 
He is helping me to bear my crucifixion, I pray that 
He will help me to the end." 

For a brief period his thoughts and mind seemed 
entirely away from earth, and he spoke at length to 
the Infant Jesus. His own voice aroused him to full 
consciousness again, and, turning to his sister, he said : 
"Did my mind wander? Do not let it do so again. 
I have prayed to God all my life that I might die in 
full consciousness." 


As he watched the attending surgeon, who was not 
of our faith, administering to his wants, he said: "I 
should like to see you a Catholic before I die. I can- 
not hope for that happiness, but I trust you may be 
one before you die." The young physician said he had 
learned many beautiful lessons of the Catholic faith 
while on this case, and never saw such fortitude and 
perfect resignation. The Bishop then said: "Think 
well on all you have seen here to-day. It is a holy 
faith. It is a hard faith to live by but a grand one 
to die by. In your work you see much of life and 
much of death. It must make you think of the great, 
great Eternity." 

The effort had been too much, and the pain returned 
with redoubled violence. When it seemed as though 
he could not stand it any longer, he would say to 
those around him: "Pray harder. Pray that I may 
endure to the end. I fear that I may break down." 

Every little while he asked what time it was, and 
how much longer they thought he would have to wait. 
When told it was near three o'clock : " That is Our 
Lord's Hour. Pray that He may take me then," he 
said, As it neared six he remarked: "Perhaps I 
will go when the bells ring the Regina Coeli." Then 
as they sounded he remembered: "It is not the 
Regina Coeli, is it? It changes to-day to the Angelus. 
I had forgotten that it is Trinity Sunday. Let us 
say it aloud." And they did, the Bishop giving the 

As he looked at the sorrowful ones around him 
he said that he was sorry to weary them, for he felt 
all must be tired waiting for the end. He wished they 
would go and take some rest, as he must yet wait 
awhile for his release. "Yes," said the Sister, "you 
are not going to die quite yet, Bishop. You will 


have to wait until to-morrow, and the apostle whose 
feast it is and Bishop Bradley, whose anniversary it 
is, will come and bring you to God. You will cele- 
brate his feast day in heaven." "I will tell him 
about you," he replied, "but I never expect to be 
near him. He was too good for me to hope to be so 
high." "You will be near him, never fear," was the 
gentle assurance. 

"O Sister!" he exclaimed, "I fear the Bishop will 
be disappointed in me, but I tried, I tried to do my 
best." A few minutes later he spoke again: "Sister, 
you saw a better man than I die. We both watched 
beside him. He taught me how to die, and I trust 
in God he taught me just a little how to live." 

Dr. Richardson arrived about six. He dressed the 
wound and gave other heroic treatment, which so 
weakened the Bishop that it was again necessary to 
inject the salt solution. This caused excruciating 
pain. As the long needle entered his side the Bishop 
remarked: "That was just where our Lord was pierced." 
He then questioned the doctor: "Had I appendi- 
citis?" "Yes, Bishop." "What is this? Periton- 
itis?" "Yes, Bishop." "No one is to blame. Thank 
you, doctor, I will have nothing more done." 

Toward midnight he began to fail gradually. More 
than once he was thought to be dying, but each time 
his wonderful vitality conquered. Over and over he 
asked that the prayers be continued, and in response 
to the rosary he incessantly said : " Holy Mary, 
Mother of God, pray for me now, it is the hour of 
my death." Over and over he begged the attendants 
to repeat the petitions for the dying which he had 
not strength to utter, while he himself breathed con- 
tinually familiar aspirations, particularly the one which 
he had chosen for his motto: "O Sacred Heart of 


Jesus, in Thee I have hoped, let me not be con- 
founded." " The Heart of Jesus is my Hope. The 
Heart of Jesus is my Love I" 

Once, when his mind wandered for a few moments, 
he spoke as if he were giving an instruction to some 
of his religious. " When you make your meditation, 
Sister," he said, "make it in the presence of God. 
Try to bring the Holy Spirit into your heart, child. 
Beg of Him for His light and His love that you may 
keep thus ever in the presence of God. Beg of Him 
to fill your heart with His peace, because without 
God's love and peace we have nothing. Do this 
always. Amen." "My God, I love You more than 
words can tell," his parched lips still murmured as 
life ebbed slowly and surely away. " My God, Thy 
Will be done !" With one supreme effort he partly 
raised himself in bed, turned his dying eyes towards 
heaven, and in a voice so loud and distinct as to be 
heard in the adjoining rooms, prayed : "Sweet Jesus! 
Look down upon a poor, frail, suffering being, who 
has not strength to do for You all that he would 
wish to do, but who, with these inarticulate, inex- 
pressible words gives forth these sentiments from 
the depths of a loving heart. O Holy Spirit of 
Truth ! Spirit of Life ! Spirit of Guidance ! direct my 
footsteps always in Thy paths. O Holy Spirit of 
Purity ! give me the grace to follow Thee always." 

The last words were hardly audible. His life was 
all but gone. Weaker and weaker he grew. Finally, 
with a supernatural strength, he repeated slowly and 
with perfect distinctness : " O Sacred Heart of Jesus, 
in Thee I have hoped, I know I will not be con- 
founded !" The weary waiting was over. The soul 
of Bishop Delany was with God. 


Death came at 3.40 o'clock Monday morning-, June 
llth. In a short time the sad news had spread all over 
the city, the State, and the entire country. During 
the night crowds had gathered outside the hospital, 
and waited there hour after hour, hoping- against 
hope, until the end came. When the word was an- 
nounced to them that their Bishop was dead it was 
with tear-stained faces and sorrowful hearts they dis- 
persed in silence to their various houses. 

By noon the body had been prepared for burial. 
While it still reposed in the hospital awaiting its re- 
moval to the cathedral residence, who can ever for- 
get a scene that there took place that of Bishop 
Delany's afflicted mother in prayer beside the body of 
her beloved son. With his icy hand in hers as she 
bent over his lifeless form, with heroic resignation 
she said : " My son, I give you to God, for He gave 
you to me. You have done God's Will. I will not 
complain. He knows best. May His Holy Will be 
done 1" 

After six months of anguish and bereavement she 
was reunited to the son she loved so well. 

The scene attending the removal of the body from 
the hospital to the episcopal residence was a sad one. 
A large number of people gathered in the vicinity 
late in the afternoon in anticipation of the event. 

A few minutes before six o'clock the body of 
Bishop Delany was removed to the cathedral resi- 
dence. Here it was invested in full episcopal robes, and 
was placed in the beautiful parlor, which was heavily 
draped in deepest mourning. And here on the wall 
was hung for the first time the magnificent life-sized 
oil painting of the Bishop, which had lately arrived 
from Rome. 

During the rest of the evening the doors were 
thrown open for the admission of the public, and 


thousands of visitors availed themselves of the oppor- 
tunity to look for the last time on the countenance 
of their beloved Bishop. A company of the Sheridan 
Guards was on duty in the room where the body re- 
posed and at the doors of the residence. They re- 
mained here until Wednesday afternoon, when pre- 
parations were made for the removal of the body to 
the cathedral. 

At three o'clock the solemn ceremony was wit- 
nessed by a representative gathering of people in all 
walks of life, who congregated in the vicinity of the 
cathedral and the episcopal residence. Long before 
the hour for the beginning of the procession the 
people began to assemble. The ceremony was one 
that will live long in the memory of those who wit- 
nessed it. 

The cathedral doors were opened at two o'clock, 
and there was a large number of people anxiously 
awaiting admission to the edifice, preferring to secure 
seats there and witness the procession as it entered 
the cathedral than to remain outside and come in 
with the crush. The center aisle had been reserved 
for the members of the clergy and civic bodies who 
participated in the ceremony. The side aisles were 
for the general public, and they were filled in a short 

Promptly at two o'clock the delegations from 
twenty different Catholic societies assembled in the 
basement of the cathedral, where they received orders 
regarding their duties. 

In the meantime, the entire company of Sheridan 
Guards performed patrol duty on the streets, keep- 
ing the crowd back and the sidewalks clear in order 
that no hindrance might be caused to the procession. 

From two to three o'clock the streets in the imme- 


diate vicinity were closed to travel through the 
courtesy of the street and park commissioners. 
Huge horses spread across the streets, draped in 
deep mourning-, blocked the highways, while details 
of soldiers prevented an attempt of drivers to pass 
through. The crowd was ably handled and did 
not interfere in the slightest with the plans. 
Promptly at 2.30 o'clock the several civic 
bodies which had been assembled in the basement 
marched out and were stationed on either side of the 
sidewalk from the middle entrance of the cathedral 
as far as the episcopal residence. The Holy Name 
Society had the right of line, being stationed at the 
cathedral entrance. 

The solemn procession as it left the episcopal res- 
idence was a most impressive sight. The people 
stood in awe, the men with their heads uncovered, 
as the funeral cortege moved with slow, steady step 
through the streets to the cathedral. 

A platoon of eleven fourth degree members of the 
Knights of Columbus, of the Manchester council, 
acted as a special escort. The members wore silk 
hats and Prince Albert coats, with black gloves and 
black ties. Each member wore a baldric of the 
national colors and carried a sword, insignias of the 
Fourth Degree. 

As Bishop Delany, who was State chaplain of the 
Knights of Columbus, and perhaps the only bishop 
in the United States who was a Fourth Degree mem- 
ber of the order at that time, it was fitting that the 
members of this degree should act as a special 

This body headed the procession proper, and was 
followed by the chancel choir of the cathedral, com- 
posed of the boys of St. Joseph's high school and the 
altar boys. They were attired in cassocks and sur- 


Then came the members of the clergy in their 
soutanes and surplices, each carrying- a lighted 
candle. All the priests of the city and a number 
from near and distant places participated in the 
services. All chanted the " MiserereV' 

Then came the body of Bishop Delany in the huge 
metallic casket, which rested on the shoulders of a 
detail from the Sheridan Guards. Ten men carried 
the casket, while another detail walked alongside in case 
of emergency. With measured tread the burden was 
slowly and sadly borne. Following the Bishop's body 
came the members of his family. Then the field and 
staff of the First Infantry, which completed the line. 

Expressions of sympathy were to be heard on all 
sides as the procession marched along, and there was 
a shadow of gloom over the entire assemblage. 

The casket bearing the body of the Prelate was 
placed on a great catafalque which had been erected 
in the center aisle of the cathedral. 

As soon as all entered the edifice prayers were com- 
menced by the clergy, and joined in by the entire 
congregation. This closed the ceremony for the after- 
noon, and the body lay in state until the following day. 
Throughout the night every Catholic organization 
watched in turn for an hour and prayed aloud during 
that time. 

The interior of the church had been extensively 
draped. The handsome altars appeared in their sombre 
garb of purple and black. Large streamers and fes- 
toons of the same colors appeared throughout the body 
of the edifice, and everything was in deep mourning. 

The throne of Bishop Delany which he had occupied 
during the twenty-one months of his prelacy had 
been heavily draped in purple and black. 

Thursday was a solemn day in Manchester, a day 
when an inexpressibly sad ceremony was made still 


more solemn and impressive by the memories of an 
all too recent event which crowded upon the reverent 
throng. It was such a short time before that a sim- 
ilar great company, composed of nearly the same 
people, assembled in St. Joseph's Cathedral to wit- 
ness the consecration of their Bishop. Only twenty- 
one months before he had ascended the altar steps, 
with mitre and crosier, for the first time. It was 
all so recent that it seemed but yesterday, and to 
the sorrow that must attend a funeral service was 
added the profoundest regret that Bishop Delany's 
life work was so soon over. 

In that sad hour the city virtually stood still. Fed- 
eral and municipal buildings were closed. The doors 
of business, banking, and insurance houses were shut. 
The busy hum of the machinery of the great textile 
manufactories and shoe shops was hushed. The 
schools, public as well as parochial, were dismissed. 
The usual course of the city's life was suspended. 

While the community thus stood still in reverence, 
a scene that will live as long as memory lasts was 
being enacted at St. Joseph's Cathedral. The Gover- 
nor of New Hampshire and his staff, the leading of- 
ficials of the city, and representatives of its great 
manufacturing and business interests were there. 
All the members of the hierarchy in New England 
were present and participated in the solemn cere- 
monies. Clergymen from neighboring dioceses, in 
large numbers, were in attendance to pay their last 
tribute to the Manchester prelate. All the priests 
of the see of Manchester were at the cathedral, 
where their leader had ministered. Distinguished 
laymen of the Church were there representing the 
several organizations of the Church or in their indi- 
vidual capacity, while the rank and file of the institu- 


tions of the city and surrounding country were 
represented in the throng- that packed the edifice 
and the streets for blocks around. 

No invitations to the funeral services had been ex- 
tended, and for this reason a large crowd gathered 
at an early hour anxious to gain admission to the 
church. At ten o'clock the massive cathedral doors 
were swung open, and the church was soon filled to 
its utmost capacity. 

The sanctuary hardly sufficed for the large num- 
ber present. It included Most Rev. John J. Williams, 
D. D., late Archbishop of Boston, Most Rev. William 
H. O'Connell, D. D., Rt. Rev. Joseph G. Anderson, D. 
D., Rt. Rev. William Stang, D. D., Rt. Rev. John 
Michaud, D. D., Rt. Rev. Matthew Harkins, D. D., Rt. 
Rev. Thomas Beaven, D. D., Rt. Rev. Michael Tierney, 
D. D., and over two hundred priests, including many 
monsignori and representatives from nearly all the 
religious orders of New England. 

The mayor of Manchester, the mayor of Lowell, 
the chief justices of the supreme and superior courts 
were also present. There were representatives from 
Boston College, Holy Cross College, Knights of Col- 
umbus from several councils, and Protestant clergy- 
men from nearly a dozen churches in the city. All 
had gathered without distinction of position, race, or 
creed to pay their last tribute to their Bishop and 

The ceremony was elaborate in all its details and 
most solemn. The celebrant and officers of the Mass 
wore vestments of black, while the clergy appeared 
in their cassocks, with white surplices, with the ex- 
ception of the archbishops, bishops, and monsignori, 
who were easily distinguished by their robes of 


The solemn ceremony began with the chanting of 
the Office of the Dead, the entire clergy responding 1 . 
The officers of the pontifical requiem Mass entered 
in procession from the vestry of the church. The 
celebrant of the Mass was the Most Rev. William H. 
O'Connell, D. D., then coadjutor and now Archbishop 
of Boston, assistant priest Rt. Rev. Mgr. O'Callaghan 
of Concord, vicar general and administrator of the 
diocese ; deacon of the Mass Rt. Rev. Joseph G. And- 
erson, D. D., now auxiliary bishop of Boston ; sub- 
deacon, Rev. John A. Began of Boston; thurifer Rev. 
Fr. William, O. S. B. ; acolytes, the Rev. Walter Dee 
and Rev. Thomas Loughlin ; masters of ceremony 
and other officers were Rev. Thomas M. O'Leary, 
Rev. William Sweeney, Rev. James Brennan, and Rev. 
Jonn Casey, all of the cathedral. The music of the 
Mass was rendered by the New Hampshire priests 
in the plain Gregorian chant. 

The eulogy was given by Rev. John T. Mullen, D. D., 
a college classmate and life long friend of Bishop 
Delany. It was with the deepest emotion, which 
visibly affected all present, that Dr. Mullen spoke as 
follows : 

"Being made perfect in a short space, he fulfilled 
a long time; for his soul pleased God." Wisdom iv., 
13, 14. 

In the minds of many here to-day there will arise 
a picture of that September day some twenty months 
ago within these sacred walls. A young priest of this 
diocese, young in years, but old in wisdom and good 
works, was to receive the episcopal consecration and 
to be raised to the high dignity of chief pastor, teacher, 
guide, and leader in God's Church. There was present 
here the Apostolic Delegate, the immediate represent- 
ative of Christ's Vicar on earth, giving vivid testimony 


to the new Bishop of his Apostolic succession. We 
had then present, as we have to-day, the venerable 
Metropolitan of this province, brother bishops and 
fellow priests, and faithful people. All was joy and 
gladness, all breathed forth a spirit of hope and promise. 
We remember how the sacred vestments were placed 
upon him, the solemn rites of consecration adminis- 
tered, the crosier and ring- bestowed upon him, and 
all bowed down low, happy to receive his first epis- 
copal blessing. Who has forgotten that solemn ending, 
when the new Bishop, in token of his gratitude to the 
conscrating prelate, kneels before him and three times 
intones with heartfelt accents "Ad multos annos." 
And what heart was there that did not breathe forth 
the same prayer for the young Bishop? What a change 
to-day! Clad in his episcopal robes he is with us still 
in form and figure, but that strong youthful life has 
passed away from us. Our hopes are shattered and 
promises defeated. 

"Of the depth of the riches of wisdom and of the 
knowledge of God! How incomprehensible are His 
judgments and how unsearchable His ways!" Looking 
above and beyond our grief shall we say that God has 
failed us? Is it true that our prayers were dis- 

Have we reason to despair of God and His provi- 
dences ? Let our Christian faith give us the answer. 
Let it tell us that " We have not here a lasting city, 
but we seek one that is to come." Let it speak to 
us that man is made for his God, for a short service 
here on earth, for eternity hereafter. "But the just 
shall live forevermore ; and their reward is with the 
Lord and the care of them with the Most High." 
That, and that alone, can then be loss which destroys 
man's hopes of a glorious immortality. Judged by 


these eternal truths, is the life which has gone out a 
loss and a failure? Is the death we mourn a reason 
for despair? Let us examine that life but a little, 
let us recall the scene of that death, and our Christian 
faith will find peace and calmness to soften the sor- 
row which fills our hearts. We shall see fulfilled 
those consoling- words of Holy Writ, "Being made 
perfect in a short space he fulfilled a long time, for 
his soul pleased God." And not, then, for him shall 
we mourn ; not for the passing away of that life 
which has seemed to go out in the very noonday of 
its existence. If we mourn, we mourn for ourselves ; 
we have lost a friend, father, and leader. We mourn 
for Holy Church on earth, which has lost a worthy 
bishop; we mourn for the State, which has lost a 
loyal and useful citizen. 

It is not for me to-day to try to portray the beauty 
of that life, or tell in detail the story of its good works. 
It would be a task beyond my strength for many rea- 
sons. A few brief words only will I attempt, incom- 
plete indeed, but enough, I hope, for our comfort and 
our edification. 

John Bernard Delany was born in the city of Lowell, 
August 9, 1864. He was blessed with the priceless 
gift of a good Catholic home and parents. Who can 
measure the influence of this fact on his whole life? We 
shall be better able to judge when we recall that from 
that home there went out two other lives, a brother and 
sister, devoted to God's special service in His Church. 
After receiving his early education in the schools of his 
native city, he entered college, first at Holy Cross, 
Worcester, then at Boston College, from which institu- 
tion he was graduated in 1887. 

Feeling called to the sacred priesthood, he entered 
the celebrated seminary of St. Sulpice, at Paris, and 


after four years of study and training- he was ordained 
priest May 23, 1891, by the present venerable Arch- 
bishop of Paris, Cardinal Richard. He was a faithful 
and loyal alumnus of that institution, wherein were 
handed down for centuries the best traditions of Catho- 
lic France, and he was ever ready to attribute to its in- 
fluence and training- much of the good of his after life, 
for as the potter receives the roug-h clay and shapes it 
into various forms of beauty and usefulness, so did 
that institution take its young- men from school and 
colleg-e of the entire world to fashion them to be men of 
God and worthy priests of His Church. 

I was privileged to know him, and the mere pass- 
ing- acquaintance of colleg-e days ripened into deep 
intimate friendship, continued and prized ever since. 
And it was my happiness to be among- the first to 
serve his Mass after his ordination. Already in those 
early days he displayed the qualities which marked 
and made for the success of his after ministry. The 
merest acquaintance with him soon discovered a man 
with more than ordinary strength of character. He 
was conspicuous before all for the well-balanced or- 
der and poise of his judgment; not brilliant, it may 
be said, but ready and solid in his studies and all 
his aims and purposes. He enjoyed a rare combina- 
tion of rich and various qualities of mind and heart : 
Strength and firmness with quiet docility ; active zeal 
united with a calm discretion ; feeling without passion, 
and a tender sympathy without softness ; an even- 
ness of temperament and ever-present cheerfulness 
that made him easily a favorite with all. He was the 
soul of candor and straight-forwardness in all his 
doings, and at no time were the honesty and sincere 
unselfishness of his purposes ever doubted or sus- 
pected by those who knew him. He had what might 


well be called a sterling- character a manly priest 
and a priestly man. There was a side of his person- 
ality which was known best to his teachers and 
intimates his deep religious character. Sham and 
pretence of all kinds he ever disliked and avoided ; 
and his easy, familiar ways sometimes hid from the 
unthinking- the depths of religious conviction and piety 
within him. Beyond his favored natural qualities he 
was eminently supernatural in all his views and aims. 
His quiet, steady faith and confidence in God and the 
divine life of the Church seemed as natural to him as 
his breathing, and as vital. The influence of those 
seminary days elicited from him that whole-souled 
consecration to the service of the Church which was 
so apparent in the days of his ministry as priest and 
bishop. And for him the Church was no mere form- 
ality or organism, but the living-, acting- souls of men 
and women. For him faith meant that Jesus is the 
Christ, the Son of God, in whom alone is the world's 
salvation and life, and that still ever around us 
Christ carries on this blessed dispensation in and 
throug-h his visible Church till the end of time. For 
him, then, the work of the Church was to make God 
visible and tangible, so to speak, to poor humanity ; 
to teach all, to guide all, to strengthen and console ; 
in a word, to help all to know and reach God, their 
Heavenly Father. From his seminary days he may 
be said to have made his object in life those words 
of St. Paul, "to renew all things in Christ." 

This spirit was proved by him in his early min- 
istry on his return home in 1891. For some eight 
years he labored as assistant priest and acting- pastor 
till appointed in 1898 to the position of chancellor 
and secretary to the lamented Bishop Bradley ; and 
that was the position he occupied when called less than 


two years ago to be the second Bishop of Manchester. 
These last two periods of his life are but as one - 
for the first was in the providence of God but the 
training and entrance to the other. His work brought 
him into closest relations with his superior, and won 
for him that saintly prelate's fullest confidence, and 
in return he gave his complete and most loyal ser- 
vice. One after another were important duties of 
every kind given to him to fulfill. While remaining 
chancellor he carried on the office of diocesan organ- 
izer and director of the League of the Sacred Heart 
of Jesus; he was intrusted with the work of special 
missions to those outside the Church; he was selected 
to act as promoter for the Priests' League, 
devoted to combat the drink evil, which is such 
a menace to all society. He was the Bishop's assist- 
ant in the task of establishing in the diocese and 
elsewhere the Sisterhood of the Precious Blood. He 
was the representative visitor on the State Board of 
Charity. His interest in the welfare of the Catholic 
young men was proven by him as State chaplain for 
the Knights of Columbus. And when the time came 
for founding a distinctively Catholic publication in 
the diocese it was he who was chosen to carry out 
this difficult project, and The Guidon stands to-day 
a monument to his tactful and earnest endeavors, 
fulfilling with ever-increasing proof the truth of its 
motto, "For God and the Nation." It was evident 
to all that the Bishop trusted him fully and in many 
ways greatly depended upon him. And it was not 
unexpected that he should be the successor when 
Bishop Bradley passed to his eternal reward. 

Though differing outwardly in some respects, these 
two lives had much in common. To each his high 
dignity and office had come unsought, and was ac- 


cepted only in the spirit of faith as a field of greater 
opportunities for doing- good in the vineyard of the 
Lord. To each it was in the fullest sense "Noblesse 
oblige;" the pastoral office meant larger, more re- 
sponsible duties for the care of souls. And to each 
the courage and strength to carry out these duties 
came in his trust in God and a profound conviction 
of his divine calling. As priest, our dear friend had 
sat at the feet of his saintly Bishop and had imbibed 
his Christlike love for souls. He was ever glad to 
acknowledge the debt he owed his pious, saintly 
predecessor during those years of intimacy, and when 
he himself took up the episcopal charge almost his 
first act was to raise the massive Celtic cross on the 
church grounds as a monument to his teacher, a 
fitting symbol of his life work and spirit. Again and 
again he bore public testimony of his deep apprecia- 
tion of the work done before him. He found a dio- 
cese well ordered and organized ; college and hospital, 
convents, schools, and asylums established and in ex- 
cellent working condition; a numerous and ever- 
growing body of loyal and zealous priests, and a 
large Catholic population, diverse in many ways, but 
united in their allegiance and devotions to their 
spiritual shepherd. How proud the new Bishop was 
of his clergy 1 How often he would speak in praise 
of their fidelity to him and of their laborious, self- 
sacrificing care of their charges 1 How he count- 
ed on their support in his new plans and 
improvements ; for plans and projects he had of 
his own for the benefit of the diocese. Some 
of these he has made known when he had 
them well matured and ready for execution. Others, 
of as vast and useful a character, he had laid up in 
his zealous spirit with his usual prudence and dis- 


cretion till the favorable time should come for rea- 
lizing them. The All-Wise Providence of God has 
known them and will reward him for them ; but their 
execution must wait for another heart and hand. 
May God in His goodness and mercy grant to this 
diocese as worthy a bishop as him we mourn, one 
who will care for the seed his hands have planted 
these last twenty months, and reap the bountiful 
harvest which he so hopefully awaited for the good 
of souls and God's honor and glory. For during this 
short time there was no work in the diocese, spirit- 
ual or temporal, which has not felt his band and in- 
fluence ; and there is nothing which be has touched 
which he did not better. 

I have spoken of his whole-souled faith and devo- 
tion to the divine, beneficent mission of the Church. 
This spirit was the golden chain which supported all 
his aims and labors, priestly and episcopal. When, 
soon after his consecration, he went to Rome to 
venerate the see of the apostle, and pay his rever- 
ence to the Vicar of Christ on earth, his faith 
seemed to receive a new strength and inspiration. 
His belief in the divine character of his episcopal 
calling was invincible. It was with that spirit that 
he took up its dignity and burdens, and it was with 
that same spirit that he laid them down. I cannot 
take upon myself to tell the story of these last days. 
It has been a heavy task to think of him and speak 
of him as he was in those bright days of his vigor 
and activity. It has been done only too unworthily, 
indeed, but only as a love token of a strong affection 
and deep reverence for him. 

His life's history is a source of pride and edifica- 
tion ; but more so still would be the story of his 
death, could I bear to tell it. When, on Sunday last, 


all hope was gone of keeping that precious life by 
any earthly aid, it was he who was calmest in that 
chamber of death. Oh, the beauty, the happiness of 
that Christian death I What calmness and patience 
in his distress 1 What thoughtfulness of the suffer- 
ings of all but himself ! He looked on death but as 
going to the Lord and Master, in whose service he 
had spent his young life so generously and so well. 
With truth and confidence could he make his own the 
words of the Psalmist : " The Lord is my Shepherd, 
and I shall want for nothing. He hath set me in a 
place of pasture ; He hath brought me up on the 
waters of refreshment. He hath converted my soul. 
He hath led me in the paths of justice for His 
name's sake. For though I should walk in the midst 
of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for Thou 
art with me ;" and on Monday last, in his forty- 
second year, and the sixteenth of his priesthood and 
the second of the episcopate, as the sun rose over 
the eastern hills in all its strength and beauty, scat- 
tering clouds and darkness and mist, on him there 
rose another and better sun, the Sun of the face-to- 
face vision of his God, ending forever the shadows 
and cares of earth and bringing to his immortal soul 
God's perpetual light and eternal rest. 

And one thought more, which I cannot attempt to 
dwell upon, nor even mention at this time but for an- 
other scene with which we are all familiar. On that 
ever-blessed Friday, two thousand years ago, by the 
cross of the world's salvation stood the sorrowful 
Mother, sorrowing at the death of her beloved Son. 
And yet, while her soul was pierced with the sword of 
anguish at the thought of His agony and her loss, still 
her heart was calm and resigned, knowing that death 
would be swallowed up in victory. Such was the blessed 


and sorrowful Mother of Jesus the model of all Chris- 
tian mothers, the model and consolation of the Christian 
mother here to-day. As Mary, so did she give her son 
gladly when he was called to devote his life to the work 
of his Heavenly Father, and, as Mary, so will she in 
this hour of her affliction bow down her soul in entire 
submission to the will of God. "It is God who has 
given, it is God who has taken away; may the name of 
the Lord be blessed forever." 

And may the same spirit, dearly beloved friends, find 
place in our hearts. We shall bear our loss at the 
thought of his gain, for loss we all do suffer by having 
no more with us the model and inspiration of his truly 
Christian life. Mourn for him we must; but let us 
mourn for him in the light of his saintly Christian 
death, having in our hearts and on our lips the prayer 
just said at the adorable sacrifice of the Mass, that "to 
him and to all who have gone with the sign of faith and 
rest in Christ, God may grant a place of refreshment, 
light, and peace, through Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen." 

The solemn ceremony was brought to a close by 
the chanting of the Absolutions by five of the bishops. 
The "Miserere'" was sung by the choir, after which 
the members of the clergy passed in procession down 
the center aisle, taking a last view of the dead 
prelate. During this painful scene tears were shed 
and sobs of sorrow could be heard throughout the 
church. When the last of the clergy and prelates 
had passed the body of the Bishop was lowered in 
the casket and the cover was placed in position. 

The carriers, all military men of a uniform height, 
formed in line with the massive metallic casket rest- 
ing on their shoulders, and with slow, measured 


tread marched down the center aisle, preceded by 
members of the clergy. The relatives and immedi- 
ate friends of the family followed. The body was 
borne out of the main entrance, through the school- 
yard, into the basement of the church. 

Arriving at the crypt, the casket was placed on a 
small catafalque while the committal services were 
read. Members of the clergy chanted the "Bene- 
dictus," and the casket was sprinkled with holy 
water. It was then placed in the vault, the great 
iron doors closed and sealed. Bishop Delany had left 
all earthly possessions for the glory of heaven for- 

JULY 11, 1906. 

Bishop Delany has passed to his reward. Like every 
other mortal he will long be mourned by his friends 
those who knew and loved him and by the world at 
large will be recalled for a while as one who had given 
great promises and who did not live to accomplish them. 

Every official has his official epitaph. "Vixit": The 
world moves on, and the official of yesterday is re- 
placed by the official of to-day. One sorrow drives out 
another, and the memory of any grief, however great, 
soon mercifully passes, except to those whose hearts 
have received a wound too deep to heal during the rest 
of life. 

The ecclesiastic usually has few to mourn a personal 
loss. His life is given to the Church in almost an im- 
personal way. The priest is the father of his flock 
the bishop is the father of his diocese. He labors and 


toils, and lives and dies, and the grave closes over him. 
For a day the hearts of all are filled with solemn grief 
they gather around the lifeless body, and their prayers 
mingle with the weeping of friends. And there is left 
only a memory. 

What memory does this people enshrine of their 
young Bishop, so soon called from the battle of life to 
the victory? A memory of youth consecrated to God, 
of intelligence devoted to truth, of a heart honest, pure, 
and holy, which thrilled with the impulse of a strong 
zeal and beat in sympathy with the unhappy and the 
poor of God. 

No need to speak here of those qualities which as a 
priest endeared him to his people. Nor of those traits 
of character which gave such promise as a bishop, and 
as a ruler in the Church of God. You, beloved priests, 
have known the honesty of his purpose, the simplicity 
of his faith, the rugged manliness of his virtue. You 
have known his kindliness of heart, and the catholicity 
of his affection for you all impartiality. His life was 
genuine and all that he did bore the mark of candor. 
He had the frank intrepidity of the soldier of Christ. 
He knew the duties of his state he understood the 
sacredness of the laws which governed his office, and 
he feared no unjust criticism nor flinched before the 
difficulties of his post. His intention was clear and up- 
right, and, with the strength of purpose which accom- 
panies perfect honesty of purpose, he only smiled at 
the cavilling criticism, which was only thinly veiled by 
courtly phrases. He was a good bishop because he 
was an honest man. Had he lived the see of Manches- 
ter would have waxed strong under his hands. Con- 
ditions needed one who loved all and feared God 
alone. He lived by that noble rule, and as knowledge 
of his character grew, so inevitably must have grown 


around him love, unity, strength; Love, for nothing- 
creates affection but affection; unity, for the rights 
of all would be safeguarded and the feelings of all 
considered, and that principle welds into unity; 
strength, for that is the child of love and unity. 

What he scarce had time in living to do, much of 
it in dying he accomplished. Around the bedside of 
the young Bishop was gathered a scene which typi- 
fied his hopes of life. Already death was knocking 
at his heart, and the youthful hand that had scarcely 
held the crozier had relaxed in the feebleness of the 
old age of fatal illness. It must have all seemed a 
mystery to him as he lay there, his temples still 
new to the mitred crown, now bound in the thorny 
coronet of agony, the pectoral cross of gold and jewels 
so soon put aside for the flinty burden of his youth's 
crucifix. He must have gazed in the awful stupor of 
surprise at the jewel upon his finger, reflecting that 
soon it would encircle only ashes. Ah ! the dread 
horror of that single moment, when it came clear to 
him that death was standing at the door and that 
soon his short pontificate would end. What wonder 
if the cry of youth had broken from his strong 
heart, if he groaned at the horrid suddenness of the 
cutting of the golden thread of his life so full of 
hope, not as the worldling shudders at the sudden 
realization that pleasures end in the ineffable horror 
of agony, but as one, whose life looked full of work 
for God, might sadden at the thought that it is not 
to be. Ah 1 even had one inarticulate groan of holy 
disappointment escaped one so young, so strong to 
bear and work, it would have seemed but natural. 
But he was supernatural in his life's hopes, and such, 
too, was the supreme ending of them. He had put 
his hands to the plough; he would not turn back. 


He had hoped to work for many years ; now there 
were left only a few hours in which to work, and 
with the heroic courage of a faithful heart, loyal to 
bis post, he put aside illusions, be gave one long, hard 
glance at the broken shaft of hopes, and girded him- 
self for the contest until the end. He had thought to 
have long years in which to round out the series of 
his toiling efforts for eternity ; he must now make 
each moment count for the years which were never 
to be. And so without groan or tear he faced the 
dread combat, strong with the strength of faith in 
God, the God of his youth, the God who on earth 
but little longer than he had ruled his little flock, 
and who, like him in youth and strength* consum- 
mated His shepherdhood. Consummatus in breve. 
Oh quam breve tempus. But consummatus done, 
finished, accomplished, his last words a blessing and 
a prayer for his priests and his people, with the 
same simple trust in God that had marked his whole 
life, neither shrinking nor daring, but calmly con- 
fronting the duty of death, he entered eternity. And 
this diocese was once more widowed. 

A month has passed since then one small month, 
the eyes are dried of tears, the world moves on 
with the eternal round of duties, joys, and cares. 
The young Bishop sleeps beneath the altar, and even 
in death, even from his tomb just beneath us, he 
speaks to us to-day, to us gathered here to do honor 
to his sacred memory and to chant the requiescat of 
the Church for the peace of his soul. If his lips could 
move they would speak to us now the great lesson we 
all must learn. This would be his message: 

"Men die; the Church must live; bishop succeeds 
bishop in the long line of apostolic succession, each 
with his separate task and separate work, but the 


faith must be kept alive and the bond of charity un- 
severed, whoever wields the crozier, God will keep 
the diocese if you keep your sacred trust. Be one 
cor unum et anima una. Let all those who kneel 
near my tomb depart not until they hear this voice 

and obey. Cor unum et anima una." 


Men die; the Church must live; and she lives in 
the hearts of loyal children, not by mere personal 
attachment, but by eternal and unswerving devotion 
to her eternal truths. Men die ; He died whose life- 
blood flowed down the Cross to moisten the soil that 
was to bring forth confessors of the faith He taught. 
And from His wounded side the Church sprang with 
all her holy line of pontiffs to rule her till time is no 

Men die ; your Bishop died, but the story of his 
life lives to quicken your faith and devotion ; to warm 
your love for Christ's Vicar ; and to keep strong and 
true your pledge of obedience to him whom God will 
send you. He who sleeps beneath this sanctuary 
never flinched, never for a moment wavered in his 
holy duty toward the Church, toward her chief pon- 
tiff, toward the episcopate. 

I, who knew him well, well knew his love, childlike 
in its purity, manly in its strength for Peter's Chair, 
for Rome, for Christ's Vicar. Who that saw him on 
that happy day, when for the first time he knelt at 
Pius's knee, could forget the joy, the glow of fervor 
that radiated from his happy countenance? "I never 
knew till now," he said to me, " the full meaning of 
the episcopate, the wealth of power it embodies, the 
worldwide scope of the Church, and the absolute 
necessity of union among us all and all with Rome. 
I never realized till now that, as the solitude and iso- 


lation of a priest finds consolation and strength in 
the paternal affection of his bishop, so the cold isola- 
tion of the bishop is warmed and cheered by the in- 
timate union with Rome. It is our strength in 
trouble, our support amid the misconceptions, the 
calumnies, the false voices, that trouble every official, 
whether of Church or State. I have always revered 
Rome ; now I love her." With such sentiments he 
left her gates to face with courage, not only the aw- 
ful storms and raging tempests of the seas, over 
which he traveled back to home, but the more terrible 
ocean of life, which most of us must embark upon, 
and which he would have courageously braved, had 
not God, after a brief and peaceful sailing, steered 
his bark home to the haven where the sails are 
dropped forever and whence there is no further sor- 
rowful journeying; but where the anchor is cast, 
never again to be lifted, where there is no wave nor 
wind, but eternal, never-ending peace. 

I saw him after his return to his diocese, and knew 
that his visit to the See of Peter had worked in him 
more even than he knew or realized. There was after 
that a sudden maturity of power, a deeper sense of 
responsibility, a wider, broader feeling of fellowship 
with the world of faith. He seemed suddenly to feel 
that he was on firmer ground, that the novelty of the 
charm had passed, but had left a sober dignity be- 
hind it, a lessening of the splendor of the mitred 
crown and a growth of the loving companionship of 
the Cross upon his heart. He felt keenly, as I know, 
the bitterness of undeserved reproach the sting of 
unmerited criticism, but he had learned at the greater 
center to understand that no one escapes it, and bis 
frown of sensitive resentment towards malice soon 
turned into the smile of gentle patience. "I do my 


best," he said to me, "I shall always try to do that. 
Probably that will always be too little, but lam satis- 
fied now that the best never satisfies the ill-disposed, 
and the well-disposed are always contented. So good- 
by sensitiveness and good day to malcontents." And 
he thought he had framed a new philosophy, but it 
was only the old maxim of Christ, the maxim which 
has consoled every worried soul for two thousand years : 
"sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." 

All this was the sudden development which Rome, 
the eternal, the all-patient, brought to him. But the 
fruits which budded forth so suddenly at the warm 
infusion of a stronger affection for the Vicar of Christ 
were in reality slowly enlarging during the years of 
his priesthood by the constant assimilation of that 
other sap which runs through the vine of the eternal 
priesthood obedience and reverence and affection for 
his own bishop. 

He had learned to obey; therefore he was placed 
in command. He had learned to serve; therefore he 
might be entrusted with authority. Cor unum et 
anima una. He had preserved the unity of charity 
and reverence for his own bishop; therefore he was 
only sure to grow in these sentiments toward the 
Universal Bishop when he himself should be raised to 
the episcopate. He had been a faithful son; therefore 
he would be a wise father to his own spiritual children 
and a docile son still to his mother, the Church. 

Less than two short years he reigned, but God found 
him worthy. He had taken up bis new honors without 
pride; he had laid them down without regret. They 
were not his; they were the Church's; he gave them 
back unsullied for another to wear ; to him they were 
only the livery of holy service, but to his dying breath 
he was true to the duty they imposed he prayed for 


his beloved priests .and the people committed to them. 
"I hope the diocese will remember her duty till another 
comes in my place." These were the words almost 
the last on his lips the last message he sent to me. 
Faithful to the last true shepherd of his flock then 
came the end. 

Peace faithful servant rest young soldier God will 
hear your prayers. Rest, valiant and young; your 
holy death, calm in the awful agony, confident that you 
had done your best, will do even more than a long life. 
God has spared you much which most of us must bear 
the wounds of injustice, the scars of the long contest, 
the weariness of hard-fought battles to keep the 
strength of unity. 

Rest, then, in the union of heart to heart and mind 
to mind with Christ and pray that your priests and 
people may also realize that perfect unity which the 
Church commands, that right and truth may come to 
all, Cor unum et anima una, until she sends another to 
sit upon the throne now vacant until once more out 
of eternity comes the joyful welcome, " A.d multos 
annos," the same voice which has called out to you 
"Ad annos aeternos." 




For many ages and among- distant peoples the broken 
column has been the accepted and expressive symbol 
of unfinished work, of disappointed hopes, of frustrated 
endeavor. That life is uncertain, that the strong- and 
the weak alike hold it only as by a slender thread, 
is evident in everyday experience and is known by all 
men. Yet there are times when that which is known 
and familiar seizes our surprised attention as something 1 
wholly new. That all men must die is a universally 
accepted proposition; but that Bishop Delany, so young, 
so strong, so recently come into the broad field of his 
life work, should die so soon, could scarcely have oc- 
curred to anyone. The news of his critical illness 
came to thousands as something strange, startling in 
its unexpectedness, and to not a few his death will 
seem as something that can hardly be. 

Bishop Delany will be mourned throughout his dio- 
cese by all sorts and conditions of men. He was 
already widely known and universally esteemed. Al- 
though the youngest bishop in the United States at 
the time of his consecration, less than two years ago, 
he entered upon the duties of the high position fully 
equipped for its responsibilities. The enthusiasm of 
youth was in him, combined with a clear judgment 
and a sound understanding. He felt deeply that there 
was a great work before him, but he felt also that 
there was time in which to do it well that he might 
build broadly and without haste, albeit at the same 
time without rest. Those who knew him intimately 
know how calmly he planned great and enduring work 
in many lines, not for his own glory or advantage, 
but for the cause to which he had consecrated his life 


and all his powers, for the welfare of his people, for 
help to the needy and distressed, for the strengthen- 
ing- of faith among* men. He was not lifted up with 
vain pride by his advancement, but, calmly conscious 
of his physical and mental strength, he gratefully 
welcomed the opportunity for usefulness which came 
to him, as a strong man rejoices to run a race. 

John B. Delany was lovable as a man, a genial com- 
panion, generous, whole-souled and clean; as a priest 
he was faithful, earnest, hard-working, and exception- 
ally capable; as a bishop he was dignified, as became 
his position, but approachable, sympathetic, and help- 
ful. His death is a heavy loss to the community in 
which he lived and to the State at large, little 
less than to the Church of which, here in New Hamp- 
shire, he was the spiritual head. 


It is but two and a half years since the beloved and 
reverenced Denis M. Bradley, architect and builder of 
the Catholic diocese of New Hampshire and its first 
Bishop, was called to his eternal reward by the Father 
he had served with such fidelity and efficiency. And 
now John B. Delany, who, after nine months of careful 
investigation and consideration, was adjudged by those 
having the selection the most worthy and capable of 
the many who were eligible, was chosen his successor, 
has been stricken down, and his people are again 
prostrate under the dispensation of an inscrutable 

In the prime of life, in full possession of mental 
and physical powers, at the threshold of what to human 
intelligence promised to be a long and useful career 
a week ago, he has passed away. 

To what eminence he would have attained, what 
work he would have accomplished, what measure of 


wisdom, sagacity, and success he would have demon- 
strated, how fully he would have illustrated the 
example and teachings of the lamented Bradley if he 
had been spared, cannot be said. He had just begun 
the work to which he had been consecrated by his 
Church and had consecrated himself, but we know 
that he brought to it great learning, perfect devotion, 
sleepless care, tireless industry, and great courage. 
His plans for the future were broad and far reaching. 
They involved great labor and expense for the benefit 
of a diocese much larger than the present, to supply 
the spiritual and temporal needs of many more than 
the 100,000 now enrolled as Catholics in New Hampshire. 
They were not only for the propagation of his reli- 
gion but for charity, education, and all the agencies 
by which the world is advanced. They were not only 
for the upbuilding and advancement of the Church, 
but, as he saw it, for the good of the State. And 
for their development he relied with perfect confi- 
dence, as he had a right to, upon the zealous, con- 
stant, and liberal support of all his communicants. 

Nor did he in forecasting a great future forget or 
neglect the duties of the present. By day and by 
night, by example and admonition and entreaty and 
advice he taught his people how to walk in the paths 
of sobriety, moderation, industry, and enlightenment, 
which he believed led to contentment and happiness 
here and reward hereafter. 

He broadened as he progressed. Contact with those 
of other denominations, experience with affairs, famili- 
arity with business, made him more and more prac- 
tical, and were steadily winning public confidence. 
In general estimation he was a larger, more resource- 
ful, more practical man when he died than he was two 
years before, and he goes hence to the Great Beyond 
sincerely mourned by people of all denominations. 



By the death of Bishop John B. Delany the diocese 
of Manchester is again widowed, to use the striking 
phrase which Bishop Delany himself uttered upon 
the death of his predecessor. New Hampshire has 
met a great loss in the sudden ending of this sturdy 
and scholarly life, about which centered so many 
hopes and so much pride. Though the years of his 
episcopate were less than two, Bishop Delany had 
already demonstrated a remarkable grasp upon the 
affairs of his diocese, and was carrying forward suc- 
cessful plans for his Church to a degree which 
promised largely to enrich the history of his admin- 
istration. Other hands must now take up his tasks; 
but loving remembrance will long exist to honor the 
life and labors of the second bishop of Manchester. 


In the death of Bishop Delany, New Hampshire 
loses one of the forces that made for her best and 
highest interests. He was a man universally beloved, 
not because of the clothes he wore or the office he 
held, but because of the sterling manhood within 
him, because of his keen appreciation of human needs, 
and quick sympathy for all who suffered. To all 
who had opportunity to realize and did realize his 
splendid ability and loyalty as a son of the Roman 
Catholic Church, his taking away at this time, so 
suddenly, appeals as a calamity stopped on the very 
threshold of his activity, called home when his labors 
were but begun. 


The death of Bishop Delany is a heavy blow to the 
Church of Manchester as heavy as it was unlocked 
for. He was perhaps the youngest bishop to be 


consecrated in the United States, and the youngest 
to die. His episcopate, which began less than two 
years ago, promised to be one of exceptional length 
because of his comparative youth and his apparently 
robust constitution. 

In his death a real luminary of the Catholic Church 
in New England has been extinguished. He had 
ability and industry, high hopes and noble aspirations. 
His priesthood though all too short was one of 
unrelenting and successful labor. He spoke and wrote 
with equal facility and in several languages. He was 
master of the situation whether he stood in the 
pulpit or sat at the editor's desk. He was for many 
years the chancellor and trusted adviser of Bishop 
Bradley, who beheld in him a man fitted for any post. 
To-day the remains of both lie side by side. 

Bishop Delany had hardly time to accomplish great 
things in the episcopate, but his whole life was one 
of absorbing zeal. His experience as chancellor, as 
missionary, and as editor, gave him an exceptional 
insight into the requirements of his office, and he was 
most ideally equipped for the great work which the 
Lord required of him. 

He was the founder of The Guidon, a periodical 
which is read with respect and whose opinions are 
valued all over the country. He did excellent work 
as the guiding spirit of this magazine. On his recent 
visit to Hartford he unfolded his project of making 
this meritorious publication a weekly, and under his 
sagacious direction the enterprise was bound to 
succeed. He did not live to fulfill his purpose, and 
the cause of Catholic journalism loses heavily in his 

Those who knew Bishop Delany intimately predicted 
for him a notable career in the episcopacy. They 


conceded him fine judgment, zeal, singleness of pur- 
pose, indomitable energy, high ideals, and unbounded 
enthusiasm. He was a man of forceful character, 
independent and outspoken a man of intellect, of 
heart, and of kindly human instinct. 

The Catholic people of the diocese of Manchester 
are entitled to the sympathy of the religious-minded 
everywhere. Death was jealous of their leader, and 
did them grievous wrong in abbreviating a career so full 
of promise. There seems to be wanton prodigality in 
his taking-off. This prodigality, strange to say, is 
frequently to be met with in the vineyard of the Lord. 
The Lord makes use of the best instruments and 
casts them carelessly aside, as if they were but 
heedless trifles and as if to teach audacious man 
that the Almighty has no need of his gifts. One 
thing, however, is certain Bishop Delany labored 
during the brief years allotted to him with earnest- 
ness and with fruit. Wise men were quick to detect 
his merit, and his promotion at a very early age to 
the burden of the episcopate was a recognition of 
demonstrated ability and exceptional worth. 


The death of Rt. Rev. John B. Delany, Bishop of 
Manchester, which is felt as a personal loss by every- 
one who enjoyed the benefit of his acquaintance, is 
peculiarly sorrowful in that his life ended at the very 
beginning of the great work which lay before him, 
in his youth and apparent strength. He was one of 
the youngest of bishops and one of the very best of 
men. Worcester shares with Manchester and Lowell, 
his home, in their deep sorrow, for here, too, he was 
widely known and greatly beloved, long before his 
elevation to the holy office of bishop. 


Those who remember John Bernard Delany while 
he was a student at Holy Cross, recall a modest and 
devout young- man, devoted to his studies and a 
model in every way to other students. He had marked 
ability, and it was early seen that he would become 
a leader in the work of the Church. He never courted 
popularity, but it came to him naturally, and there 
was no student who did not hold him in the highest 
respect. The early predictions were fulfilled when 
he became a priest, and it was not a surprise when, 
at a comparatively youthful age, he was appointed 
and consecrated bishop. 

His nature was genial, his mind was hopeful, and 
his heart beat strong 1 for humanity. That he should 
be called away at such a time is doubly afflicting, 
but it is the old doctrine of the Church that in the 
midst of life we are in death. God has called him 
to his reward, but the sorrow is relieved by every 
consolation that He gives in return a noble spiri- 
tual life. 


The Roman Catholic Church in New Hampshire 
suffers a distinct loss in the death of Rt. Rev. John 
B. Delany, Bishop of the Manchester diocese. Twenty- 
one months ago he was appointed in charge of the 
diocese of Manchester, succeeding the late Bishop 
Denis M. Bradley. Bishop Delany was the second 
clergyman to be elevated to the bishopric of this 
State since the establishment of the Manchester 

In the prime of manhood, and with many years of 
usefulness ahead of him, the untimely death of Bishop 
Delany is a great loss to the Catholic Church in this 
State. He had made a wide acquaintance during his 


years of residence in this State, and was esteemed by 
Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Prior to being ap- 
pointed to the bishopric, he was editor of the Guidon, a 
diocesan publication, which he managed with marked 
ability. Since his elevation to the office of bishop he 
had performed valuable work for the uplift of the 
Catholic Church in New Hampshire. He was popular 
with both clergy and laity, and his untimely passing is 
the occasion for deep and sincere mourning. 


Keenest grief has been caused by the death of Bishop 
John Bernard Delany. This grief is not confined to the 
people of the Church of which Bishop Delany was the 
spiritual head in New Hampshire. Neither is it con- 
fined to this State nor to this section. People in all 
parts of New England, in remote sections of the 
country, and in Europe, heard the news of the death 
of the young prelate with deep sorrow. 

Bishop Delany was a man who endeared himself to 
all who knew him. He enjoyed the confidence of 
people of every faith. Generous, broad minded, faith- 
ful, and untiring, he gained the esteem of all classes. 
His ability was unusual, so unusual that he became 
the youngest bishop of the Catholic faith in America. 
The wisdom of the choice was proven many times 
during his short administration of less than two 

The death of Bishop Delany came as a great shock. 
The shock was made all the greater by the fact that 
strong hope of his recovery was entertained as late 
as Saturday. 

To Portsmouth the shock of Bishop Delany's un- 
timely death is especially severe. He worked here 
as a young clergyman, and he numbered his friends 


here by the thousand. Portsmouth felt that it was 
honored by his advancement, and in his death knows 
that it has suffered loss, even though he gave up his 
labors here years ago to continue them in a wider 

Of Bishop Delany's successor it is yet too early 
to speak. If the man who takes his place, however, 
is his equal in the qualities which make the true 
servant of God and in those which make others love 
and respect him, no more can be asked. 


For the second time in less than two years the 
diocese of Manchester, New Hampshire, is widowed. 
The death of Bishop Delany, occurring on Sunday 
last, soon after an operation for appendicitis, is deeply 
deplored not only among his own clergy and people, 
but also among his non-Catholic neighbors, to whom 
he had endeared himself by his charm of manner 
and true Christian character. The fact that he was 
the youngest member of the American hierarchy makes 
his death seem all the more untimely. But times and 
seasons are in the hands of God. May the soul of 
the beloved Bishop rest in peace 1 


Early last Monday morning, New Hampshire lost 
one of her most highly esteemed citizens. After a 
struggle lasting four days, the result of an operation 
for appendicitis, Rt. Rev. John B. Delany, Bishop of 
Manchester, passed away at the Sacred Heart Hospital, 
laying down the cares of a shepherd within two years 
after having assumed them. 

Throughout the State the news came as a shock to 
both Catholic and Protestant alike. While it was 


known to the majority that the prelate was critically 
ill, many were of the belief that owing to his fine 
physique and general good health he would be able 
to battle successfully with the disease. To those en- 
tertaining these thoughts the information came as a 
severe shock. 

The esteem in which Bishop Delany was held by 
the Catholics of Manchester, among whom he had 
labored for many years as a priest, could not be 
better shown than by the people who congregated in 
front of the Sacred Heart Hospital when it became 
known that his hours were few. They gathered there 
in great numbers and sadly awaited the last words. 

On his death, words of sympathy began pouring 
from Catholic priests and Protestant ministers. Of 
the latter, preachers of the Methodist, Baptist, and 
Congregational denominations spoke warmly of his 
efforts for temperance. Mayor Reed of Manchester 
declared that in him the city had lost one of its 
strongest citizens. 

Bishop Delany was the youngest bishop in the United 
States, and was proudly pointed out by his admirers. 
But forty-one years of age, a man who had taken the 
best of care of himself from his boyhood, he was in 
early middle life, a vigorous, robust man, and this 
was the chief source of hope of his people in his 

The high esteem in which he was held by members 
of the hierarchy was shown when at a meeting held 
in Chicago a year ago he was elected one of the officers 
of the Church Extension Society, which was formed 
for the further propagation of the faith throughout 
the South. 



There passed away on Sunday evening one of the 
ablest and most brilliant men in the hierarchy and 
the Church in general in America, the Rt. Rev. John 
Bernard Delany, Bishop of Manchester, N. H. The 
loss of Bishop Delany will fall particularly hard upon 
New England, because in the section of the country 
where he worked a man of Bishop Delany 's peculiar 
temperament, foresight, caution, and conservatism was 
needed to solve the problems which arose. 

Bishop Delany was the youngest member of the 
hierarchy in America, and withal one of the sanest and 
the ablest. He did more to place the Church on a 
permanent and satisfactory basis in New Hampshire, 
during the time that he was Bishop, than any man 
has ever done in a like period. There was bigness 
in his mind, and one cannot help recalling the scheme 
and the rosy future which he had mapped out for 
his diocese, without regretting doubly this sad taking 
off. Peculiarly he has sought to gain favor for his 
people in New Hampshire, and he brought the people 
of that section, hostile though they were, to a real- 
ization of the dominant factor for good which the 
Church and its priests were. 

His elevation to higher orders a few years ago was 
hailed with delight everywhere, because everywhere 
the young Boston College Bishop had made a name 
for himself, and the administration of affairs in Man- 
chester, and in Northern New England in general, 
which has featured his primacy, have reasserted his 
noble and sterling qualities. 

Few men could be so little spared as Manchester's 
primate, and the Church throughout the country offers 
its condolences to the bereaved congregation which 
has suffered so severely in losing two such souls as 
Bishop Bradley and Bishop Delany within a few years. 



"Admirable, indeed, were the words he spoke, 
whether a3 preacher, counsellor, or friend; admirable 
the works he accomplished for God's greater glory 
and the betterment of men; admirable the writings he 
has left us; admirable the wise and prudent decrees 
by which he ... governed the diocese committed 
to his care. But more admirable than all these were 
the holy life and death of the saintly first Bishop of 
Manchester." So wrote, less than ten months ago, in 
his preface to the "Life of Bishop Bradley," that New 
England prelate's successor, the late Bishop John B. 
Delany; and his discriminating and effectionate tribute 
to Manchester's first Bishop summarizes with singular 
adequateness his own beneficent, if all too brief, epis- 
copal career. 

Consecrated on September 8, 1904, Bishop Delany 
wore the mitre too short a time to do much more than 
give promise of the character that would stamp his 
administration; but that promise was both abundant 
and distinguished. Only forty-one years of age when 
death came to him so unexpectedly on the llth inst., 
the late Bishop had attained, as chancellor of the 
diocese, as missionary, and as editor of the Guidon, 
a reputation which in 1904 made his appointment as 
Bishop Bradley 's successor quite a matter of course; 
and the extraordinary demonstrations of respect and 
affection that marked his consecration in that year 
find their sequel and complement in the wave of 
genuine sorrow that has followed the announcement 
of his apparently premature decease. R. I. P. 


The death of the Right Reverend John Bernard 
Delany, D. D., second Bishop of Manchester, N. H., 


on June 11, in the flower of his manhood, has stricken 
with grief, almost with dismay, not only his own 
flock, but the whole Church in New England. His 
last illness was but of a few days' duration ; and 
although it was grave from the start, his youth and 
vigor gave cause for hope, and less than twenty-four 
hours before his death, the physicians in attendance 
had sent out a cautious word of encouragement. 

A cedar is fallen in Lebanon; they who have borne 
the burden and the heats for many years longer in 
Christ's service, mourn for him as for a beloved son ; 
while they who have lived under his rule deplore the 
loss of an ideal leader spiritual-minded, singularly 
in touch with his time, and close to the hearts of the 

When less than two years ago, he was chosen to 
succeed the first Bishop of Manchester, the Right 
Reverend Denis M. Bradley, D. D., everyone who loved 
religion rejoiced at the most happy appointment. Bishop 
Delany had not yet attained his fortieth year ; his 
education had given him the best of the New World 
and the Old; to the symmetrical culture of a typical 
school of the Jesuits, Boston College, had been added 
the strict ecclesiastical training of the Sulpicians at 
their great central house in Paris, where Archbishop 
Williams and several other members of the episcopate 
in New England had also made their theological 

Ordained in 1901, the future Bishop, though a native 
of the archdiocese of Boston, gladly gave himself to 
the diocese of Manchester, which was poorer and far 
more in need of priests and where his fluency in the 
French language made him especially useful. He filled 
several successive curacies, and one brief parochial 
charge when he was recalled to Manchester by Bishop 


Bradley to take the office of chancellor. His close 
relation to that holy bishop made him, so to speak, the 
chief pupil in a school of priestly sanctity Here he 
had ever before him the example of limitless devotion 
to his high vocation. Bishop Bradley, still young- him- 
self, lived laborious days, was urbane, simple and 
approachable to the lowliest, and while attentive to the 
smallest detail of local work, reached out mightily to 
every movement of international scope among Cath- 
olics, encouraging the activity of the laity, and seeking 
not only the spiritual, but also the intellectual and 
material betterment of his people. 

He found a kindred spirit in his Chancellor, and 
gave free range to the latter's vigorous and militant 
spirit. Both men were of marked literary bent, and 
appreciated profoundly the Apostolate of the Press. 
In 1898, with the encouragement of his Bishop, the 
young Chancellor instituted The Guidon, an excellent 
monthly magazine, in which the sublimity and sweet- 
ness of our holy faith were set before the people in 
excellent literary and artistic form. The doctrine 
and discipline of the Church, their exemplifications in 
consecrated and most useful lives, their out-flowering 
in art, music, and literature these were the topics in 
which the editor's pen was most happy and faithful. 
He retained the editorship of this publication until his 
promotion to the Episcopate, when, of necessity, it had 
to pass to other hands. Bishop Delany's last literary 
works over his own name were the introduction which 
he contributed to the recently published Life of his 
beloved predecessor and his Pastoral in English and 
French on Christian Education. 

But the duties of office and editorship by no means 
exhausted the zeal and vigor of the young priest. He 
believed in those extra-parochial organizations of 


Catholics which are now so greatly advancing- the 
Catholic cause. So he was not only a member, but 
the State chaplain of the Knig-hts of Columbus in New 
Hampshire. He believed in meeting our separated 
brethren on the common ground of patriotism, citizen 
spirit, and public benevolence, so we find him on the 
State Board of Charities, and an active member of its 
committee on dependent children. A good Catholic 
American, he loved the natural virtues of his fellow 
citizens of other faiths in the spirit of Christ to those 
"not of this fold," and he wished to give them the 
chance to see the Church in its truth and beauty. So 
we find him at the head of the Manchester Apostolate, 
with its missionary work for non-Catholics as well as 

He was devoted to temperance work, to education in 
all its grades, including its post-graduate extension in 
the form of Reading Circles and the Catholic Summer 
School. Almost every year, he made a brief visit to this 
latter institution, giving the most practical proofs of 
his appreciation of the work. 

Withal, he constantly nourished his soul-life from the 
fountain of the highest and purest spirituality. He 
had no dearer charge than that of the contemplative 
and austere community of the Nuns of the Precious 
Blood, whose chaplain he was for many years. He 
greatly aided their work in Manchester, and he helped 
them establish a house in Havana, Cuba. He was also 
the Diocesan Director of the League of the Sacred 

When the diocese was bereaved of its first Bishop 
all hearts turned to the young Chancellor as his logi- 
cal successor. And so it came to pass, and the 
mourning was comforted when on September 8, 1904, 
Bishop Delany took up the work that had dropped 


from the exhausted hands of his late beloved chief 
and friend. How confidently the "Ad multos annos " 
was re-echoed in the hearts of his priests and people ! 
How auspicious the feast, the birthday of the Blessed 
Mother of God, and how promising- the harvest ! 

Diocesan necessities made the young- Bishop begin 
his administration with the ad limina visit to Rome. 
Then he set in vigorously to his diocesan work. It 
is pitiful now to recall the joy of his mother and his 
kindred in the seal of highest approval so early placed 
on his priestly work ; of the pride of his Alma Mater 
and his classmates, so enthusiastically manifested ; 
of all the brig-ht hopes built on the supposed secure 
foundation of his youth and strength. 

Full of the joy of life, happy under the strain of 
labor, the lover of little children with a nature of 
simplicity and openness like unto theirs, his life is 
cut off while it was but beginning 1 . Not two years 
a Bishop, and only in the forty-second year of his 
age, his mortal part will await the Resurrection be- 
side his predecessor, who after twenty years in the 
same field was but fifty-seven when called to his 
reward. None who knew Bishop Delany but must 
grieve with his kindred, with his friends, with his 
flock; and feel, as it comes to all in face of great and 
inexplicable calamity, how hard it can be to say, God's 
will be done ! 


Portland, Me., June 11. 
Editor of the Pilot: 

The Catholics of this city deeply deplore the death of 
the Rt. Rev. John B. Delany, D. D., Bishop of Manchester, 
N. H. Our acquaintance with Bishop Delany dates 
back to the days of Bishop Bradley, whom we had long 


known as the rector of the Cathedral, Portland, and 
whose career we were familiar with during 1 his 19 years 
as Bishop of Manchester. In later years when we met 
one we met the other, and naturally when Bishop 
Bradley's mantle fell on the shoulders of Bishop Delany 
our love and affection went out to him. 

Although Bishop Delany was one of the most gentle 
and modest of men, he was firm and ruled his diocese 
with characteristic wisdom and piety. His scholarship 
and ability made him widely known, and at the time of 
his consecration he was one of the youngest bishops in 
the United States. 

On the occasion of his first visit to Rome he was af- 
fectionately received in audience by Pius X. as he was 
one of the first American prelates appointed by the new 

Bishop Delany established The Guidon, a monthly 
periodical, in 1898, which, under his management and 
editorial control, became a mag-azine of influence, well 
known throughout New England. On the occasion of 
Bishop O'Connell's installation, in the Cathedral, Port- 
land, as third Bishop of Portland on July 4, 1901, Bishop 
Delany, then Father Delany, was present and wrote a 
fine description of the impressive and solemn function. 
The article was beautifully illustrated for the maga- 
zine, a special artist being employed, which showed 
commendable enterprise on the part of Bishop Bradley's 
chancellor and private secretary. 

The friendship between Bishop Delany and Coadju- 
tor Archbishop O'Connell was well known and of long 
standing. Both were natives of Lowell, Mass., were 
close companions, and were graduates of Boston Col- 
lege. At the funeral of Bishop Bradley it was notice- 
able the marked attention and respect he manifested 
for Bishop O'Connell. 


On the occasion of Archbishop O'Connell's recent 
arrival in Boston from Rome and Japan, Bishop Delany 
was among the first to greet the new Coadjutor as his 
steamer reached the docks. 

The unexpected and premature death of this prom- 
ising young prelate must needs be a cause of deep 
sorrow to all the bishops of New England, but more 
especially to Archbishop O'Connell. 

In Portland and throughout the diocese where he 
was well known to many of the priests and some of 
the laity he was held in affectionate esteem, and his 
demise before yet completing the second year of his 
episcopate is deeply regretted. 

The last time we met Bishop Delany was at the 
dedication of the little Church of Our Lady of the 
Mountain, No. Conway, N. H. On that occasion he 
was the type of perfect health and vigorous young 
manhood. We were also present at his consecration* 
which took place in St. Joseph's Church, Manchester, 
on Sept. 8, 1904. 

Besides his own personal charms Bishop Delany 's 
love and devotion to his saintly predecessor endeared 
him to the good people of Manchester and the diocese. 

It was his fondest wish and resolve to take Bishop 
Bradley for his model and in so doing God blessed bis 
labors. He had much to live for, for who that has 
visited Manchester without marvelling at the numerous 
institutions of learning, magnificent churches, schools, 
hospitals, and homes for young and old and all that are 
destitute a veritable nursery of Catholicity. 

This too brief tribute from an old friend, written on 
the impulse of the moment, but too feebly expresses 
the sorrow that the Catholics of Portland feel for a 
valiant and fearless soldier of the cross, whose ex- 
emplary career will be fittingly and eloquently told by 


those whose position entitle them to pay due homage 
to a noble, saintly young- Bishop. 


The following- notice was sent to all the members 
of the Alumni: 

" The Rt. Rev. John B. Delany, our honorary presi- 
dent, was called to his reward in the Sacred Heart 
Hospital at 3.40 a. m. to-day. At that time the Church 
on this Continent lost a great Bishop, the nation a real 
patriot, the State its best citizen, the flock a virtuous, 
kind, determined, lovable shepherd, humanity a true 
benefactor, fatherland a loyal spirit, and the Alumni 
its best friend. Christian charity in the proposed 
orphanag-e; Christian education in the proposed Bradley 
memorial high school are monuments of purpose and 
memory in his short episcopacy. The spiritual and 
temporal welfare of his people in New Hampshire was 
a chief thoug-ht in life. 

The following- resolutions have been adopted by St. 
Anselm's College on the death of Bishop Delany: 

Whereas, it has pleased an all-wise Providence to 
bereave the diocese of Manchester of its beloved chief 
pastor, the Rt. Rev. John Bernard Delany; 

Whereas, the faculty and the students of St. Anselm's 
College lose in the Bishop a kindliest father, a most 
devoted patron, who, on many occasions before and 
since his elevation to the see of Manchester, gave them 
unmistakable proofs of his love and interest; 

Resolved, That a solemn Mass of requiem be sung- 
for the repose of his soul in the college chapel on 
Tuesday, the 12th inst. 

That all sports arranged to take place at the end of 
the scholastic year be cancelled. 


That the flags on the College building be at half mast 
until after the day of his funeral. 

That a delegation of the faculty and of the students 
assist at the solemn obsequies on Thursday. 

That to the end of the present scholastic year special 
prayer be daily recited, that the Almighty may grant 
him eternal peace and rest. 

That the present resolutions be published in the 
principal newspapers of the city of Manchester. 


In the midst of our anxious preparations for Com- 
mencement, the hand of death, like a bolt of lightning 
across an unsuspecting sky, came into Alma Mater's 
ranks early on the morning of June llth and snatched 
away one of our most loyal and cherished sons. In 
the very vigor of manhood, after a very brief illness, 
Rt. Rev. John B. Delany died at 3.40 a. m. on the 
morning of June 11. The cause of his death, as an- 
nounced by the famous Dr. Richardson of Boston, 
was acute appendicitis, complicated by peritonitis. 

A week before his death Bishop Delany gave symp- 
toms of his disease, but he did not cease from his 
episcopal duties; he administered confirmation on the 
afternoon of Pentecost, June 3d. On the following 
Thursday the expert Dr. Maurice Richardson per- 
formed the operation, but the disease had progressed 
too far to give any hope of recovery. 

Up to Sunday evening Bishop Delany retained con- 
sciousness and to the edification of all who called on 
him he cheerfully bore his suffering. Towards mid- 
night he lost consciousness and at 3.40 o'clock on 
Monday morning he passed peacefully away. 

" Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord * * * * " 


Bishop Delany was born in Lowell, August 9, 1864. 
After early school work he went to Holy Cross College 
for two years and then came to Boston College, grad- 
uating here in 1887. 

He then entered the seminary of St. Sulpice, Paris, 
and on May 23, 1891, he was ordained to the priesthood 
by Cardinal Richard. 

He then began his priestly work in the Manchester 
diocese and on the death of Bishop Bradley he was 
appointed his successor and on September 8, 1904, he 
was consecrated Bishop of Manchester. 


On the occasion of the first anniversary Mass on 
June 11 for our beloved alumnus, the late Rt. Rev. 
John B. Delany, '87, The Pilot had these worthy 
paragraphs : 

Great and good men never wholly die. Their names 
and deeds are written upon hearts in ineffaceable 
characters, more permanent than those chiselled on 
monuments of stone. Though at the time of his 
sudden and universally regretted passing away, the 
most beautiful tributes that could be written or spoken 
were given to Bishop Delany, still, in the past twelve 
months, the story of his noble, zealous life, and the 
example of his heroic, saintly death have been worthy 
subjects of admiration and edification all through the 
entire country. Such a life is a great gift to humanity 
and remains as an imperishable memorial to posterity. 

Bishop Delany was a man of the deepest sympathy, 
of the happiest and kindliest nature, of the rarest 
sweetness and strength of character combined with an 
energy and earnestness of faith and piety that made 
him beloved and revered by all who knew him. He 
was a staunch champion of education and of Catholic 


literature, an ideal priest, a model bishop, a brave and 
fearless leader, a kind and generous father, a true 
and loyal friend. No one ever went to him in sorrow 
without receiving comfort and consolation. No one 
ever asked his advice without obtaining help and as- 
sistance, for his charity was Christ-like, ceaseless in 
its duration, and boundless in its extent. 


It was natural that the Benedictines of St. Anselm's 
College, Manchester, the Knights of Columbus and 
various other Catholic organizations, the Alumni of St. 
Joseph's High School, and the children of all the 
Catholic schools should honor the memory of the 
lamented Bishop Delany by special Masses, by meet- 
ings and resolutions. But that the Protestant clergy 
individually, and the members of so large a body 
collectively as the Ministerial Association in session 
at the Y. M. C. A. building after the Bishop's death 
should so heartily record their appreciation of the 
life and work of the departed is a splendid proof of the 
passing of bigotry and the power of a devoted church- 
man by his example and his speech to promote the 
cause of Christian unity. 


The Guidon has lost its Father. Bishop Bradley 
had twice before seen the failure of a Catholic journal 
founded under his auspices. A third time he proposed 
the undertaking, and entrusted one of his priests, the 
Rev. John B. Delany, with the task. He accepted it, 
and was left entirely to his own resources to carry 
it out. The objectors among the clergy were many, 
the writer among the number. We could offer him 
no encouragement; no hope of success. Some weeks 


after the clergy were surprised to receive in the mail 
the first number of the Guidon, and a mighty fine 
magazine it was, well edited, artistic, and printed by 
the best company in the State. The man that produced 
this first effort was persistent, bound to win his point 
in face of all obstacles. The magazine continued to 
appear. We were forced to admire the pluck of its 
editor and sympathize with him on the early day we 
set for the obsequies of the magazine. By and by its 
importance dawned on us when such secular papers 
as the New York Sun, the Boston Herald, reprinted 
the editorials of the Guidon as approved, sensibly-put, 
statements on Catholic subjects. They were largely 
quoted by discriminating Catholic journals. ''''Nemo 
propheta in patria sua" was verified. Then the clergy 
interested themselves when their favorite daily or 
magazine had pointed out the good things of the 
Guidon to them. The subscription price of the Guidon 
was fifty cents a year and the sale price five cents a 
copy. That was not even paying expenses. Father 
Delany knew this, took the risk in order to introduce 
the magazine to the public. He was editor, business 
manager, and solicitor of articles to be printed, with- 
out pay. Fortunately some of the best writers of the 
country were his personal friends, and lent their aid. 
Everyone knows that the subscription list of a maga- 
zine is a drop in the bucket for its support. He en- 
larged the magazine, hired, at a good salary, an ad- 
vertising agent, and increased the price of subscrip- 
tions to one dollar a year and ten cents a copy. 
Later a stock company, composed of some of the 
priests of the diocese, was organized ; they invested 
heavily and put the Guidon on a firm basis. To tell 
the truth, their dividends have been few and far be- 
tween, and a large proportion of those paid have been 


turned over to orphanages by the owners of the 

Then came the death of Bishop Bradley and the 
long months of waiting for the election of his suc- 
cessor. Father Delany's work as chancellor was re- 
doubled, still he gave his attention to the Guidon. 
No one could foretell what the policy of the new 
bishop in regard to the Guidon would be, for Father 
Delany might be sent to a parish that would demand 
all his time, and he would be obliged to give up the 
editorship. To many minds this meant the death of 
the Guidon, consequently subscriptions and advertis- 
ing fell off. He alone was undiscouraged. Although 
a prominent candidate for the mitre from the be- 
ginning, he never alluded to the matter, or tried to 
influence the choice in the magazine. 

Finally the choice was made. Father Delany was 
named bishop, and Father Thomas M. O'Leary suc- 
ceeded him as chancellor and editor of the Guidon. 
Bishop Bradley lost his life because he gave personal 
attention to every little detail of his diocese. With 
the increased size of the diocese, that was too much 
work for one man. It was necessary that some of 
these details should be turned over to an assistant. 
Already Father O'Leary was overworked in the 
chancery office, so the Bishop regretfully asked him 
to give up the editorship and devote all his time to 
more important work, and asked the present editor 
to take up the task, as he had much free time at his 

We assumed the obligation with overconfidence in 
our abilities. We quickly learned that the work done 
by our predecessors, with a multiplicity of other 
duties to be fulfilled at the same time, could not be 
done as well by us with more time in which to do it. 


Our only instructions were these : " Remember that 
while your name does not appear on the editorial 
page of the Guidon, mine does. The responsi- 
bility falls on me." The Bishop rarely inter- 
fered in the choice of matter ; occasionally he 
suggested subjects for articles, and these were well 
received. At times we submitted for his approval 
editorials which handled certain events in a severe 
manner. "Your notion is right, but a more charit- 
able way of handling it would serve the purpose and 
have more effect," would be his answer. On another 
occasion a few humorous lines were printed. We 
were called to the telephone "I'll have to get a 
keeper for you. Don't you know those lines may 
apply to hundreds, but there happen to be a few of 
the hundreds about here? These will think the lines 
were meant for them, and they will feel hurt. Don't 
hurt anyone's feelings." 

The Guidon, at the death of Bishop Bradley, was 
several hundred dollars in debt. Within a year 
Bishop Delany had paid every cent of this indebted- 
ness, and to-day the Guidon is not only out of debt 
but has money ahead. It now began to pay authors 
of ability for work written especially for its pages. 
The outlook was bright. Subscriptions were increas- 
ing rapidly, all advertising was paid for in cash. 
This caused the Bishop to begin a project he long 
had in mind, which, in its memorial editorial, the 
Hartford Transcript has made public. His idea was 
to change the monthly into a weekly paper. On the 
occasion of a visit to us he told of it in his own 
pleasing manner. He had all the plans perfected ; he 
had visited the offices and talked with the managers 
of prominent weekly papers. The one great advan- 
tage of the weekly over the monthly is that it handles 


questions while they are fresh, especially where the 
Church and its people are misrepresented. All was 
ready for the realization of this plan except the selec- 
tion of the editor and business manager and the paid 
assistants of both. For be it known that up to this 
time neither the editor nor the manager nor any per- 
manent member of the staff had received a cent of 
salary, but gave their services in connection with their 
regular professions. Many of the best writers did 
the same because of their devotion to Bishop Delany. 
The services of the staff of a weekly must demand 
the entire time of its members, consequently the in- 
creased expenses demanded an increased subscription 
price the regular price of weeklies. 

The Guidon is a fitting monument to Bishop Delany. 
It represents his courage, his ability, and his broad 
Christian charity. 

The editor now assumes a privilege, and will put 
aside the impersonal and say a few words about a 
friend whom fifteen years ago, at the threshold of the 
priesthood, he learned slowly to admire. When that 
acquaintance merged into friendship I know not, until 
I found its tendrils encircling my being. They were 
far reaching. They bound many a heart still closer 
to his, and many, hitherto unknown to one another, 
were drawn closer together by the parent root that 
sprung from a heart nurtured by the true love of 
God. That friendship was capacious. It is no exag- 
eration to say it included all who were ready to recip- 
rocate in kind. No one may say " I was bis best 
friend," for that friendship was too far reaching. Many 
may say "He was my best friend." If the truth be 
known, he was the intimate friend of hundreds even 
while he was curate. Strange, too, many of these were 
not friendly among themselves, but a high ideal guided 


Bishop Delany, and in his own peculiar way he let it be 
fel that there is no friendship worthy of the name that 
does not bind one and all in true Christian charity. It 
was a nuisance to go walking 1 with him. The walk was 
interrupted every few minutes for a chat with this one 
or that, unknown to me or perhaps disliked by me. Or 
else it was : " Here lives X. Y. Z. Let us drop in and 
see him. Don't know him? Well, you will meet a 
mighty fine fellow." He often corrected me when I re- 
lated acts done against me by others. No matter how 
serious they were he could find an excuse for the third 
party, and would say : " Oh, you see calamity ahead 
when no one else does. I'm sure that fellow has the 
highest regard for you, or is misinformed by gossip- 
ers." And I afterwards found out that when the third 
party, regarding him as a personal friend, said practi- 
cally the same thing to him, he was given the same 

Bishop Delany was a very human being, yet withal a 
very saintly man. He asked me once to read a series of 
41 Lives of the Saints" recently published, which omit- 
ted many silly things of holy people that existed in the 
minds of former biographers, but in this series showed 
how they were ordinary men in their everyday inter- 
course with men ; how they acted as men and not as 
people of an impossible world, and he told me to select 
some of these for publication in the Guidon. He was a 
most sociable companion ; he enjoyed fishing, with the 
keen pleasure of boyhood, yet often such a trip was 
planned to lure a companion away from the humdrum 
round of life. Since his death the accumulation of anec- 
dotes tell that at all times he was the man of God. In 
the story of his life the proof of this is nicely told. He 
would, even when bishop, accept without rebuke the 
kindly criticisms offered by others, who often judged 


without a knowledge of the facts. He was a very deter- 
mined man, many called him obstinate. He was care- 
ful in his decisions, many of these the results of years 
of observation, yet there were some who said he was 
impulsive in his judgments. 

In the early days of our priesthood I enjoyed the 
benefit of his criticism and did not hesitate to respond 
in kind. We would argue and often disagree entirely, 
giving our candid opinion of each other's common 
sense. If he thought he was right he would not give 
in. In the vast majority of cases, he was right; but 
if he found out that he was mistaken he never 
hesitated to admit it and express wonder that he 
could not have seen that before. He was the soul of 
honor, and a man of that stamp has difficulty to 
restrain himself when the hypocrite poses as virtuous. 
Rarely did he hesitate to tell such a person what he 
thought of him. 

He early began to carry out plans that stirred up 
the charge of being a man of hasty judgment, but he 
knew the needs and, better than anyone else, the 
resources of the diocese. He paid no attention to 
the criticism, but planned ahead for the future, for 
he was perfectly aware to what extent he could go. 
He felt heavily the responsibility placed on him, and 
never took an important step without long and serious 
thought. This was hinted at in a letter he wrote 
me. I had discovered a rather witty article for 
publication in the Guidon. I hesitated, and sent it to 
the Bishop for his approval. He answered in a 
characteristic way: "By all means publish it. What's 
going to happen? You getting scrupulous? I think it 
must be that, with others, you realize that position 
brings with it responsibility." 


One more little point I give from the inner sanctuary 
of friendship to illustrate his thoughtfulness and 
kindness. One Friday night, May 18th, he returned 
from a long series of confirmation administrations. He 
learned my father was critically ill. About ten that 
evening he went to the home to express his sympathy 
for the man he had known well since he came to 
Manchester. He objected to seeing the patient be- 
cause he thought at that late hour a visit would do 
harm. However, he yielded, and found him bright 
and cheerful, and he cheered him still more. For a 
few moments he talked in his own pleasant way to 
the family. My father died suddenly the next Monday, 
and the last public act Bishop Delany performed out- 
side his regular episcopal duties was to attend the 
funeral and deliver the sermon. 

Twenty-one months is sufficient only for a great 
man to show his ability to wear the mitre. He 
visited Rome at the invitation given by the Supreme 
Pontiff to all bishops to attend the fiftieth anniversary 
of the publication of the dogma of the Immaculate 
Conception. There he was privileged to hear from 
one of the heads of the Propaganda that an event in 
his case was so unusual that it had perhaps never 
happened before in the case of an American bishop. 
Not one letter had been received at the Propaganda 
that wounded in the least his personal character or 
denied his ability to be a worthy leader of his flock. 
Another joy was in store for him. Bishop Delany 
knew that no bishop is the unanimous choice of all, 
but realized that all are guided by their honest con- 
victions. He respected as a criticism guided by the 
highest motives the actions of those who thought he 
could not fulfill the duties of his office. If any differ- 
ence was shown by him, it was not any effusive treat- 


ment of these priests, but a more delicate manifesta- 
tion of his friendship for them. He was a sensitive 
man and he felt sympathy for those who did not 
secure the man of their choice. He had little reason 
for that over-sensitiveness. In the brief time given 
him, he proved his ability, his love, and his friend- 
ship. The ones who felt most keenly his death, and 
who gave him their best services, were those who 
hesitated to place the diocese in his hands, yet none 
more closely shared a friendship that came from a 
heart too large to be exclusive, too noble not to strive 
to gather everyone in that greater friendship that 
joins all in perfect union of the love of God. May 
God grant him eternal rest. 



SEPTEMBER 8, 1904. 

Our hearts, our hopes are with thee. Art not thou 
A king ? Thy hands the staff of power hold; 
Thy finger rests within Faith's jeweled gold; 
The helmet of salvation on thy brow, 
Like storied knighthood's tossing plume, must now 
Be ever seen by us. Yea, manifold 
Thy gifts of grace, God's glory to uphold, 
Thy flock to lead. Yet while in trust we vow 

Our faith, we pray May justice guide thy hand: 
May gentle love direct thy sandaled feet 

To hearts irresolute and weak: May pride 
Be banished far: May Christlike tones command 
But offner still may Christlike love entreat: 
May one for all, and all for one, abide. 

JUNE 11, 1906. 

Our hearts are rent; our hopes have jled. The ring, 
The cross, the staff, those signs of power, 
Now toys of Death to help recall the hour 
Of that great day its pomp, its pride; to bring 
Us sorrowing to thy tomb bid us to sing 

Thy dirge, to place on thee this faded flower 
Which gloriously bloomed the day when our 
Mitred King was throned 'Tis o'er. Our King 

Is dead. Long live the King! Though many a year 
Be his, let him recall those seeds of love, 

Of justice, and of truth he sowed. They grew 
1o gat lands which adorned a brief career, 

Whose scent was wafted to the throne above. 
"God needs me more." To God his spirit flew. 




The greater number of the following verses were written 
while he was a student at Boston College : 


The rhyme of the heart, though ever unsung, 

Is sweeter far than the song of the tongue; 

And the rosebud that died on the breast of June 

Seems sweeter because it died so soon; 

And the sweetest notes of the singing bird 

Are the half-caught strains from a distance heard, 

So weird and low, they come from afar 

As if heaven's gates were left ajar. 

Perhaps this may answer the reason why 

Those thoughts are dearest which deepest lie; 

For the balm that soothes the soul's unrest 

Is the song of the heart that is ne'er expressed. 

Like a miser who gloats o'er his secret store 

In the silence of midnight, we love to pour 

O'er memory's treasures that flee vulgar sight, 

And hide in our hearts for our soul's delight. 

There are names that sound like angel's tread, 

And echoes of voices long since fled; 

Dear faces we see through the dark cloud of years, 

Whose smile greets our sight as a rainbow of tears. 

There are handclasps and greetings we ne'er shall forget 

Though that hand may be dust and those fond eyes be set, 

And the hearts that quickened at Love's kindly token 

Are stilled in death, or in life are now broken. 

There are hopes that died like the stillborn rose, 

Yet their early fragrance scents life to its close. 

All, all are sweet symphonies never expressed, 

The priceless treasures of every breast; 

But the only sign the world may seek 

Is the flash of the eye or the glow of the cheek. 

For the ills of to-day fond mem'ry supplies 

These airy fancies from Paradise. 



There are names our lips ne'er mention, 

Though they sound like angels' tread; 
There are tones our hearts re-echo 

Of dear voices long since fled; 
There are looks of loving faces 

Which we see, though far away, 
Which we nightly meet in dreamland, 

Oft in busy scenes of day. 
There are hopes long dead within us, 

Crushed like flowers ere their bloom; 
But the fragrance of their springtime 

Scents the latter years of gloom. 
Only dreams the Past has left us 

Memory all the rest supplies, 
Gives, for joys which Time has reft us, 

A foretaste of Paradise. 


Softly as an angel treads, 
Nature her pure mantle spreads, 

Feather light, purest white, 

Crystal bright, airy sprite, 
How it frolics down to earth! 

Sweetly sounds the vesper bell, 
How its glad notes ever swell! 

Through the stillness of the air, 

List the iron tongue's glad prayer, 
Praises for the Saviour's birth. 

Joyfully and solemnly, merrily it rings, 

"Gloria in Excelsis," "Peace on earth" it brings. 

Gently stealing o'er us kneeling, 

At its pealing solemn feeling 
It imparts from each sweet chord. 

Round the hearth all gather nearer, 
Christmas makes the dear home dearer; 

Brightest day of all, God-given, 

Earth seems nearer now to heaven. 
All mankind, come praise the Lord! 



Naught else could remove 

But an infinite love 
The deep wound of our sin's poisoned spear 

An atonement divine 

Was laid at God's shrine, 
When to earth from that Eye fell a tear. 

Though a thousand worlds bled, 

Through the years that have sped, 
A fit retribution to rear 

The blood would but be 

As a drop in the sea, 
When weighed before God with that tear. 

From those Eyes but a frown, 

The proud angels cast down, 
Yet bedewed the dead Lazarus' bier, 

Jesus' tear as it fell 

Broke the bondage of hell, 
Heaven's justice could ask but a tear. 


Poor broken flower, 

Whose is the power 
To lift thy head again? 

No tear nor sigh 

Revives thine eye, 
Or soothes in death thy pain. 

The broken lute 

Whose cords are mute 
Is soon forgot forever. 

The rainbow's light 

Will ne'er unite 
When winds the storm-clouds sever. 

That lamp's bright ray 

Which blessed our way 
Is dimmed by sun of fate; 

So worth and friends, 

The light love lends, 
Are prized but when too late. 



Out from the East they sought Him 

To make Him an offering- meet; 
Gold, incense and myrrh they brought Him, 

And laid their gift at His Feet. 

By gold His Kingship confessing-, 

The myrrh to acknowledge Him Man; 
By incense His Godhood professing, 

Such was the faithful king's plan. 

No word by the Child was spoken, 
No message brought they from the place, 

Yet each in return for the token 
Received royal gifts of grace. 

* ********* 

We bring Thee our golden treasure, 

Not much to worldly eyes; 
Hast Thou not another measure 

For that which worldlings prize? 

Each trinket and token we offer 

To Thee will be doubly dear ; 
'Tis out of our hearts' deep coffer, 

Washed pure by many a tear. 

* * * * * * * ** * 

Take with this gift, this treasure trove, 

Which to Thy Feet we bring, 
Our faith, our hope, our loyal love, 

O Eucharistic King ! 

TO MR. C , S. J. 

In future years when turning 
Memory's jeweled casket o'er, 

Turn not from this pebble spurning 
Though you prize the jewels more. 

Read the wish that pebble wears 

As the one this bosom bears. 

Through life, in death, where'er my way 

At twilight's hour, " Ora pro me." 



The third day came at length. The first gray streaks 

Of dawn, as in a winding sheet, wrapt all 

The moveless scene and lent a melancholy 

That night itself could not impart. Silent all. 

The herald of the morning stirred no feather. 

The hoot of the night owl was heard afar, and again 

All nature slept. The line of Calvary's brow 

Remained unbroken, save where the trees of death, 

Late drenched in blood, stood black against the eastern 

Sky. The earth still yawned, and gaping rocks 

Revealed the death throes of a dying God. Below, 

The city showed no more the signs of life 

Than if were yesterday its last, and now 

It waited but for Gabriel's trump to waken 

Unto judgment 

Upon a sudden, from 

The western gate emerged a group of women, 
Close wrapped and in a mourning garb; and there 
Among the rest were Magdalen and Mary, 
James's mother. No word was spoken, but now 
And then a smothered sob, or a heart-broken sigh 
Helped trace their path which lay towards Calvary's foot. 
But once they stopped and whispered converse held 
As who would roll the stone away. Impatient at 
Delay, Magdalen hurried on. Her heart 
Outstripped her feet ; her feet those of the rest. 
Lifted by the morning breeze, her tresses 
Floated wide; her sandaled feet scarce touched, 
Or heeded not, the stony path she trod, 
And thus the first, she came to where they laid Him. 
When lo ! the tomb stood open wide, but black 
And void, no Jesus there! Her heart stood still. 
She knew not if she lived, or cared not, were 
She conscious of it, so killing was the blow. 
How she had wished to kiss those bruised feet 
And press that thorn-crowned head once more ! But all 
Was over now, no consolation left. 

The others came, and, stooping, saw through their tears 
The empty tomb, and turned in silent sorrow 
From the place; and later, John and Peter came, 


With breathless haste, alas ! but to confirm 
Their darkest doubts. The death cloths stained with blood. 
Were all they found of Jesus there. Bereft 
Of sense from hearts thus seared, as men who walk 
In sleep, without a word they left the place, 
Yet Mary lingered on, and, bowing low, 
Wept as if her heart would break. 

At last 

A gentle voice asked, "Why these tears?" One only 
Cry she had : "Oh, tell me where they laid Him." 
The stranger, as in pity moved, then spoke 
The one word, "Mary." She heard, she felt, she knew 
That voice, the same it was that called her child, 
Her sins forgave, whose dying accents she 
Had heard, nor hoped in life to hear again. 
And at the sound, joy broke upon that saddened 
Heart, as the sun bursts through a thunder cloud : 
Then, her whole soul upon her lips, prone at 
His feet she fell, and cried, " Rabboni ! " 



Come, Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove, 
Inflame each breast with pious lore 

Light of the world, our soul's inspire. 

Come, Father of the poor below, 
Come, Fount from whom all blessings flow, 
Light of our life, shape each desire. 

Our Hope on earth, Sweet God of life, 
Our God above, our Shield in strife, 

Light of our hearts, lend us Thy fire. 

Cleanse Thou each thought that doth deface, 
Make moist our souls with floods of grace, 

And heal the wounds of Sin's dread spear. 

Shape all our thoughts in Virtue's mould, 
Thy breast shall save us from the cold, 

Thy hand our way make straight and clear. 

Give us a sevenfold trust in Thee, 
From sin and death our ransom be, 
And take our only gift, a tear. 




We mourn thee dead, Priest after God's own heart! 
Who knew to pray as David prayed, in song. 
Thy voice is stilled, thy prayer unsung- so long, 
It seems an age since thou did hence depart. 
The birds and flowers have come and gone; the smart 
Of loss still lingers on, and Still the wrong 
Unconquered is, the feeble 'gainst the strong, 
And thou, Right's Champion, fallen beneath sin's dart! 
The good St. Francis held all creatures brothers: 
Thou hadst for all love tender as a mother's. 
The world thy temple was, its dome thy sky, 

The birds thy choristers, thy incense flowers, 
The lily's cup a chalice raised on high; 
Thy offering was Christ's tears, thine own, and our. 

The soft winds are sighing, 
The daylight is dying, 

The sun has sunk into the west, 
Like a Christian soul 
On the way to its goal 

In the home of eternal rest. 

No more would we stay 
The last fleeting ray 

That hastens into the night, 
Than call back again 
To this valley of pain 
The soul from its homeward flight. 

vStaff of St. Joseph, lily so fair 
Resting so lightly on our Lord, where 
Sin's heavy cross hath left its impress, 
Touch that wound lightly, or kissing caress. 
Chalice which earth to the sky lifts up, 
Tears are the wine of thy pallid cup, 
These and the tears in Those upturned Eyes 
Are our only claims on Paradise. 


Dimidium Met. 


I hang- my harp by Babylon's wave 

And sit me down beside ; 
The thoug-hts and tears I cannot stay 

Flow onward with the tide. 

I cannot pray thee bear him back, 

(Do streams flow from the sea?) 
But g-uide my bark to sunny isles 

Where he must surely be. 

A man, a priest the world has lost ; 

Few such doth Heaven lend! 
Weep, World! but what's your grief to mine, 

For I have lost a Friend? 

O sainted spirit, genial soul, 

Rest now, thy work is o'er, 
In many a heart thou wilt live long, 

In one, forevermore. 


The golden rays of evening tide 

Their brightest rubies lent, 
To hill and dale and brook beside 

When day its course had spent. 
Great Phoebus drew in purple folds 

The clouds about his bed; 
The rays redeemed the rubies lent, 

The last bright beams had fled. 

And longingly I watched the bark 

That bore a friend away, 
Nor missed the light that from me sped, 

Till darkness followed day. 
A gloom had settled on my soul, 

Night dews upon my heart; 
With aching eyes, in loneliness, 

I watched my friend depart. 



(Written for the children of Hinsdale, N. H., as an address 
of welcome to their Reverend Pastor on his return from Europe.) 

We have heard you tell the story 

Of a shepherd who loved his sheep, 
And sought and led them safely 

O'er pathways rugged and steep. 

You told us how the shepherd 

Takes the little ones to his breast, 
And seeks out the weary and wayward 

As the ones His heart loves best. 

His days are spent with watchings, 

His nights in anxious cares, 
To keep his sheep and lambkins 

From dangers and from snares. 

When robbers assail the sheepfold 
And the hireling flees from the strife, 

The good shepherd faces the danger, 
For his sheep lays down his life. 

We thought as you told the story 

Though you spoke of our Saviour dear, 

That when he was taken from us 
He left a good Shepherd here, 

To watch over us, His children, 

The sheep and the lambs of His fold, 

To guard us from all danger 
And shelter us from the cold. 

These months we have missed you, Father, 
Missed the sound of your gentle voice, 

And your presence a benediction 
That makes our hearts rejoice. 

We have missed you at the altar 
Where the Lamb of God is slain; 

We prayed Mary, Star of Ocean 
To guide you home again. 


Our wishes and prayers are answered 

And you are with us once more, 
And we thank the good God who brought you 

Safe home from a distant shore. 

Your little lambs bid you welcome, 

Our Shepherd, our Father, our Friend; 

We hope and pray, God helping, 
To follow your lead to the end. 


(Written in honor of the twentieth anniversary of Bishop 
Bradley 's consecration.) 

St. Joseph, father, patron, friend, 

Dispenser of the Bounteous King ! 
To thee in heaven our thoughts ascend, 

To thee on earth our praises ring. 

Guard thou our Church, our Bishop bless, 

Our pastor, parents, teachers all, 
Let them, too, share thy tenderness, 

Nor vainly let thy children call. 

To thy dear charge the Good God gave 
His household here, His Church and Bride; 

Help thou the ones whose souls to save 
Sweet Mary wept, and Jesus died. 


'Tis not the weeks and months and years 
That makes our lives ; 'tis hopes and fears. 
Joy is our daytime, night our tears. 

A man may live a lifetime 
In the grief of a single day, 

And a thousand years of bliss 
Be a day that is passed away. 

No, 'tis not the circuit of moon or sun, 
For these go on when our race is run; 
'Tis the heart-beat that tells when life is done. 



Revered, beloved, whom ocean bore 

Back to our midst with zealous care, 
In answer to our fervent prayer, 

We haste to greet thee home once more. 

No Caesar now we hail from Rome, 

Who conquers with a ruthless hand: 
A leader of a nobler band, 

Whose spoils are souls, we welcome home. 

Thou dost a noble office hold 
A glory not of war or song; 
Thy glory is to vanquish wrong, 

And bring the lost ones to God's fold. 

Skilled Mariner, on life's dark seas, 
Fair Truth is thy magnetic guide, 
Bright Faith and Prudence stand beside 

To guard thy ship from baneful breeze. 

Thy words and deeds with brightness shine, 
Thy mild reproach with love aglow, 
Both bring the proud heart here below 

To offer incense at God's shrine. 

Thy ship like crested swan set sail, 

And angel band did guard thy sleep; 
A mighty hand controlled the deep, 

And breezes lent their mildest gale. 

May life be spared thee many years 

(Thy crown the more resplendent grows) 
With power to conquer strongest foes 

Whom wily Satan ever rears. 

These classic walls with joy resound, 
To greet thee home to thy first born. 
In years no future eyes shall scorn 

A work whose praise with thine is bound. 

I deem it not that I shall need 

This scroll to claim a future thought, 
Upon thy heart thy soul shall read 

A brother's name there fondly wrought. 



Night fell in the Alpine valley; 

Below was all heavy and black, 
Yet the daylight seemed to dally 

And leave on the hill top its track. 

To us, who look up from below, 

It seemed that the skies were riven, 
And the snow-top all aglow 

With a radiance from heaven. 

Up from this vale of tears, 
From the darkness of sin and sorrow, 

We need for our doubts and fears, 
This promise of a morrow. 

The sun is not lost but hidden, 

And earth is more than a clod, 
The mountains that rise up unbidden 

May be pathways that lead up to God. 



Dead? How strange to think 
That he whose hand we lately clasped 

Stood on Death's awful brink, 
Life's book is closed, and judgment passed! 

Among his books he lies in death 
Those silent friends Death's vigil keep 
And share a mother's grief nor sleep, 

But gaze on him with bated breath. 

How strange is spun this web of life! 

'Twixt warp and woof the bright threads bind ; 

Death's gruesome ones both fast entwined 
Doth set our souls and selves at strife. 

We bow beneath the scourging rod, 

For us, not him, the blow doth stun. 

His honors won, his lessons done. 
Inscrutable Thy ways, O God! 


(The following lines were sent to Bishop Delany by his 

sister on the eve of his ordination. A year later, on the 

eve of her religious profession, he returned the poem to her 
with his own verses, entitled "Sorer Mea.") 

When I am dying 

How glad I shall be 
That the lamp of my life 

Has burned out for Thee. 
That sorrow has darkened 

The pathway I trod, 
That thorns and not roses 

Were strewn o'er its sod. 
That anguish of spirit 

Full often was mine 
Since anguish of spirit 

So often was Thine. 
My cherished Rabboni 

How glad I shall be 
To die with the hope 

Of a welcome front Thee ! 

On the eve of my offering 

Thou sent this to me, 
On the eve of thy offering 

I return it to thee, 
To tell thee how fair 

Is the pathway I've trod, 
How sweet 'tis to serve 

So good a good God ! 
How often since then 

Has the water and wine 
Upon my lips turned 

To His Blood Divine! 
So with thee shall the tasteless 

And bitter be sweet 
When to do His dear Will 

Be thy drink and thy meat. 
Our cherished Rabboni, 

How glad we should be 
To live or to die, 

When all all is for Thee. 



Fair link between time and eternity, 

Upon our path thy hand choice blessing's strews, 

Lend us thy light and be our only Muse 
For thou art consummation of all poetry. 
Thy heart-strings wake angelic symphony, 

What better font of wisdom can we choose 

Than where the Holy Spirit did infuse 
Sublimest Wisdom, which took flesh in thee? 

The spring-time greets thee with her birds and flowers, 
To thee the fledgling pipes his first faint notes, 
The year's first breath of incense to thee floats. 

Permit us then, to add our feeble powers, 
And join with them this universal lay, 

While angels vie to crown thee, Queen of May. 


InJ:he rosary of your years, 

Now you count one-half a score; 
Childhood's spring of smiles and tears 

Soon shall fly forever more. 

Romp and play, dear, while you may, 
Heedless of Time's quickening flight; 

Grief too soon will cloud your day, 
Haste your morning unto night. 

Years will soon unfold their store 

Rich with spoils of ages; 
Reason bring her priceless lore, 

Science her bright pages. 

These an old age may delight, 

Yet to what thou hast are poor. 
Will they bring a heart so light? 

Will they give a soul so pure? 

May each decade ever end 

"Glory God be always Thine," 
'Till the message He shall send, 

"Share that glory child of mine." 



In a lone, bleak wood a wild rose grew, 

No eye ever saw it. and no mind ever knew; 

But the flower was none the less as fair 

As any that ever breathed the air. 

It gazed up to the calm, cold sky, 

And shuddered to think it soon must die. 

At first it languished and its heart grew chill 

Till the touch of a zephyr might well nigh kill. 

The soul of the rose, with its last sweet breath, 

Leaped forth to meet approaching 1 death, 

And it gave to the breeze every crimson flake 

'Twas all it had for Memory's sake. 

No eye ever saw it, no mind ever guessed 

The sweetness of its final rest. 

The breeze, thus ladened, kissed a child 

Who played in the meadow, and pausing smiled. 

The dear enchantment of that spot 

The child through a lifetime never forgot. 


How came I to know it? 'Twas told by the dew, 
How sweet is Remembrance, and I tell you. 


Rise, rise Happy Morn, 

See the world's salvation dawn I 

Sin's and Death's dread chains are riven, 

Christ, the Crucified, has risen. 

Would this heart 

Like Israfel 
Could impart 

The raptured spell. 
Could enthrall 

The heavenly choir, 
Mortals all 

With love inspire! 
Then this breast 

Its chords would bare. 
Music's best 

Is but a prayer. 



What is this Earth? A floating prison, 

A narrow dwelling, a tent arisen 

In space, that is meant to last a day, 

Where the winds of Heaven course o'er in play. 

The sea and mountain, valley and plain, 

Rise from the dust to return again. 

What is its bulk to immensity ? 

As the hour that strikes to eternity ; 

A storied palace built of clay, 

Where nothing changes, yet changes alway ! 

And what is Life ? A moment's waking, 
To be born, to die ; gift lost in taking; 
A word that God speaks with disdain, 
A maze unsolved, a question vain ; 
A dream that vanishes, a spark of light, 
A lightning flash that returns to night, 
A moment that Time lends man to live, 
A something not worth the name we give ! 

And what is Fame? But to deride 

With empty sound, our hollow pride ; 

A name repeated, sordid pelf, 

Vain, false, and fleeting as itself; 

Now rising, falling, from lip to lip passed 

Into eternal oblivion at last ; 

A poisoned nectar we tire of never, 

That makes die twice who would live forever 

And what is Love! A holy theme, 
Should I deny it I would blaspheme. 
It is our life ; what words can tell 
Of the light and fire that in us dwell ? 
The spark that from the gods was riven, 
A chariot of flame that mounts to Heaven, 
A ray from that unquenching sun 
That melts two mortal hear's in one. 
Love is, or would be all to all, 
Could mortals but this love enthrall, 
Did it not end in giving breath, 
As Love Divine for us found death ! 



(In the life of St. Thomas Aquinas, the great Doctor of the 
Church, whose feast day occurs on the seventh of March, it is 
told that our Saviour appeared to him one day while in prayer 
before the tabernacle and said to him: ''Thomas, thou hast 
written well of Me. What dost thou ask for thy reward?" 
The angelic doctor replied: "Nothing but Thyself, O Lord." 

Thou great pure soul that God's approval heard 
With ears of flesh, ere yet thy task was done, 
What rapture can with thine compare? Sure none 

That earth can give. The sweetest note of sweetest bird 

Were discord to the soul-entrancing word 

That broke the stillness to the listening one. 
And now, great soul, thy ampler won, 

Help us to share the love thy bosom stirred 
So we may shape our days and years as thou 
Didst thine, with this blessed hope that we 

May gain God's gracious sanction and reward, 

Which, though deferred it be, yet even now 

In life, in death, our only choice will be 

But this: "None other than Thyself, O Lord!" 


O Jesus, the sweet memory 

Of Thee brings sad hearts cheer, 
But sweeter far than all beside 

The thought that Thou art here. 

The sweetest song of singing bird 

Is discord to Thy Name; 
Today, tomorrow, yesterday, 

Thou art, dear Lord, the same. 

O Jesus, Hope to sinful souls, 

To those who ask how kind! 
To those who seek Thou art ever near, 

But what to those who find? 

No tongue can say, no words express 

The rapture of Thy love, 
But who has felt can partly guess 

The bliss in Heaven above. 



Upon the shore of Galilee, 

Stood Christ amid his band, 
The crescent moon shed silver light 

O'er rippling 1 waves and land. 

The moonlight seemed to linger there 

E'er on its course it sped, 
To touch that holy brow and form, 

And halo round His Head. 

That look! Ah, words cannot express 

Nor fancy ever trace 
The meekness, love and majesty, 

That shone upon that Face. 

Those Eyes! Those meek and holy orbs 

Shone with supernal light! 
Well might the stars draw back and hide 

Themselves within the night. 

Not with that brightness of the sun 

Which none dare look upon, 
Mild as eve's twilight Christ's kind eyes 

With love and pity shone. 

He spoke! The music of that voice 

Seemed strains that came afar. 
From angels' lute when angels' hands 

Leave heaven's gates ajar. 

A heavenly smile lit up that Face, 

Nor did the music cease. 
For every word spoke harmony 

And to each soul brought peace. 

Ah, envy not those favored ones 

Who stood beside Him there; 
Though we such sight have been denied 

We still have been His care. 

His Heart, His Soul, Divinity, 

His Flesh, the Blood He shed 
Have through all ages since that time 

His faithful children fed. 



Where shall I find a friend like you, 
So often tried, so always true? 
No varying moods save to suit mine, 
Thou hast none other, mine are thine. 

Morn, noon, and night, 

Thou fairy sprite, 
Ever thou cheerest with new delight. 

In time of grief no one so nigh, 

To give surcease by sympathy; 

No unkind word hast thou e'er spoken, 

Nor gentle concord ever broken. 

Thy warm caress, 

Like a mother's press, 
Has all that makes up tenderness. 

Thou comest, they say, from Venus' home, 
Wrought from the wild waves' crested foam; 
From beauty's bower and love's warm nest, 
Thou bringest me from both what's best. 

Contentment's calm, 

And sorrow's balm, 
Thou art my solitude's one charm. 

P.S. Should Exegesis all this question, 
Admit, at least, it aids digestion. 


How often we find the loving word 
Our heart was fain to say 

Dies on our lips and is never heard 
While the loved one passes away. 

Passes away, never to know 
The good we in him prize, 

For when we wish our love to show 
Our faltering accent dies. 

And yet the word we deep conceal 
Might mend a heart that's broken, 

Did we but tell what half we feel 
And give love's tender token. 


A king of kings thou wast, 

Anointed, set apart ; 
The Truth thy only sceptre 

Thy realm the human heart. 

God gave thee length of years 

Beyond alloted span ; 
And every year a glory was, 

A blessing new to man. 

The triple crown of Peter 

Did well adorn thy brow ; 
In death thou liest lowly 

The whole world mourns thee now. 

But who will comfort Her, 

Thy spouse, who bears the shock ! 

And who console thy children, 
O Shepherd of the Flock? 

Our one great solace this: 

Christ's Vicar upon earth, 
A crown more glorious waits thee 

In thy eternal birth. 

Another Pope will reign, 

"A burning fire," no doubt; 
But with thy life, O Leo, 

"A light in heaven" went out. 

("A Burning Fire" is the motto of the present Pope, as "A 
Light in Heaven " was the motto of Pope Leo.) 

Christmas is a season for friendship's well wishes, 

A time when the Christ-Child's blessings abound; 
This is the blessing I pray with the year that I send you, 

"May yours be a Christmas the whole year round." 

The months and years 
With hopes and fears 

In life's web blend. 
Blessed smiles, blessed tears 
Through months and years, 

For O the end! 


When I am dead, as I shall be, 
It matters little then to me 

If no fair trophy marks my dust; 

It is not fame or gain I lust. 
Yet may some one write tenderly: 

"Not free from fault or sin was he, 
But did no fellow injury." 
In God and man I put my trust, 
When I am dead. 

Of God I crave Divine mercy, 
Of man I ask but charity. 
However ill, however just, 
My claim I leave, as life I must, 
To Time and to Eternity, 

When I am dead. 

Remember, Blessed Mother, 

That never was it known 
Who sought thy intercession 

Was left to plead alone. 
Confiding in thy goodness, 

I hasten unto thee, 
Let not thy gracious promise 

Find exception first in me. 
Though most unworthy ever, 

Yet hearken to my cry, 
And stretch a hand through darkness 

To lead me to the sky. 


As I sit with idle pencil 

Musing on forgotten lore, 
And the friends who have gone before me 

To the bright eternal shore, 
Floods of sad and lonely feelings 

O'er my soul pass, for I see 
Faces loved, dear cherished faces, 

Gone from this life's mystery. 
But a Father's faith has taught me 

That my loss is now their gain; 
And God grant when I am summoned 

I shall meet my friends again. 



Come to me, Jesus, when morning breaks, 
Come to me when my soul awakes. 
My earliest thought should be of Thee, 
Light of the World and Eternity! 

Come to me, Jesus, when daylight dies, 
No night so dark as Thy closed eyes ! 
Night has known Thy watch and Thy prayer, 
Sleeping, unheeding, I need Thy care. 

Stay with me, Jesus, the livelong day, 
Whether I work, or weep or pray ; 
Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life; 
Without Thee, no going, no knowing, all strife. 

Come to me Jesus, when life is done, 
Bearing the palm for victory won; 
Bring me to Thee and let me stay 
In Thy dear keeping forever and aye. 


How like this month of smiles and tears, 

The life you gave to God : 
The hope, the trust, the doubts and fears, 

Yet sweet the scourging rod. 
To lift and twine a drooping flower 

About earth's cross towards heaven, 
To whisper peace in death's dark hour 

Into thy hands is given. 

Thy life whate'er its length be blest, 

And at its close eternal rest. 

May Father Time upon thy brow, 
His cares there lightly lay. 

Thy future years be bright as now 
Thy April change to May. 


Long, long ago, in distant lands, 
A rose was laid by childish hands 

At Mary's shrine, 'tis said. 
The conscious flower, as Mary's dower, 

Then blushing turned to red. 


(Written for the unveiling of the monument to Bishop Bradley.) 

Beneath the altar his body lies, 

Where sorrowing we laid him ; 
His soul is now beyond the skies, 

Returned to God who made Him. 

With tender hands these stones we raise 

Before his chapel door, 
Mute tokens of the love and praise 

We owe him evermore. 

Above, the cross of the old land 

His faith and hope expresses ; 
Joined now to Erin's sainted band, 

He still his children blesses. 

The face we knew and loved in life 

Looks down upon us still, 
To cheer us and to calm our strife 

To bid us do God's will. 

The children will not soon forget 

The shepherd of the flock: 
The elders will remember yet 

Who built on Christ the Rock. 

The poor, the sick, and those who grieve, 

Their footsteps here will bend 
The tribute of a prayer to leave 

To father, patron, friend. 

And while they kneel the prayers to say, 

In loving gratitude, 
Comes the sweet hope that they too may 

Share his beatitude. 


Receive, O Lord, my lowly homage, 
Make my heart like unto Thine; 

Thy intellect is all perfection, 
Enlighten this of mine. 


Santa Barbara