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 1 
 
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k 
 
After Weary Years 
 
 BY 
 
 The most Rev. coRNExms O'Brien, d.d., 
 
 Archbishop of Halifaie, ' 
 
 BALTIMORE ani? KBW YORK 
 
 JOHN MURPHY & CO 
 
 1885 
 
 BIBLIOTHECA 
 
 ; 
 
Copyright, 1885, 
 By JOHN MURPHY & CO. 
 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 There is but little of fiction in the following pages. 
 Il'storic places and events are accurately described, 
 more accurately than in the average history. Tlie 
 writer knows whereof he speaks. 
 
 The Nemesis spoken of in these pages is abroad, 
 and nations must suffer if justice be not done. 
 
 Our Young Dominion has made rapid strides in 
 national greatness since the last chapter of tliis work 
 was written, — six years ago. If we be true to our- 
 selves Canada will be the great nation of the future. 
 It has al) the natural elements of imperial greatness, 
 and its sons will surel}'- rise to tlie heiglit of their 
 destiny. 
 
 The indulgent reader will kindly overlook imper- 
 fections of style and form in this book. Written 
 piecemeal, in moments of freedom from other 
 duties, it may lack coimection of parts and elegance 
 of expression ; but a hope is cherished that it may 
 amuse and instruct. 
 
 a;; 
 
AFTER WEARY YEARR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AMONG THE ORATES. 
 
 It is tlio classic land of Italy, the home of poesy, 
 the seat of the Arts, the haunt of the Graces. On 
 such a day, ages ago, wild Bacchanalian trooj»s 
 would have been feasting on the sunny hillsides. 
 Bacchus, the jolly god of the vintage, would have 
 liad his votaries singing on every knoll, or madly 
 whirling in the mazes of every vineyard, to the 
 music of the thyrsns or of clashing cymbals. The 
 orgies of the Bacchantes were too enrly in the history 
 of the world to be made respectable. It was re- 
 served for the modern ball-room, with -its " fast" 
 dances, to throw a glamour over such pastimes, and 
 make them fashionable. ' 
 
 The noisy and shameless revels of pagan times no 
 longer disturb the serenity of October's genial days. 
 Some may regret this ; for a certain class "of people 
 seems to think it delightfully expressive of wisdom 
 to disparage Christianity, and to extol paganism. 
 Let the pompous dunces pass : we have not to do 
 
 
 \ 
 
 » 
 
3 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 with poesy, arts, or the <yraces; nor with orgies 
 nor with scril)blcrs, but with grnpes. 
 
 On the slopinjij hanks of Lake Alhano, on a warm 
 October afternoon In tlie year 1800, a busy scene 
 presented itself to any one who might chance to 
 wander along the road from the city of Albano to 
 the shady grove of ilexes which intervenes between 
 that town and Marino. Lake AlJjano is in the 
 crater of an extinct volcano; rugged masses of tuffa 
 rock, grimy sand, and streaks of lava attest that, 
 centuries ago, volcanic fire spurted up from the 
 spot where the peaceful waters of the lake repose 
 in an inviting calm. 
 
 The city of Albano is on the southern bank of 
 tlio lake; Monte Cavo, formerly Mons LaiiaUs^ is 
 on tlie eastern. This mountain rises up from the 
 Alban liills several thousand feet above the level of 
 the sea: it is hollow, l)eing bul>ble- formed by the 
 past action of the fire. The banks of the lake slope 
 gently downward on the western side for the dis- 
 tance of half a mile. Here the clustering grapes 
 grow in profusion, twining around long reeds stuck 
 in the ground ; here the peaches and figs bloom in 
 their richness ; here the olives, alternating in shade 
 between light green and dark gray, come early to 
 maturity. 
 
 But now it is the season for culling the grapes, 
 and the vine-dressers are busy. Troops of children, 
 under the direction of their parents, cut off the 
 bunches, and carefully place them in large panniers. 
 The crossed reeds are pulled out and laid in con- 
 venient heaps. The laborers lighten their toil witli 
 
 
AMONO Till? ORAPB8. 
 
 by 
 
 inerry talk in their sweet Italian tongue, or by sing- 
 ing, in cliorus the " Ave Mari Stella,'' or some 
 simple lay in honor of the Madonna. 
 
 Long files of donkeys laden with panniers 
 8traj)pcd, one on eaeh side, to their rnde saddles, 
 slowly wend tlicir way up the bank to tlie main 
 road, and then turn to Albano or Marino with their 
 load of rich graj)es. 
 
 All is as bright and cheerful as the clear sky. 
 With the true Italian peasant toil and mirth go 
 hand in hand. There is about him sucli an innate 
 refinement of nianncr, such a modesty of deport- 
 ment, and still such a joy fulness of disposition, as 
 to make him the most winniuij of men. Free alike 
 from the coarse brutality of the English lower class, 
 and the vul&ar swai'ijer and cunning of the trans- 
 planted Puritans in Atnerica, lie is the equal in 
 taste, and immensely the superior in sublimity of 
 thought, of the higher grades of English society. 
 lie- is a jdiilosopher, too, in his view of life. 
 Knowino: it to be flcetins:, he is not solicitous of 
 laying up a store of wealth, lie takes ns much licit 
 and rational enjoyment out of life as he can. With 
 a childlike confidence in his Creator, he does not 
 think it necessary to draw down his face, to look 
 continually as if expecting to meet an enemy, or to 
 steaf through life on tiptoe. His religion ennobles 
 all his thoughts and aspirations; it pervades his 
 every-day actions, and casts around him that joyous 
 disposition which travellers note and admire. 
 
 But amongst the busy crowd who, on that Oc- 
 tober afteinoon, culled their grapes by the smiling 
 
 14 
 
 i. 
 
AFTER WKAUY YEARS. 
 
 U 
 
 lake, only two need attract our special attention. 
 They are an old man, keen of eye ^lionf^h bent with 
 years, and a strong yonth in the first openino; of 
 manhood. Hoth are hotter dressed than are the 
 other laborers. It would seem as if they were 
 amateur gardeners rather than regular vine-dressers. 
 And such, indeed, they were. 
 
 The old man has, habitually, a reserved or em- 
 barrassed look. His features are rei>:ular and well- 
 cut ; still, a cloud has settled over them and renders 
 them less attractive. Whenever he turns, as he 
 frequently docs, his eyes towards the young man, a 
 hungry, almost a devouring, expression of love lights 
 uj) his face, and causes, for a moment, a rent in the 
 cloud. But only for a moment; swiftly the rent 
 closes, and a weary expi'ossion oi pain or remoi-sc 
 succeeds. 
 
 Tlie youth is tall and well-proportioned; his 
 cheeks are darkened more bv the Italian sun than 
 would seem natural. His broad, open brow is un- 
 clouded ; his clear hazel eye can light up with the 
 fire of quick intelligence; his thin, firm-set lips be- 
 si>eak strength of purpose. He is not a handsome 
 wax doll ; he is a manly impersonation of qualities 
 which, if rightly directed, will make him a hero; 
 if misdirected, will bear him rapidly down the path 
 of vice, a leader of even the most vicious. 
 
 Heroes are not beings of a superior mould, ex- 
 empt from the weaknesses and temptations of com- 
 mon mortals. Corrupt nature wages a fierce war 
 within them, but, being animated and guided by 
 some lofty principle of honor or religion, they sub- 
 
AMONG THE GRAPES. 
 
 due themselves wliolly or in part. The measure of 
 true lieroisiii is the amount of self-control acquired 
 by an individual over passions, fears, and preju- 
 dices, from a supernatural motive. Not every one 
 who l)Iind!y rushes against the gleaming bayonets of 
 the enemy, not every one who plunges lieedlessly 
 into the Hood to assist the drowning, should be 
 called a hero. It may be an act of mere animal 
 courage and thoughtless daring. Very of to the 
 patient wife and mother who day by dav, with a 
 stout heart though a weak arm, toils un .own and 
 uncared for, to support her sickly husband au'l >'ttle 
 children, deserves a more honorable niche i»i the 
 teni[/ie of fame than the most illustrious wariior. 
 Deeds of self-denial daily practised for tbe love of 
 God, resistance to evil suggestions and temptations 
 from a similar motive, are, in deed and truth, acts of 
 heroism. 
 
 Lorenzo Aldini, the young man described above, 
 was good raw material for a future hero. Well 
 trained in youth, he had early learned tiiat to subdue 
 liimself must be the lirst step in a great career. 
 Carefully instructed in the religion of his fathers, 
 he had ac(|uired a strong love of justice and truth. 
 Educated by those much-abused Jesuits who, Mac 
 aulay says, were "conspicuous for their ability" in 
 educating youth, Lorenzo had been })re])ared, by a 
 sound course of philosophy, to detect and confute 
 the shallow sophisms and unblushing lies of modern 
 infidels. The grand old Church that civilized the 
 world, fostered the arts and sciences, and produced 
 great men in every age, called forth his deepest rev 
 
 ) 
 
6 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 h 
 
 Hi! 
 
 ereiice and love. Fully aware of the advantages of 
 having his mind illumed by true laith, he had a 
 profound pity for those weak-minded young men 
 wlio were led astray by false teaching. 
 
 His noble nature swelled with sympathetic en- 
 thusiasm when he reliected on the lives of the great 
 heroes of the Church, lie found her supreme Pon- 
 tills ever foremost in defending the weak and op- 
 pressed ; ever the fearless champions of true human 
 liberty ; ever the munificent ])atrons of arts and 
 sciences. Knowing all this, he often wondered at 
 the stupid ignorance or satanic nudice of self-styled 
 liistorians, the warp and woof of whose '' history " 
 were spun by their diseased imaginations. He was 
 too young and generous to sus[)ect that men could 
 deliberately calumniate the S})Ouse of Christ; and 
 yet he found them, even now, with the meridian light 
 of history in full Idaze, accusing the lloman Pontills 
 of seltishness, tyra'iny, and a fostering of ignorance. 
 Lorenzo loved liberty, and this love was another 
 link which bound him to the Church. He was well 
 aware that truth will make man free, and he saw 
 from history that real individual liberty is only 
 guaranteed by the princii)les of the Catholic Church. 
 
 Lorenzo had lost, long ago, his mother : he had a 
 dim remembrance of having been fondled on her 
 knees, and of i)laying in her presence with two little 
 children. But these had faded out from his path ; 
 when, or where, he could never quite decide. Out 
 from the dimness of the past some scenes of his 
 childish days would frequently emerge. At such 
 times he would be immersed in profound thought; 
 
AMONG TIIK (iliAPKS. 
 
 lii,^ht 
 
 urcli. 
 had 11 
 n her 
 little 
 path ; 
 
 Out 
 )i his 
 
 such 
 .ught; 
 
 his eyes would he strained as if peering intently at 
 some distant object, and his whole form would he 
 bent forward in the attitude of an attentive listener. 
 The old man, who had learned to know what was 
 passing in Lorenzo's mind, wuuld at such moments 
 turn for an instant a half sorrowful look on him, 
 and then make a motion as if about to speak ; check- 
 ing theimpidse, however, he would remove his gaze, 
 and sometimes silently weep. 
 
 The two ijardeners worked on without exchanj^ing 
 uiany words. Lorenzo was nipping olf the rich 
 clusters of grapes and placing them, between hiyers 
 of olive leaves, in a wicker basket. The old man 
 was cuiployed in cutting the vino trails, and in col- 
 lecting in compact heaj)S the long reeds on which 
 they had been supported. Fi'om time to time a 
 dark-visaged, beai'ded servant-UKin, in a curious out- 
 tit, came to carrv awav the tilled baskets. His head- 
 gear consisted of a gaily striped worsted night-cap, 
 with an eagle's plume foi* a tassel ; he wore no coat, 
 but over his blue guernsey shirt he s[)orte(l a green 
 cloth waistcoat with red Ihumel lappeis. Knee-shorts 
 of tlrab velvet, with stout leather buskins buckled 
 under his strong shoes, com[)leted his })ictures([ue 
 attire. He was a hardy-looking mountaineer, pleas- 
 ant-looking when sj)eaking, but, for aught that his 
 countenance expressed when at work, you might rate 
 him as a l)rigand or an industrious vine-dresser. 
 
 Peppe, for such he was called, was on intimate 
 terms with his young master Lorenzo, lie had 
 watched overliim in his school-days; he had visited 
 him when at college ; and ;iow Lorenzo never made 
 
 i 
 
8 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
 an excursioM over the Alban hills, or around Lake 
 Neini, without being accompanied by Peppe. On 
 these occasions the latter always carried, in addition 
 to the liask of Orvieto wine with ham and buns for 
 a frugal lunch, a rusty double-barrelled flint gun. 
 This wjirlike implement was as old as Peppe's great- 
 grandfather, and had never been known, though per- 
 suasion and ingenuity had both been tried, to strike 
 lire ; and \v ell for some that it had not ; there are 
 sensations more pleasing than those excited by a 
 blow from the fragment of a rusty gun. Still Peppe 
 had faith in his weapon ; numberless times he had 
 snai)ped it inelfectually at quails and grouse, yet he 
 clung to the pleasant fiction that it was a good j)ro- 
 tection for his young master. 
 
 When Peppe had borne off the last basket of 
 grapes, the old man, who was known as Giovanni 
 Aldini, gazing out towards the Mediterranean, 
 where the sun was just sinking in glowing splen- 
 dor, said : 
 
 " See, my son, it is time to cease from our work ; 
 the malaria will soon begin to rise from the Cam- 
 piigna ; let us go home." 
 
 Jjorenzo turned his eyes towards the setting sun ; 
 there was somethiuii^ iu the mairnificent siiirht which 
 absorbed his attention. The sun was not sinking 
 to rest as it does in midsummer, like a beauteous 
 (jueen serenely dying in a palace hallowed by her 
 sanctity ; it was rather like a fierce Amazon spurt- 
 lUiX out her life with her blood on a battle-torn 
 plain. Jagged masses of clouds just above the 
 sinking sun swani in a red light, which was fiercely 
 
AMONG THE GRAPES. 
 
 9 
 
 gun. 
 
 anni 
 
 mean, 
 
 jlon- 
 
 snn ; 
 
 hich 
 
 iking 
 
 ;cous 
 
 her 
 purt- 
 -torn 
 
 the 
 rcely 
 
 intense. Streaks of glowing briglitness shot up 
 the horizon, growing narrower and fainter, not 
 unlike, so Lorenzo thought, to trickling pools of 
 blood. For a moment he was silent and motion- 
 less, then half aloud : 
 
 " It is a beautiful, but perhaps a significant sun- 
 set." 
 
 "Significant of what, Lorenzo?" 
 
 " (Jf the battles, father, which soon may be 
 foui::ht around Rome." 
 
 They reached the high road which runs from 
 Albano to Marino, and faced towards the latter 
 village. At the edge of the grove of ilixes before- 
 mentioned, and in view of the lake, stands a little 
 roadside oratory. It is a small tem[)le of stone and 
 mortar, perhaps eight feet in diameter. The upper 
 half of the door is not solid, but is formed of 
 wooden bars a few inches apart, between these 
 bars you can see the interior of tlie oratory. It is 
 rudely frescoed ; a small stone altar, with flowers 
 and candlesticks, is opposite, and on it a statue, in 
 chalk, of the Ijlessed Virgin, hung round with 
 votive olferings of hearts, medals, ear-rings, and 
 pistols. Each of these olferinga was a testimony of 
 all'ection and faith. Some one in alHiction, passing 
 by this oratory, had ^rnelt and asked the Blessed 
 Virgin to pi'ay to God to grant him such a favor. 
 The petition was heard, and in gratitude and ])roof 
 thereof a silver heart, or perha})s a ring, had been 
 hung up. The student had given his hard-earned 
 medal; the man of violence, moved by a good 
 inspiration when passing the shrine, had laid aside 
 1* 
 
 V 
 
10 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 his hate and thrown down his mnrderoiis weapon. 
 Like milestones on a weary journey, which serve as 
 places of rest to the footsore traveller, the wayside 
 oratories afford the tired Christian soul a spot of 
 quiet and rest. 
 
 Lorenzo and his father knelt for a moment in 
 silent prayer in front of the oratory ; rising, they 
 proceeded slowly down the shady road which winds 
 gracefully round the ilex- and elm-crowned hills 
 which intervene hetween Lake Albano and Marino. 
 At length the old man broke the silence by saying : 
 
 "What battles, my son, may soon be fought 
 around Home? Do you apprehend an invasion of 
 Italy ? It is true that Austria has oeen sadly de- 
 feated at Sadowa ; Prussia and Piedmont nave both 
 extended their boundaries ; but think you that 
 either of them will lay siege to Konvo ?" 
 
 " You know, father, that, according to the con- 
 vention entered into between France and Piedmont 
 in 1861:, the French soldiers who have been sta- 
 tioned in the Pontifical States ever since tlie sup- 
 pression of the unholy revolution of 1849, were to 
 evacuate Ivonie within two years. That time has 
 ehi])sed ; they are still there, but it is generally 
 believed that ere Christmas the French Hag will no 
 longer wave over Castel San Angelo, and the Holy 
 Father will be abandoned to his own resources." 
 
 "Well," said the old num anxiously, "that is true 
 enough ; still, I see no cause for alarm. We are at 
 peace with all." 
 
 " Not from without, father ; but the secret socie- 
 ties arc preparing to create a disturbance in the 
 
 M 
 
I 
 
 AMONG THE GRAPES. 
 
 11 
 
 >} 
 
 SOCIC- 
 
 11 the 
 
 Pope's territory. Impious hordes will attempt, ere 
 long, to assail the capital of Christendom. Perhaps 
 even the saintly Pius IX. may be exposed to per- 
 sonal insult. Catholics throughout the world are 
 awakening to a sense of this danger; volunteers are 
 daily arriviuii; to enroll themselves under the banner 
 of St. Peter; the glorious days of the (yrnsades, 
 when faith and civilization liurled themselves on 
 the barbarian Moslem, may soon be renewed. My 
 blood, father, boils at tlie thought. I must join the 
 Papal Zouaves." 
 
 The face of Lorenzo, whilst i^ivini^ utterance to 
 
 ' Cj CD 
 
 these words with energy, was lit up with a glow of 
 entliusiasm which revealed a latent chivalric spirit. 
 He was no longer a cpiiet, thoughtful, young vine- 
 dresser; he was a brave knight in undi-ess. In- 
 stinctively he drew himself up to his full height; 
 his right hand convulsively closed as if alrea<ly 
 grasping a sword. 
 
 The old man was astonished; never before had 
 he suspected this martial ardor, lie wore a trou- 
 bled expression as he slowly said : 
 
 "Put, my son, all this is but apprehension on 
 your part ; the Pope is not in danger. Put aside 
 this idea, which can only tend to disturb your 
 mind." 
 
 "No, father; in tliis I am resolved. Often, of 
 late, have I thought on the troubled state of 
 Europe. One vast network of secret societies is 
 spread over its surface; war to the death against the 
 (Catholic Church is their ruling ])rinciple. They 
 foment discontent among the masses ; they ensnare 
 
 r 
 
 
 i 
 
12 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 !!pi 
 
 'I 
 
 the young and unsuspecting witli fine talk about 
 liberty and patriotism ; they excite hatred of reli- 
 gion and the clergy. While all this is being done 
 by the impious, shall we stand idly by until the 
 long-prepared eruption bursts upon us ? No : we, 
 too, must prepare to battle for justice and religion.'* 
 
 " But consider, Lorenzo, that the Catholic tradi- 
 tions and feelings of Europe will never permit an 
 assault against Rome. Why, no nation could ap- 
 prove or support so gross an outrage against Cath- 
 olic sentiment." 
 
 " Ah !" said Lorenzo gloomily, " it is this delu- 
 sion which has caused all the trouble to relig'on in 
 Catholic countries. People live in an unntiled 
 apathy, trusting to the traditions and the policy of 
 the past. They imagine that, because the vast 
 majority is Catholic, no anti-Catholic law will be 
 passed by government. In the mean time the secret 
 plotters, profiting by this apathy, rise to place and 
 power, get possession of the army and trcasur}'-, 
 and then impose their unchristian laws on the 
 ])eople. If we want to preserve our liberties wo 
 must ever be on our guard ; there are always em- 
 bryo tyrants who only wait for an opportunity to 
 develop. We must be prepared to tight, too, if 
 occasion requires." 
 
 " But was not peace announced, Lorenzo, at th( 
 Saviour's birth? Are we not taught to suffer 
 patiently ?" 
 
 "Peace was announced to men of good will," 
 replied Lorenzo, " and patience, too, was inculcated ; 
 but we were not taught to allow ourselves to bo 
 
AMONG THE GRAPES. 
 
 13 
 
 if 
 
 it the 
 niflfer 
 
 all," 
 ited; 
 
 to bo 
 
 enslaved. I seriously believe that if we heard less 
 about enduring meekly insults offered to our reli- 
 gion, and more advice to stand up for our rights in 
 a legitimate and manly way, we would suffer but 
 little persecution. Think you, father, that if the 
 handful of revolutionists, or the beardless youths 
 from government universities, who often insult and 
 interrupt our processions in many parts of Europe, 
 knew that we had been advised and were ready to de- 
 fend ourselves, they would dare even hiss? But be- 
 cause they are certain that we have been admonished 
 to bear tamely every insult, they grow courageous. 
 And if governments felt that their Catholic^ubjects 
 would resist, to the death, unjust laws, they would 
 be more chary of enacting them. If Home is to be 
 saved from serious trouble, it must be girt round 
 with a band of soldiers whose hearts are true to 
 Holy Church, and whose lives are at its service." 
 
 The old man was sadly troubled ; he felt the 
 truth and force of Lorenzo's words, but his love for 
 him was something intensely tierce, lie tried to 
 culm the fears of his son, to point out the many 
 reasons for hoping for a peaceful time, and to i)ut 
 forward his claims to be supported and cheered in 
 his old age. This last, however, he did with evident 
 hesitation, and, one would fancy, in self-reproachful 
 tones. It was all of no avail. 
 
 Lorenzo thanked him with tears of gratitude for 
 his loving care, but gently reminded him that our 
 first duty was towards God. 
 
 "Remember, father, you are in no need of my 
 help; you are still vigorous, though advanced in 
 
 
m 
 
 ■m 
 
 14 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 I ' 
 
 iiii 
 
 Stfll; 
 
 iiii 
 
 years ; you arc in no danger. From time to time I 
 shall see you, and perhaps a happier state of affairs 
 may enable me, ere long, to return. On the other 
 hand, think of our venerable Father Pius IX. ; 
 already he has drunk the chalice of bitterness in 
 exile; already he is beset by numerous dangers, 
 In lighting for him 1 light for justice and truth, 
 and if my life's blood should be .shed in defence of 
 Kome, I would fall a Christian hero, and merit a 
 martyr's palm." 
 
 They had now arrived at the streaui near which 
 the ancient Romans formed the treaty with the 
 Latins.* It was growing dark, and they hastened 
 forward. 
 
 Theif house stood ojit a short distance from 
 Marino, on the slope towards liome. From its west- 
 ern windows you could look over the undulating 
 Cam|)agna, and see far oil the s[)ires and turrets of 
 the Eternal C^ity. 
 
 Nothinu: more was said that niu^ht about Lorenzo's 
 I'csolution of joining the Zouaves. Perhaps Gio- 
 vanni Aldini thought tliat his son's resolve nnght 
 melt with the dissolving mists of the morrow; per- 
 haps Lorenzo's soul was too full of his noble purpose 
 to think of speech. 
 
 Men do not speak most often, nor most loudly, of 
 their noblest determinations. There are times when 
 the intelligence of man is so penetrated with some 
 purpose, so wrapped up in devising means to real- 
 ize some grand idea, that he appears to himself to bo 
 enffaij:ed in an animated discourse. This was Lor- 
 enzo's state ou that evening. 
 
Loi> 
 
 m 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 i 
 
 rom 
 
 ■1 
 
 vest- 
 
 1 
 
 .ting 
 
 1»: 
 
 s of 
 
 1 
 
 
 '■'i 
 
 izo's 
 
 VM 
 
 Gio- 
 
 
 
 
 liglit 
 
 1 
 
 per- 
 
 f 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 pose 
 
 '^-'.^ 
 
 AMONG THK GRAPES. 
 
 15 
 
 After tlie usual family prayers, in which Peppe 
 and the other domestics joined, Lorenzo, according 
 to the beautiful custom still observed in good fam- 
 ilies in Italy, kissed his father's hand, and received 
 his blessing when retiring for the night. 
 
 Lorenzo occupied a room on the third lloor, on 
 the western side of the house. He sat by the open 
 window to enjoy the calm tranquillity that reigned 
 without. It was a beautiful moonlight night. 
 Nowhere else, perhai)6, and at no other time, could 
 such a lovely scene be* presented as on the Alban 
 hills on a still October night. The air was balmy 
 though not warm ; it retained a yet pei'fceptible 
 trace of the sunbeams' genial influence, as grateful 
 to the sense as the faint odor of flowers wafted far 
 out on the water. The full moon seemed to swim, 
 almost to oscillate, in the deep azure; it showed 
 brighter and lai'ger than it ever does in cold or damp 
 climates. 
 
 Jioneath the window the land sloped rapidly away, 
 and was covered with graceful olive-trees. Those 
 far down were yet in the shade, and appeared but 
 as reiltM'tions of these on the brow of the hill, whose 
 grayish foliage was kissed by the moonbeams. 
 
 Here and there long streaks of moonlight shot 
 out over the Campagiui, as the moon gradually rose 
 over the range of hills. Here this straggling ray 
 lit up some sombre haystack, beautifying it even as, 
 so Lorenzo thought, the grace of God does a repent- 
 ant soul ; there a beam, escaping as if in sj)ort from 
 its fellows, sped swiftly over the plain, revealing 
 in its glorious path a hill, a ruined villa, or a broken 
 
 f 
 
 ! 
 
l![^ 
 
 16 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 li . 
 
 .'iqucduct. By degrees a flood of mellowed liglit 
 l)iir8t over the whole scene, and swept quickly west- 
 ward to the lofty walls of Rome. 
 
 The winding Tiber, rolling its yellow waters to 
 the Mediterranean, glinted here and there in the 
 softened rays. 
 
 The song of the nicrhtingale struck on the listen- 
 ing ear, and made complete musical bars between 
 the hayings of distant watch-dogs. 
 
 Lorenzo felt how true it is that the " heavens nar- 
 rate the glory of God, and the firmament announc- 
 eth the work of his hands." lieauty, harmony, and 
 grandeur were all comprised in the scene. 
 
 For ages that same moon had risen in her re- 
 flected glory over the same ground ; but how shift- 
 ing had been the visions she had lighted up! Lo- 
 renzo tried to summon back the panoramic scene of 
 past ages. There is a tradition that Noah came to 
 Italv, and died on the Janiculum hill in Home. 
 Over him, then, and his fast-spreading descendants 
 the moonbeams onee shone in this })laco. Greek 
 and Trojan colonies ; Latins, Etruscans, Goths, 
 Vandals, and Lombards quickly ])assed before the 
 magic glass. They fought, strove for a time, and 
 then died ; their works perished wholly or in pai't, 
 but still the moonbeams' checkered light danced 
 gaily over the scene. 
 
 One only institution remained unchanged amidst 
 the wreck of successive generations ; one only insti- 
 tution seemed to defy the tooth of time, and to rival 
 in the diffusion of unquenchable light the moon 
 herself ; it was the Catholic Church. 
 
 •t 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
AMONO THE GRAPES. 
 
 17 
 
 '' How often," thought Lorenzo, " has slio been 
 assailed; liovv often ])erseciite(l ; but see! slie ever 
 conies forth trimnpliant. So, too, the one wlio, 
 veai's hence, sliall .stand liere and view the panorama 
 of history l)y tliese clear ravs, ^vill note liow our 
 Holy Ciiureh came victoriously fortr, from her pres- 
 ent encounter with infidelity and pride. Strengthen, 
 () God! Htrengthen this arm of mine to strike for 
 the rights of Jloly Church.'' 
 
 Fillt'd with such thoughts he retired to bed. 
 
 Early next morning he was astir, and busy pack- 
 ing his truid\S. lie had sunnnoned I*e|)pe to his 
 assistance, and had disclosed to that faithful attend- 
 ant his resolve of starting for Rome that very day. 
 l*oor Peppe was at iirst (piite downcast, but when 
 told that he was to escort his young master on the 
 journey became bright and smiling. 
 
 A cup of coffee and a morsel of bread is the usual 
 Italian breakfast. This light meal was soon de- 
 spatched, and then Lorenzo sought his father's room. 
 The old man, seeing his son's resolution, gave at 
 Icuijcth a reluctant consent. On his knees Lorenzo 
 asked pardon for every fault he had committed, 
 and thanked his father for all his care. This troub- 
 led the old man more than anything else. 
 
 "It is I, Lorenzo," he said, ''who ought to ask 
 your forgiveness. In the excess of my love for you 
 I have been cruel towards vou : if ever you learn 
 how, I shall then be dead, try to think kindly of me. 
 Alas! we little rellect, when satisfying our own feel- 
 ings, how cruelly we may be lacerating those of 
 others. We often forget that the affections of our 
 
 I 
 
'Wm 
 
 18 
 
 AFTEK WEABY YEARS. 
 
 fellow- mortals may be as strong, or stronger, than 
 our own." 
 
 These words, uttered in a broken and self-reproach- 
 ful tone, UKule a deep impression on Lorenzo. He 
 couM not understand their full meaning; but seeing 
 his father in distress he kissed his hand, and, holding 
 it to his heart, vowed ever to love and cherish his 
 memory. 
 
 '' i have never received aught but kindness, father, 
 from this hand which I now hold; and I would 
 rather that mine own might witiier than that I 
 should format it." 
 
 Ihit the old man only groaned: "Ah! Lorenzo, 
 ah! Lorenzo, may Heaven pardon me at last." 
 
 At length (iiovanni Aldini jnade an elfort to 
 compose his feelings. He gave Lorenzo some 
 money, and an order on the i>ank of Kome for a 
 generous allowance. IJe then took from a double- 
 locked drawer a small package; handing it to his 
 son he said, "In your pocket when first" — but here 
 a Hood of tears stopped his utterance. 
 
 It is hard to see an old man weep. The tears of 
 the young are like sun-showers on budding roses; 
 but those of the old are autumn squalls pattering 
 drearily on a ruined roof. 
 
 Lorenzo, himself weeping, took the packet. The 
 old n»an, hastily brushing away his tears, said: 
 
 "The time may come when you will think of 
 marrying. If ever you meet in Italy or elsewhere 
 the original of the photograph in tliat package, try 
 to win her for your wife. My blessing ou such a 
 
 'J 
 
 
 
 '$ 
 
 i 
 
 union 
 
 5) 
 
AMONG THE GRAPKS. 
 
 19 
 
 Fondly ijc clasped Lorenzo to his hrcast for tho 
 last time; fondly Lorenzo clnii<^ to him at parting- 
 All tiie little faults of his young days came up 
 before him. It is only when we heliold the tearful 
 eye of an aged father, see his cpiiveiijig lip, and 
 feel the nervous pressure of his last hand-elasj), that 
 we can fully know how deep and fond has been his 
 love, and how ungrateful we too often have been. 
 ILippy those sons whose conscience does not re- 
 proach them r 'li at such a moment! 
 
 Lorenzo left the house accompanied by Pe})pe, 
 who ha<l strapped the luggage across the backs of 
 two mules; these lie managed, l)y some process 
 known only to himself, to drive by dextrously prod- 
 ding with his old gun, which of course he carried. 
 
 Arrived at the railway station at Frascati, the 
 mules were unpacked and allowed to lind their way 
 home, while Lorenzo and Peppe took the train for 
 Itome. It was only when seated some minutes that 
 Lorenzo opened the packet given him by his fathei", 
 and saw the likeness of a fair young child of three 
 or four years. The sunny look of childhood's inno- 
 cence shed a halo around her features, but Lorenzo 
 could trace therein no resemblance to any one he 
 had ever seen. 
 
 Long and thoughtfully he gazed on the young 
 face, until aroused by the shrill continued whistle 
 which announced a near approach to Rome. 
 
 f 
 
m 
 
 
 20 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 (JIIAPTP]R 11. 
 
 til 
 
 ON THE IJANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 
 
 Ideas are not bounded by sj)acc, nor limited by 
 time. We of to-day may liave ideas not unlike those 
 of our antediluvian ancestors; and persons thou- 
 sands of miles apart may make identical reflections. 
 It is not by any means strani^-e that the words spoken 
 near Lake Albano should re-echo from the banks of 
 the noble St. Lawrence; or that thoughts and feel- 
 ings whicli moved Lorenzo Aldini to lofty entliusi- 
 asm should kindle a kindred blaze in the breast of 
 JNlorgan Leahy. 
 
 They had nnich in common : ])oth were young 
 and of a generous disposition ; both had been 
 trained, though widely apart, in similar schools of 
 thought; and both had the same priceless gift of a 
 true and living Faith. This last" link bound them 
 both with lilial love to the grand centre of Chris- 
 tianity, Rome. 
 
 What wonder, then, that in the October of 186(5 
 Morgan Leahy should think and s[)eak very much 
 after the numner of I^orenzo Aldini? How often 
 do we not, unconsciously, repeat the sentiments of 
 others? How many at the present moment may 
 not be engaged in identical s])eculations? The 
 orbit in which human intellects revolve is neces- 
 sarily limited ; hence they ofteu crosfc. each other's 
 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 21 . 
 
 litcd by 
 ko those 
 IS thoii- 
 Icctioiis. 
 > spoken 
 Kinks of 
 nd feel- 
 entliiisi- 
 reast of 
 
 young 
 
 been 
 
 ools of 
 
 ift of 11 
 
 I tlieni 
 
 Chris- 
 
 f 1S6G 
 niueli 
 often 
 Ints of 
 It niiiy 
 The 
 ineees- 
 kher's 
 
 
 track. A triflino; occurence often brands for all 
 time some sentiment or expression as ridiculous, 
 which, ^" der altered circumstances, would be 
 stamped as sublime. Tlicre is a vast amount of 
 true sublimity in many a slii^hted ballad, and a very 
 larc;e quota of nonsense in many a lauded epic. 
 
 Who can assign the cause of this? Who will 
 liave the moral courage to attack the literary pet of 
 each nation, and lay bare his weaknesses? 
 
 On the banks of the St. Lawrence, near the spot 
 where the gloomy St. Maurice empties its sullen 
 waters into the laughing tide of the great river, on 
 a line evening in October l.Sr»r», Morgan Leahy and 
 his sister Eleanor were walking side by side. Gradu- 
 ally they ascended from the edge of the water to the 
 summit of a lofty hill, and then sat down to enjoy 
 the glorious prospect. 
 
 Truly it was a scene to delight tlic eye of any 
 rational being. Here at your feet the majestic river 
 rolled grandly on, with a fuller swell as the St. 
 Maurice poured in its tributary ollering. Now it 
 chafed and roared as it was forced to flow between 
 two jutting rocks which, like a pair of chaine<l 
 giants who had run to meet in mortal coml)at, In.' 
 checked ere they met, stood frowning fiercely on 
 each other. Now it spread out into a broad lake, 
 and fpiickly forgot its ill-tempei as it peacefully 
 s!niled and gently laved the shores of many a quiet 
 bay where the storm-king never comes. 
 
 On it proudly rolled, gathering volume as it 
 went, bearing on its bosom the plashing steamer, 
 the rakish brig, the tall square-ngged bark, the 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 ) 
 
I • 
 
 pi 
 
 22 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 beautifully modelled iricrdiant-ship, the unattractive 
 tuf^-hoat, the clumsy punt, and dark, dismal-looking 
 coal-traders which slunk quickly by, as if they were 
 the ghosts of Captain Kidd's pirate shij)s. It bore 
 them all alike, tovini; with each and tossing each 
 with perfect impartiality. 
 
 Man may, to a certain extent, utilize the elements, 
 but he can never control them. Down the rushing 
 river the connnerce of our great, though young. 
 Dominion Hows to reach the far-off Atlantic, thence 
 to be borne east and west, north and south, pro- 
 claimins: our resources and our skill. 
 
 But at times the irreat stream rebels and raijes 
 with such fury that the stoutest stand appalled and 
 Khrink back from its foam-cov(;red face. It was 
 calm, however, and docile as Morgan and Eleanor 
 gazed adown its course. 
 
 Gentle slojx^s of well-tilled country were inter- 
 sperse<l with rough, bald hills which I'ose shar|)ly 
 out from tlu; river. Far a,way on every side could 
 be discerned little villajxes dottinij \vith the mark of 
 man each hillside. The small spires of many a 
 country church rose gently heavenward, bearing 
 aloft the glory of Calvary, and silently preaching 
 hope and penance from their gilded crosses. In the 
 backc^round of the ijreen iields waved the virjjrin 
 forest. The liirht autumn frost had chauijed the 
 
 » 
 
 hue of the leaves from green to the most gorgeous 
 colorings. The white birch had leaves of bright 
 
 scarlet, ai 
 
 iple, pur[)le. 
 
 Ty. 
 
 the beecli, a deep grayish white; while the pin(^ 
 and fir retained their emerald hues. 
 
 % 
 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
ittractive 
 ,1-lookinpr 
 
 hev were 
 
 It ])ore 
 
 inof eacli 
 
 elements, 
 3 rusliing: 
 
 I yoniig, 
 c, tlience 
 
 II til, pro- 
 
 n<] rages 
 
 illed and 
 
 It was 
 
 Eleanor 
 
 re inter- 
 sliarplv 
 e could 
 nark of 
 many a 
 hearing 
 ad ling 
 In the 
 
 !•( 
 
 c Virgin 
 ged the 
 rorgeoiis 
 hright 
 an red ; 
 le ])ine 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 23 
 
 Fancy tliese and many otlier kinds of trees grow- 
 in f side hy side, every leaf of each being of a dif- 
 ferent shade, and all rich in coloring and glinting 
 in the rays of a setting sun, and you liave an autumn 
 scene 1)V the St. Lawrence, and one of untold love- 
 liness. 
 
 Moriran Lealiy was a young man of six and 
 twenty, his sister two years his iunior. Their 
 parents were natives of the Emerald Isle; but Mor- 
 iran and Eleanor had been born in (^lanada. 
 
 The young man was not handsome, perhaps, but 
 Ik; had a cl(;ar, frank expression pleasing to behold ; 
 and 1m; bore the unmistakable impress of thoughtful 
 intellectuality. It could be traced on his broad, full 
 brow, from which his dark hair was carelessly 
 l)ruslic(| ; it gleamed from the depths of dark eyes 
 which ha<l that a])})earance of latent strength notice- 
 able in a deep and j)lacid stream. His eyebrows 
 were sh'ong and well-arched ; his chin fine, and the 
 lips close-set. Every feature was strongly marked, 
 giving thus an individuality to his expression. 
 
 At colleije he had borne otT many honors. En- 
 (lowed naturally with good tahMits he had cultivated 
 them l>y assiduous study. He h;id th;it patient en- 
 <lurance which will ovei'come scientillc ililliculties, 
 and without which no solid success can be attained. 
 The peaceful though exciting contests of college 
 examinations used to call forth all his energy; it 
 was not tliat he had a childish weakness to a])pear 
 first on the list, but l)ecause he had asti-ong sense of 
 duty and a noble ambition. He would cordially 
 assist a classmate up to the very moment of begin- 
 
 I 
 
m 
 
 ,iH 
 
 i ' 
 
 'm 
 
 n' * ■ 
 
 ■ I ■■ 
 
 \ I I 
 
 i| 
 
 24 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ■I 
 
 ning an examination ; he would supply him with 
 liints gathered by Jiis iiidustry in reading : but once 
 the examination had begun lie would strive to dis- 
 tance all competitors ; and he generally succeeded. 
 lie had completed a brilliant academical and philo- 
 sophic course at Laval IJniv^ersity, and had serious 
 thoughts of studying for the church. 
 
 Eleanor resembled her brother both in personal 
 appearance and in the endowments of mind. She 
 had just graduated with honor at " Villa Marie." 
 
 She was, one might say, decidedly attractive ; not 
 a beautiful sim])leton, but a generous, high-souled 
 girl of refined taste, and consefpiently of a dis- 
 tinguished appearance. P'or a person of refined 
 taste may be poor and ill-clad, still the air and car- 
 riage of such a one will ever arrest attention. The 
 dust and mould of a garret cannot hide the 
 beauties of one of Ilaphael's paintings, neither can 
 the rags of a beggar conceal the manifestations of 
 interior refinement. 
 
 Eleanor Leahy had a loftier idea of a woman's 
 business in life, than is usually had by the modern 
 miss. She did not think that her object was to 
 dress as extravagantly and as ridiculously as pos- 
 sible; nor to sit whole hours devouring sentimental 
 love-stories; neither did she think that she ought to 
 step out on the platform to champion the cause of 
 woman. 
 
 Siie knew that the sphere of domestic life was 
 ler orbit; in it she ought to be a sun brightening 
 and cheering her home ; if married, shedding liglit 
 and gladness on the path of her husband ; if a 
 
 1 
 
 n\ 
 
 tl 
 h 
 
 ail 
 dl 
 
^M 
 
 ON THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 25 
 
 im witli 
 but once 
 e to dis- 
 cceeded. 
 d pliilo- 
 l serious 
 
 personal 
 id. Slie 
 ;ine. 
 
 ive ; not 
 
 li-sonled 
 
 f a dis- 
 
 refined 
 
 and car- 
 
 n. Tlie 
 
 e the 
 
 ler can 
 
 ions of 
 
 'Oman's 
 nodern 
 was to 
 as pos- 
 iniental 
 nght to 
 luse of 
 
 Ife was 
 itening 
 <>• liglit 
 if a 
 
 K 
 
 motlier, engrossed in rearing her children in virtue 
 thus fitting them for life and for heaven. She saw 
 how the ancient pagan world had debased woman 
 and how modern pagans sought to degrade her, l)y 
 drawing her from the position in which the Church 
 had placed her, and around which the Faith of 
 Clirist had shed a halo of sanctity. 
 
 As already said, the ])arcnts of these two charm- 
 ing charactei's were natives of Ireland. Thirty 
 years j^reviously they had settled by the great St. 
 Lawrence, on a spot well adapted for farming pur- 
 j)0ses. 
 
 [low seldom do we think of the debt we owe the 
 hardy pioneers of our Dominion ! To me those 
 brave old settlers who, axe in hand, pitched their 
 lonelv loc: cabins in the midst of a howlinir wiUlei*- 
 ness, and, with nought but their strong arm and 
 brave heart, cut down the immense trees and cleared 
 the tangled underwood, and made smiling corn-liehls 
 take the place of waving forests, are greater heroes 
 than a Napoleon or an Alexander. How strong 
 Mjul deep must have been that domestic love which 
 nerved their wearj'^ arms to strike again, and yet 
 again, for wife and family ! And consider how ]>ure 
 they kept their simple lives; how bright their ster- 
 ling honesty ever shone ! 
 
 No; when we think of these men ; when we see 
 the few last surviving ones of them tottering feebly 
 through our streets; when we say the last prayers 
 by their humble graves; and then consider the wihl 
 licentiousness of our day, the shameless frauds, the 
 small account in which life is held by many, we 
 
 I 
 
'^i. 
 
 26 
 
 AB'TER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i '■ ' 
 
 i 1 
 
 It! !li 
 
 can never admit that ignorance of reading and writ- 
 ing is dangerous to society. We rather believe that 
 one of the natural causes which will be at work in 
 bringing about the final doom of nations will be 
 that which is now called public education. 
 
 John Leahy was a pure type of that race of 
 pioneers which is fast dying out. He was a strong, 
 bold man, pleasant in appearance and kind in man- 
 ner, lie was too proud to do a mean action, and 
 too good a Christian to do a sinful one. lie loved 
 the old faith of Erin for which his fathers had 
 suffered ; and his greatest hardshi}) in the early days 
 of his settlement was that he was far from a Catho- 
 lic church. But he, like many others of his coun 
 trymen, became in his humble way an aj)ostle. 
 He would travel several miles to bi'ing the priest to 
 "hold a station" at his house; at length, chiefly 
 through his exertions, a beautiful church was built. 
 Now there was a large village around it, and a 
 resident priest. 
 
 Mrs. Leahv was a kind-hearted woman wlio never 
 sent the poor empty-handed away. She had borne 
 her share of the toil and privations of an early 
 settler's life. These were the worthy parents of 
 worthy children. They were contented and happy. 
 God had blessed them, as he alwavs does those who 
 bring his faith into a new place, and they were 
 prosperous in their old days. They saw their two 
 children, whom they liad early trained for heaven, 
 growing up in virtue. Their cup of earthly Iiappi- 
 ness was full. 
 
 Morgan and Eleanor remained for some time gaz- 
 
 
 M 
 
 
ON TttlC BANt^S OP THE ST. LAWRENCE. 27 
 
 and writ- 
 lieve that 
 : work in 
 s will be 
 
 I race of 
 a strong, 
 
 in inan- 
 ition, and 
 lie loved 
 hers had 
 )ai-l y days 
 a Catho- 
 his conn 
 
 a])ostle. 
 
 j>riest to 
 cliiefly 
 
 as Iniilt. 
 
 ., and a 
 
 a 
 
 lio never 
 d borne 
 an earlv 
 rents ol" 
 1 happy, 
 ose who 
 y were 
 leir two 
 heaven, 
 happi- 
 
 ing on the beautifnl prospect, but it was clear to 
 Eleanor that her brother's thoughts were not of the 
 scene on which they were looking. Once or twice 
 she had made some remark on the beauty of the 
 landscape, but he had taken no notice of it. Look- 
 inir down the river slic exclaimed : 
 
 "How l)eautiful those distant ships appear, 
 dwindled away to little boats, with tiny, flapping 
 sails scarcely larger than the wings of a sea-gull! 
 How gracefully they bend and sway ! I wonder if 
 Jacques Cartier, when first he sailed up this noble 
 stream, was watched by the Mif iacs from these 
 hills, and, if so, what their impressions were." 
 
 '• Probably he was," replied Morgan ; "and, if he 
 was, the poor red man, doubtless, looked upon his 
 ships with the wonder of fear, whilst you look upon 
 those far off with the wonder of delight." 
 
 "What bold men, Morgan, those early discoverers 
 must have been ! Think of Cohnnbus venturin<r 
 upon the wild Atlantic with his old-fashioned gal- 
 ley scarce lit for the calm watei's of the Metliter- 
 ninean." 
 
 "That was much, Eleanor, but it was not half so 
 <Iaring as the sailing away out into the unknown and 
 mysterious ocean. To go on and on ; farther and 
 farther from known shores, to explore the great and 
 trackless watei's must have excited a feelino: akin to 
 that experienced by a soul in the last moment of its 
 union with the body. To brave rough waves and high 
 winds requires only physical courage; but to expose 
 one's-self to an unknown danger needs moral qualities 
 of a high order." 
 
 
 P 
 
28 
 
 AFTKR WEAUY YEARS. 
 
 :!/! i, 
 ill 
 
 " Yon always glide into metaphysics, Morgan," 
 lauglied Eleanor. 
 
 " I like to imagine the sensations of men in the 
 great moments of life, that is all, my sister. What 
 must Jacques Cartier have felt as he sailed up this 
 broad river? Whither was he going? Where or 
 how would he end ? Would he come u])on a rich 
 city nourishing in these vast solitudes, or would he 
 discover traces of antediluvian man V 
 
 "I see what you mean, my philosophic brother; 
 and 1 do think thiit discoverers must have courai^eous 
 souls." 
 
 " Indeed yes, Eleanor. l>ut Columbus ha<l other 
 virtues besides true courage. Think of his years 
 of anguish, the chaiings of a noble soul filled with a 
 sublime ardor, conscious of the coi'rectness of its 
 views but thwarted i)y adverse circumstances, lie 
 felt himself entrusted with the heavenly mission of 
 bearing Christ's name and faith to distant and un- 
 discovered shores; he had received the mandate, but 
 could not obtain the means for putting it into exe- 
 cution." 
 
 " I have often thought, Morgan, on the troubles 
 endured by (Jolnmbus; how patiently he always 
 bore them." 
 
 "lie had good need of patience," said Morgan. 
 Fancy the long hours he spent sitting by the shore, 
 beneath his humble retreat in the monastery of La 
 Rabida, witli Ids keen, sad eyes ever turned to the 
 west. As he watched the sun sinkinu: beneath t\u) 
 waves, and noted the sparkling trail of light that 
 glittered from mid-ocean to the horizon, he may 
 
 h: 
 
 h( 
 
 t th 
 
 ■■•tti 
 
 m 
 
 tv 
 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE ST. LAWRENCE. 29 
 
 lor 
 
 •gan, 
 
 )> 
 
 I in the 
 . Wliat 
 
 up tliis 
 Hiere or 
 
 II a rich 
 *'oiild he 
 
 brotlier ; 
 
 nrai'eoiis 
 
 ia<l otlier 
 
 his years 
 
 !(1 witli a 
 
 ss of its 
 
 •es. II 0. 
 
 issioii of 
 
 and 1111- 
 
 hitc, Imt 
 
 nto exe- 
 
 t roubles 
 always 
 
 [Morgan . 
 lie shore, 
 •y of La 
 k1 to the 
 ;at]i th(! 
 ;ht tliat 
 iho may 
 
 ■ *. 
 
 ::r. 
 
 >1 
 
 liavc tliought it an ilhiininated pathway over whicli 
 lie was to sail. Or it may have ajipeared to hiiri as 
 the first sliininiering of that glorious light of Catlio- 
 lic Faith, whieli would, ere long, spread its mild 
 clTulgence from the eastern to the western world." 
 
 " Rather a poetic picture, Morgan, but perhaps a 
 true one." 
 
 "I will add another touch,*" said her brother with 
 a smile. " II (jw often must not his delicate eon- 
 science have dwelt on his actions, half in fear, to 
 discover whether he had done all he could to carry 
 out his mission, J low often, after seeing hope upon 
 hope blighted, must he not have sat there relitting 
 in his mind, like the Trojan yEiieas did in act, his 
 shattered lleet. Ihit never once did he lose faith in 
 his theory, or doubt his heavenly mandate. lie 
 drank with resiirnatioii the bitter chalice of humilia- 
 tion which has to be drunk by generous souls called 
 to execute an eternal dt'crce." 
 
 ''How do you reconcile your [)ictiireof Columbus 
 with some of his lives which have an extensive cir- 
 ciilntion V asked Eleanor. 
 
 "Why, (■olumbiis had his enemies, and he had 
 unwary friends. IJetween them a blight was cast 
 on his good name for a time; but fuller historic re- 
 searches iuive shown the unblemished purity of his 
 l)rivate life. Ilis second marriage is placed beyond 
 a doubt, and he stiuids forth unsullied among the 
 purest and noblest of mankind." 
 
 '' 1 am glad of that," said Eleanor. " It is a great 
 thing to have a great name vindicated. Great per 
 sons seem more nearly related to us than the un- 
 
 "^ 
 
PI c 
 
 30 
 
 AFTER WKAHY YKAHS. 
 
 yi 
 
 I 
 
 famed mass, ami soiiicliow wu chuiisli tlieir names 
 as family ones." 
 
 "All cfTcct, possibly, of our vanity, my dear sis- 
 ter. Yet consider that although Awieriea may 
 lionor the name of her diseoverer, and eherisli it as 
 a family one, many of her children seek to make the 
 faith of Colund)us an alien plant. Himself, his 
 best friend a humble monk, superior of La Tiabida, 
 his munificent protector Isabelle the C/atholic, the 
 cross he set up on Hi'st landing, and the names of 
 saints wliich, in his piety, he gave to each river and 
 headland, stam|)ed this continent with the indelible 
 mark of our Church. Notwithstanding this, schem- 
 ing politicians and ignorant parsons will prate about 
 this being a 'Protestant country.' We know of no 
 lauds which Protestantism has discovered ; it came 
 into the world too late for that." 
 
 "And we, Morgan, will be too late in returning 
 if we remain here much longer musing on the ac- 
 tions of the mighty dead," said Eleanor as she arose. 
 
 Jjiglitly down the hillside they went, at a pace 
 half run half walk, until they reached a narrow path 
 which wound along the river's course. Morgan ap- 
 peared absorbed in thought; at length he 6j)oke: 
 
 " You said that a discoverer must have a great 
 soul ; what have you to say id^out the soul of a 
 soldier?" 
 
 Eleanor cast a swift, astonished glance at her 
 brother. He \vas walking quietly at her side with 
 downcast eyes, striking, in an absent manner, at a 
 tall reed or bristling thistle with his stout walking- 
 cane. She slowly replied ; 
 
 i: 
 
ON TIIK HANKS OF TIIK ST. LAWKENCE. 31 
 
 r iianiGB 
 
 •1 
 
 leiir sis- 
 
 '^ 
 
 Bii iiiiiy 
 
 
 isli it as 
 
 ,i 
 
 lakc till! 
 
 
 olf, his 
 
 ''■\ 
 
 ]l:il)i(la, 
 
 '^ 
 
 jlic, tlie 
 
 '■,V 
 
 aiues of 
 
 ■5 
 
 vcr a!i(l 
 lulclihlc 
 , sclicin- 
 ;c about 
 w of no 
 it came 
 
 turning 
 the ac- 
 arose, 
 a pace 
 )W patli 
 ijjan ap- 
 
 >ke: 
 :igr( 
 il of a 
 
 a great 
 
 at her 
 le witli 
 jr, at a 
 alking- 
 
 
 ■■M 
 
 " I )() you mean a soldier of the Cross or a warrior ?" 
 
 " Perliaps eitlier or l)oth ; eacli has, at times, 
 tierce battles to tight; each can gain an eartlily vic- 
 tory and a heavenly crown." 
 
 '"Well,'' leturned Eleanor, "a soldier lighting in 
 ;i just cause may certainly claim our admii-ation. I 
 shudder at the thought of the shedding of human 
 Mood, but I suppose it may sometimes be a duty to 
 .lo it." 
 
 "■ Certainly, Kleanor. If a lieice foe shonld en- 
 deavor to invade our ha})py J)ominion, to lay waste 
 our fields an<l to overturn our institutions, ought we 
 iu)t to applaud the gallant hearts wlio would go fortli 
 t() drive them back 'i Ouirlit we not to assist them ? 
 The women of Limeri(d< who fought and fell in tlic 
 bi'each when Sarstield's brave troo[)S drove back tlie 
 ( )range William liave taught us, their descendants, 
 ;i noble lesson ; and were our peaceful cities attacked 
 by a ruthless foe, I ti'ust that no coward droj) might 
 l»e found to have adulterated the loyal blood of my 
 ancestors." 
 
 While speaking thus, a ilush of pardonable patri- 
 otism and determination lit up the young man's face, 
 and showed him to be a worthy descendant of the 
 women of Limerick. Eleanor (juietly asked : 
 
 "• Do you, then, love our Dominion so very 
 much ?" 
 
 " Certainly T do ; is it not my country, my home? 
 We are as free, perhaps freer than any other people, 
 except the subjects of the Pope. He rules his peo- 
 ple as a Father, not as a sovereign. But apart fioni 
 them, wlio are so secure in their property, or their 
 
82 
 
 AFTKK WKAKY YEARS. 
 
 I|.f' 
 
 
 iii' 
 
 1 ! 
 
 
 
 - 
 
 J 
 
 1 
 
 .1 
 
 
 li!- 
 
 „ li; 
 
 livcK, ;is \vc? We liiive a «;lorioii8 country, and when 
 all Jirilisli Ameiiwi .shall liavc been weMcd into one 
 ^rand Dominion we will have all the elements of a 
 mii^hty nation." 
 
 "Dear me, Morgan !" laui^hed Eleanor, "you are 
 (juite enthusiastic in your love of cojintry. J>ut I, 
 too, dearly love thii. sweet motherland, Canada, and 
 am i^lad that it is not in any dani:;er of invasion." 
 
 " No ; tliere is no danger of that sort tlireatening 
 us; hut do you not know that tlie Estates of tlic 
 Church are metiaced in the near future?" Ere lon*!j 
 the French soldiers will withdraw from liome, and 
 it is thought an uprisiui^- will he fomented l)y paid 
 emissaries from the secret societies. 1 liave heen 
 thinking of this, and tliat is wliy I asked your opin- 
 ion of a soldier's soul. Nay, luiy ; do not say that J 
 intended studying for the Churcli," continued Mor- 
 gan, as liis sister was about to sj)eak. "I did intend 
 tluit, and I may yet he a soldier of tlie Cross ; hut J 
 am resolved to gird on first the sword of the flesh 
 to fight for Jlomc. The k^tates of the Church are 
 the patrimony of all true Catholics; our young 
 Dominion must send some *.'f her children to guard 
 our rights. I mentioned the ./omen of Jjinierick; 
 do you not thiidv that those lieroines, gladly as they 
 shed their blood for their (^''f^'^ City, would much 
 more gladly have shed it for llt)me ?" 
 
 They were silent for a short time. Morgan 
 watched his sister, who was apparently struggling 
 with some dee}) emotion. It was only for a mo- 
 ment ; with one rapid glance to heaven, and one 
 convulsive stamp of the foot, she stood on the path, 
 
 -i 
 
 -■-# 
 
 m 
 
ON THK HANKS OF TlIK ST. LAWKKNCK, 
 
 33 
 
 (1 wlieii 
 iito Olio 
 lib of a 
 
 you Jirc 
 Jiut I, 
 
 (hi, and 
 
 io!i." 
 
 utciiiiig 
 
 of tlic 
 
 Ire loiii; 
 
 no, uiul 
 
 \ty paid 
 
 '0 hceii 
 
 ir opiii- 
 
 y tliat J 
 
 d Mor- 
 
 iiitend 
 
 ; hut J 
 
 le Hesli 
 
 cli arc 
 
 youui^ 
 
 > _t:;uard 
 
 crick ; 
 
 s tliey 
 
 inucli 
 
 IS 
 
 0- 
 
 lorgan 
 
 gling 
 
 a ino- 
 
 d one 
 
 path, 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 •T. 
 
 and, laying lier hand on lier hrothcr's arm, softly 
 Haid : 
 
 "You know how I love you, Morgan ; you know 
 how lonely I am when y«>u are away ; you know 
 that to save you from pain or trouble I wouhl gladly 
 hc.ir any HulTcring. Notwithstiijiling ail this, I 
 could see even you die in the cause of our Holy 
 Father, with sorrow it is true, hut without a mur- 
 mur. If lieaven calls you to he a soldier of Pius 
 IX., I could hncklc on your sw(»rd for hattle with 
 tingcrs that would not trend>le. God and my faith 
 hefore any earthly oi>ject !" 
 
 "JJravely spoken, my dear sister," said Morgan ; 
 "you have lightened my task wonderfully. Father 
 will readily grant permission. It would not require 
 much to induce himself, old as he is, to go witli me. 
 Mother's love of Holy Church will, I am certain, 
 overcome her natural love for me. 1 shall see about 
 it at once, and start as soon as possible." 
 
 "Would that I might accompany you," siglied 
 Eleanor. "I would not seek to keep you from 
 hattle in such a cause. The one who could refuse 
 his life's blood to defend tlie centre of Cliristianity 
 is but half a man, and nothing of a Christian." 
 
 "Why, Eleanor, you ought to be a soldier's 
 wife." 
 
 '•'•Perhaps I jnay he^'' she thoughtfully replied. 
 3* 
 
 \ 
 
34 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I 1 
 
 f 
 
 f i 
 
 J^Al) ANNIVEBSAKY. 
 
 Tiih: brotlier and sister had now reached tlicir 
 comfortable home, and liad aijjreed to sav nothiiiii: 
 of Mori^an's project until the next day. During the 
 eveniuij, while Morijan was encrajiced with his books, 
 Eleanor went quietly out, and ran across the road 
 to a neat little cottasre not far distant. A trim bed 
 of autumn flowei's bloomed beneath the windows on 
 each side of the front-door, A simCA bat, and a 
 striped rubber ball, such as is commonly used by 
 children, lay on the doorstep. Not far off a kite 
 which had once been of numy hues, but was now 
 faded to a dull yellow, was lying as if hastily 
 dropped. 
 
 Just within the doorway was seated an elderly 
 woman whose appearance was most attractive. She 
 was pensive, almost sad, and would have appeared 
 tjcloomy were it not for a calm expression of hea- 
 :ii\\y peace and trustfulness which beamed from 
 her dreamy eyes. She was neatly and simply 
 dressed, and held with one hand, on her knee, a 
 boy's cap of blue cloth with a glazed peak. 
 
 It was easy to see that a mighty torrent of grief 
 liad swept over her soul, and had been succeeded 
 by the rainbow of a patient liopc. Absorbed in 
 deep thought, she had not noticed the quiet ap- 
 
 ''I 
 
 4 
 
A RAD ANNIVEUSAUY. 
 
 3ff 
 
 lothing 
 ing tlic 
 
 ])ro:icli of KlciUior, until in ;i tone of gentle syin- 
 jxitliy she said : 
 
 "Keeping, as iisnal, yo.ir sud anniv(a\sary, Mrs. 
 IJarton." With a ])lea6ed look Mrs. Barton took 
 Eleanor's liand and quietly replie<l : 
 
 '*Yes: keeping it as usual; but I do not think 
 that I shall have to kee|) it many more years." 
 
 "Do you still hope, then, to meet him on earth?" 
 
 "Ah! my girl," softly began Mrs. Barton, "you 
 know nothing of the hope of a mother's soul. AV^ill 
 not the mother whose son lias gone on a ' forlorn 
 ho|)e' hope for his return? Will not the mother of 
 the greatest criminal hoj)e for his reformation ? All 
 others may |)ronounce him a second impenitent thief, 
 but she will have some ray of hope. It seems to 
 be a part of God's mercy towards parents, for with- 
 out it, loving as they do their children, their lives 
 would be niiserable indeed. Ves, 1 still hope to 
 meet my darling boy on earth." 
 
 Kleanor quietly drew a chair alongside of Mrs. 
 Ixirton's, and sat pondering on these words. 
 
 How l)eautiful and pure is the love of a mother! 
 how unselfish and indestructible it is ! it is a reiiec- 
 tion on earth of God's love in heaven. Ifow often, 
 and how carelessly, are both slighted, but what dread 
 remorse will one day surely follow such conduct ! 
 Perlin])s it will not be until the damp earth has 
 been heaped upon thy mother's tond), O thought- 
 less child, that thou wilt value — all too late — that 
 which thou hast lost. Then wilt thou think of the 
 toils through weary days, and the loving watches 
 through weary nights, the dee]) interest in thy wel 
 
 M 
 
 5 
 
11 r 
 
 ft i 'I 
 
 III 
 
 86 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 w 
 
 my 
 
 1 
 
 ll 
 
 !; 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ]■ 
 
 |;i 
 
 
 1 
 
 ill 
 
 ■ 
 
 i 
 
 fare, and the teiidcr care of thy youth, that she, tlie 
 mother now cold and wasting in the clammy depths 
 of the grave, patiently bore for thee. Then will 
 every act of disobedience and disrespect, every un- 
 gracious word which thou hast uttered to her, stand 
 out in terrible distinctness, and fly like barbed 
 arrows to pierce thy guilty heart. 
 
 Ye who have yet your mother alive, be kind to 
 her, cherish her while you may. A very little is all 
 she exacts ; a snudl return of love satisfies her for 
 the ricli store which she lavished on you. If she bo 
 old and whimsical, try to remember how patiently 
 she bore the caprices of your childhood, and patiently 
 bear with her. 
 
 Some such thoughts as these passed through 
 Eleanor's mind as she sat silently by Mrs. Barton, 
 while the golden fringe of day slowly faded out 
 from the western skies. After a pause Mrs. Barton 
 resumed : 
 
 " It was just such a day as this has been, twenty 
 years ago, that my laughing boy disappeared. He 
 had laid down yonder his kite, and was playing with 
 his ball and bat. I was sitting here watching him 
 with all a fond mother's love. Suddenly he stopped, 
 laid down his ball and bat on the doorstep, and 
 without withdrawing his eyes from the direction of 
 the river, gave me his little cap to hold — this iden- 
 tical one," she said, holding up the blue cloth cap 
 with the glazed peak. 
 
 " ' I will be back in a few minutes, dear mamma,' 
 he said, and ran quickly down the path to the river. 
 I have never seen him since." 
 
 1 
 
A SAD ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 87 
 
 g with 
 ^ liini 
 
 ), iiiu] 
 ion of 
 ideii- 
 li cap 
 
 tiiina,' 
 river. 
 
 A slii^lit sigh escaped her lips; a tear, pure as a 
 dewdrop on a mountain Hly, sparkled for an instant 
 in her trustful eyes. 
 
 Eleanor gently took her disengaged hand between 
 her own in silent sympathy. 
 
 The j)all of night enveloped the heavens, and the 
 gleaming stars flashed out from their aerial hiding- 
 places, as if exulting in the death of the King of 
 
 It was a beautiful and touching sight to see the 
 fair young girl, whose life had known no sorrow for 
 loss of her own, sitting side by side in a faint lane 
 of moonlight with the elderly woman whose earth- 
 ly joys had been early embittered, soothing by 
 .silent companionship — often the most welcome — the 
 stirred waters of her ijjreat <»:rief. 
 
 After a time Eleanor remarked : 
 
 *' lUit why on this day bring thus before you the 
 relics of your lost boy? I should think that they 
 would only increase your sorrow." 
 
 "No, Eleanor," replied Mrs. liarton, " they do 
 not. Every year, as you know, I [)lace on this day 
 these little mementos of my darling Denis on the 
 6})ot on wliich he threw them down, and sit thus 
 holding his little cap. It is like his legacy to me, 
 and I try to be faithful to his trust. r)esides, there 
 is a soothing influence in gazing on w'hat belonged 
 to those we loved. It recalls, it is true, our loss, 
 but it likewise recalls the blessing we once enjoyed 
 in having had the object of our love. If that love 
 has been what it ought to have been, to be reminded 
 of it will more than compensate us for our subse- 
 
 ) 
 
 i; 
 
88 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i1 
 
 f 
 
 qnent sorrow. The siijjlit of tlicse little remem 
 l)rances of my boy wriuf^s my soul with a passiiij]^ 
 pang, but it is like pres.siu:^ the spikenard, which 
 will not yield its odor until thus j)ressed." 
 
 Mrs. Barton and her husband, dead some years 
 ajjo, had been friends and neitrhbors of the Leahvs 
 ever since they settled too^ether on the banks of the 
 St. Lawrence. Indeed, they had been acquainted in 
 the "old country." Mrs. liarton had but one 
 child, Denis, wlio was a year older than Eleanor. 
 Morgan, Eleanor, ami Denis lia<l been playmates in 
 infancy, and the fond parents had often thought 
 how happy they would be to see in future years 
 Denis and Eleanor man and wife, and Morgan a 
 priest. I>ut earthly happiness, like human calcula- 
 tions, is often desti'oyed when it promises most. 
 Denis, as related above by his mother, disaj)peared 
 when he was five years old. 
 
 Every search had been made that love and gener- 
 ous svmpathv could suirgest, but all in vain. No 
 trace of Denis had ever been found. All except 
 his mother came to the conclusion that he had fallen 
 into the river and been carried far out by tlie tide. 
 Mrs. Barton never believed he was dead. It was 
 not with her a diseased whim, but a profound con- 
 viction that be was alive. 
 
 AVas it only that Heaven implanted liope so strong 
 in a mother's heart, of which she has just spoken, 
 that thus mercifully assuaged her mighty grief? or 
 was it some real though inexplicable action of her 
 son's soul acting on her own as lie pined for licr ? 
 
 'I 
 
 f 
 
 4 
 
 (1 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 '% 
 w 
 
 h 
 
 •# 
 
 
 kft 
 
 
 After wear 
 
 •yyo 
 
 ;irs we shall see. 
 
A SAD ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 39 
 
 reinein 
 
 ""^.^E 
 
 passiiiij^ 
 
 '1 
 
 , wliicli 
 
 A'-ff 
 
 e years 
 
 Lealivs 
 
 ^ of tlie 
 
 
 nted in 
 
 1 
 
 )iit one 
 
 M 
 
 'i^Ieaiior. 
 
 m 
 
 latcs in 
 
 "^ 
 
 thoui^lit 
 
 % 
 
 e vejirs 
 
 -)r«ijan a 
 
 
 caicula- 
 
 
 s most. 
 
 i 
 
 ►pea red 
 
 II 
 
 gener- 
 No 
 except 
 fallen 
 le tide. 
 It was 
 1 con- 
 strong 
 )okcn, 
 f? or 
 of her 
 lier ? 
 
 The streak of mellowed light gradually receded 
 from the two figures which sat within the cottage 
 door, as the moon rose liigher 'mid the lesser fires 
 of heaven. Mrs. J'arton, noticing the passing of the 
 hours, turned to Eleanor and said : 
 
 " You know how much 1 love you, my dear girl ; 
 you have often heard how we used to wish that you 
 and Denis might grow up to love one another. 
 Your own heautiful character would of itself make 
 you very dear to me; hut that hoped-for relation- 
 ship to my dear boy has made you almost sacred in 
 my eyes. I am going to ask something — perhaps it 
 is too much; perhaps it is too late. If so, do not 
 hesitate to refuse plainly ; you will not offend me, 
 neither will you lessen my love for you." 
 
 Eleanor wondcringly promised to obey her in- 
 junctions. 
 
 " ft is," said Mrs. ]>arton, " that you will not 
 plight your troth to any one before next Christmas 
 three years. If Denis be indeed alive we shall 
 surely know it ere that time." 
 
 Eleanor had long known this former, foolish, per- 
 haps, but common and fond notion of her parents 
 and those of Denis. She just remembered the 
 bright, laughing child, with dreamy eyes like his 
 mother's. Though tie there had been none, still 
 the idea of some undefinable bond haunted her, and 
 endeared Mrs. Barton to her. Smilingly she replied : 
 
 '' You are not too late, dear Mrs. ]*)jirtoTi, neithei* 
 <lo you ask too much. I readily give the desired 
 ]>roinise. But now I must return home. Ciood 
 night, my dear, dear mother !" 
 
 I) 
 
i 
 
 . I I 
 
 i. '": 
 
 40 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 She often called her mother, especially on these 
 anniversaries, for she knew it pleased Mrs. Barton. 
 
 " Good-night, dear ; you will yet be my daugh- 
 ter," said Mrs. Barton, .is she imprinted a kiss on 
 Eleanor's forehead. 
 
 She stood for a moment watching the young girl 
 hurrying along the moon-lit path. Silently praying 
 a blessing on her head, she ste})ped out, and gather- 
 ing up the kite, ball, and bat, hrought them in and 
 laid them, together with the cap, on the little bed 
 of her los' pon itil the next sad anniversary. 
 
 OIJAPTER IV. 
 
 OVEK TUE ATLANTIC, AND ACKUS8 TUE ALPS. 
 
 n 
 
 li 
 
 at 
 
 th 
 
 m:itL 
 
 Hi." I 
 
 On the morning following the events just nar- 
 rated, Morgan JxnUiy made known to his parents 
 liis resolution of starting for Jiome to join the Pon- 
 tilical army. In an impassioned manner he spoke 
 of the impious attempts which were being made 
 to wrest from the Pope his temporal kingdom. He 
 dwelt upon the injustice and mockery of talking 
 about an '* United Italy," when such a union could 
 only be effected by crime and force. 
 
 "Were Italy," he said, "destitute of legitimate 
 rulers — were her various peoples bound together by 
 traditions of the past — were she in a state of an- 
 archy on account of lawless factions, it would be a 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 41 
 
 nily pjriiiul luul patriotic idea to strive to bind her 
 strongly toi^ether, and to secure for lier a seat at the 
 council-ljoard of nations. In sucli a case tliere 
 would be justice and patriotism in the cry of an 
 United Italy. Now it is only a specious motto to 
 i^race the ihtg of the secret societies, and to draw oil" 
 attention from their real object, the overthrow, if 
 that were possible, of tlie Church. Italy has ever 
 been divided into various political states, materially 
 diifering from each other; they do not want to be 
 united. Each has its past, from which it does not 
 seek to cut itself adrift." 
 
 With such remarks as these Morgan laid bare the 
 schemes of revolutionary agitators, and impressed 
 upon his parents the duty of defending the rights 
 of the l\)i)e. Not that there was any need of tliis; 
 (or this old cou[)le, who were not great scholars, 
 wiiose hands were hardened by toil, and whose 
 shoulders were bent more by labor than years, luid a 
 keener sense of justice and a liner feeling of honor 
 than many a polished statesman. True faith more 
 than supplies the want of diplomatic training, and 
 gives a refinement of feeling and of sentiment as 
 uiduiown as it is unappreciated by a godless civiliza- 
 tion. 
 
 When Morgan ceased speaking he turned towai'ds 
 his father and saw the old num's eyes sparkling, he 
 knew not whetlier with tears or with the awakened 
 fire of martial ardor in the cause of the Pope ; per- 
 haps from a combination of both. For John Leahy 
 was no degenerate descendant of the heroes who 
 fought for faith aud fatherland under the great 
 
 Hm 
 
 I) 
 
42 
 
 aftp:r weary years. 
 
 
 % 
 
 Brian Born on Clontarfs plains ; or of tliose wlio later 
 on saved Irelancrs honor, if not her independence, 
 I)}' their gallant stand against that brutal savage, 
 that scourge of Ireland, and that scourge and dis- 
 grace of England who sul)niitted to him, the odious 
 tyrant Cromwell, lie loved also, with a father's 
 proud love, his gentle though enthusiastic son. A 
 natural feeling: of sorrow might cause the tear to 
 well up and to glisten in his eye, while supernatu- 
 ral faith might make his soul shine out through the 
 drop like a ray of light shot off from a topaz. 
 
 This would seem to he the case, for ho leaped up 
 from his seat, caught Morgati in his arms, and while 
 straining him to his heart devoutly raised his eyes 
 to heaven and exclaimed : 
 
 "Glory be to God! The old faith and the old 
 spirit still animate our race. The chill winds of a 
 Canadian winter freeze not the warm blood which 
 has Howed through a line of (christian heroes. Yes, 
 Morgan, yes: (icxl bless you, my boy, — go and fight 
 for the Pope !" 
 
 When thfs first outburt^t of generous enthusiasm 
 aiul love of religion had subsided, the old man shed 
 a few tears as he thought of his son's danger, and 
 his own lonely life without him. But his childlike 
 eonlidenco in God and in the protection of the 
 Blessed Virgin soon calmed his troubled spirit. 
 
 "He fs going to light for the cause of God; and 
 God knows how to protect l:is faithful servants," 
 were his softly spoken words. 
 
 Mrs. Leahy made more objection than lier worthy 
 husband. She was a good, pious soul j but like many 
 
 I 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 43 
 
 isiasm 
 
 shed 
 
 )]', iiiul 
 
 ildlikc 
 
 if tlio 
 
 ; and 
 ants," 
 
 easy-i^oing good po()])lc slic had not learned the 
 fjreat lesson of Ciiristian perfeetion, the })roinptand 
 cheerful annihilation of self for the love of (lod. 
 She detested the impiety of an attack on Roine(piite 
 as heartily as any one, hut she would })refer to sec it 
 rej)e]l('d hy other arms than those of her son. 
 
 When the time comes for striking a hlow for the 
 deliverance of Home from its present usurpers, we 
 trust that mothers will not think that it is enough for 
 them to pray for success, and to keep their sons at 
 home. Let them, when that time shall come, wliich 
 come it certainly will, he like the mother whose 
 irlorv is recorded in the book of Macchahes : let tliem 
 exhort their sons, from the eldest to the youngest, 
 to look uj) to lieaven, and to die for the cause of 
 liome. 
 
 The objections of Mrs. Leahy were, liowever, 
 overcome by the arguments of Morgan and Eleanor, 
 and hy lier own sense of duty. 
 
 It was arranged tliat Morgan should sail from Que- 
 bec early in November. As it was now past the mid- 
 dle of October only a short time intervened. In 
 company with Eleanor he repaired to Montreal to 
 communicate with a society there founded for the 
 purpose of procuring recruits for the Pope's army. 
 Ihit this was not his principal motive: he desired to 
 make a quiet pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady 
 of Good Help {Bonsecoiii's)^ and to place himself 
 under her protection. 
 
 It is the fashion with empty-headed writers wlio 
 ape stupid infidels to sneer at religious observances, 
 and to laugh at men of prayer. This ignorant flip- 
 
 I) 
 
 M 
 
 y|l| 
 
44 
 
 AF^TKK WKAKY YKARS. 
 
 panoy is palatable to a world grown old in sin, and 
 to men who make a God of their passions. Many 
 an unwary youth has his mind ])oisoned hy reading 
 sueh scort's, and perjiaps thiid^s the soldier who prays 
 a coward. 
 
 (Jourage, to be praiseworthy, must be a reasona- 
 ble act. The bull which insanely rushes to attack 
 a steam-engine is just as worthy of })raise as the 
 besotted ruffian who plunges, unthinkijigly, into the 
 midst of a tight. True courage foiesees and calcu- 
 lates danger from which human nature naturally 
 shi'inks, but lired by a sense of duty, and trusting 
 in God, it disrefijards the danii^er in ordei' to dis- 
 charge its obligations. 
 
 The prayer of the Christian soldier is not an 
 effect of cowardice ; it is an iiulex of true bravery, 
 because it proves the man who utters it to Ik; con- 
 scious of danger, but still to be resolved, through a 
 sense of duty, to meet it with calmness. The 
 prayer uttered by the sailors on board the Christian 
 fleet, just before their encounter with the Turks at 
 Lepanto, did not unman their hearts nor unnerve 
 their arms: it rather added a supernatural element 
 to their motive of action, and shed an aureole of 
 merit arouiul their bravery. The prayer of King 
 John of Poland, when about to face the Moslem 
 hordes beneath the beleaguered walls of Vienna, did 
 not make him less courageous in the terrible on- 
 slaught. It is time that writers would recognize 
 that true bravery is a virtue, and, like every other 
 virtue, has its root in religion and is nourished by 
 prayer. 
 
 I 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACUOSS THE ALPS. 4i5 
 
 Morgan paid his visit to our Lady's shrine, and 
 hung uj), lu^ a votive offering, a beautiful silver hunp. 
 Fervently did he and Eleanor pray for grace and 
 assistance in time of danger. God filled their 
 hearts with his holy peace, and they returned calmly 
 li!ip|)y. 
 
 The day for his dep.'irture arrived, and Morgan 
 l»:idc a fond adieu to his parents and friends. lie 
 (Muharked at (^uehec, and was soon gliding swiftly 
 down the 8t. Lawrence. On the third eveninii: 
 tliey liad rounded the last headland in the Gulf, and 
 were fairly in the ocean. 
 
 Towards nightfall the land had hei^un to fade 
 from view; the vessel rolled considerably, obliging 
 many of the passengers to seek their state-rooms. 
 
 Moriran went on dt^ck, an<i stood for a time iraz- 
 lug on the crescent moon sparkling faintly on the 
 expanse of waters. lie turned his eyes to the fast- 
 receding shores of his native land, and ])ondered 
 seriously on his past life and speculated on his 
 future i)rospects. Althougli, when leaving home, 
 he had beheld with dry eyes a mother's tears, and 
 seen an aged father's quivering lip, and felt liis 
 aifectionato grasp tightening on the hand which lie 
 fondly retained, he now experienced j)angs of 
 sharp regret; bitterly did he reproach himself for 
 any trouble he had given. 
 
 In moments such as these the founts of tlie heart 
 are opened ; the buried affections of the soul are 
 disinterred ; our past life rises out of the darkness 
 of oblivion, and confronts us in solemnity. Happy 
 those who have no reason to dread such phantoms ! 
 
 C 
 

 46 
 
 AKTKK WEARY YKARfl. 
 
 In various colors were ]);iiuted before Morgan's 
 mental vision the scenes of the past. Some were 
 pure and fair, telling of boyhood's happy days ere 
 yet the soul had lost its childish innocence; tellingof 
 those blissful days when the sweet prayer learned in 
 infancy from a gentle mother's lips was, night and 
 morning, wafted like grateful incense to the God- 
 head's throne. Others wei'c more bright and golden, 
 brilliant with hope, and tinged with the rosy hue 
 of the lofty asjurations of youth. I'ut alas! earthly 
 brightness is as lieeting as earthly haj)})ine8s. A 
 murky cloud obscured the fair picture; the golden 
 fringe grew dark ; the rosy tint faded gradually 
 away, and silently, like the light visions which 
 sport through the sleeper's brain, the whole sank 
 in darkness. * * x- 4t 
 
 At length the cloud passed away; the scene once 
 more emerged into light, but changed was its aspect. 
 More subdued, nuyre peaceful, more trusting was its 
 appearance. The golden color was no longer there, 
 and the rosy hue was chastened, and serene, and 
 calm. A youth knelt in humble prayer to the Vir- 
 gin Immaculate, and that prayer was heard. The 
 picture still told of hope and of lofty aspirations, — 
 but of hope beyond the grave, where alone true joy 
 is to be found, and of lofty aspirations for God's 
 glory. 
 
 There are persons who are never tired of j)raising 
 the delights of a sea-voyage. Possibly they never 
 made a lengthy one. A short trip in pleasant 
 weather may be very delightful ; the variegated 
 prospects of deep blue sea and distant green knolls 
 
OVKRTHK ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THK ALPS. 47 
 
 arisiiiEr lil^'c jjiaiit Tritons from their watcrv domain, 
 may be quite enchanting. But to be tossed about 
 for weeks on tlie Athmtie billows, witli an unend- 
 ing monotony of sky and sea, is not- -one may be 
 pardoned for tii inking — the most enjoyable situation 
 in life. (ilini))ses of sea and sky arc clianning in a 
 picture, but ihvy are l)y far too predomiuiuit when 
 crossing the o(ran. Aild to this s:niieness of view 
 a giddinesss of head, an obstinate disposition on tlie 
 part of the legs to earry you '' across decks" in- 
 stead of straight forward, an abhorrence of food, and 
 a general fettling of indifference to the ])roblem 
 whether tlie good ship may sink or swijn, and it 
 may be d<»iibted if even Jiyron, under such circum- 
 stances, would go into ra})tures about the sea. 
 
 Morgan did not suffer much from sea-sickness. 
 He went on deck every day, and used to exj^erience 
 a strange feelins: of solcmnitv as he felt the shii) 
 ploughing, with a subdued, rushing sound, through 
 the water. How isolated and lielpless one feels on 
 the deep! The ship is but a speck on the immense 
 waste of waters wliich sport with her weakness. A 
 few inches of wood that may be riven by the 
 straining of the vessel, or consumed by lire, is all 
 that intervenes between you and death. 
 
 Tiiere is sublimity and danger in a squall on the 
 Atlantic. A fitful wind is abroad on a "squally" 
 day. For an hour or more the sky will be clear 
 and the sea smootli. Anon, in the distance, a dark 
 spot will be seen which ra})idly grows in size, and 
 quickly develops into a cloud of dark mist. On it 
 will come, seeming to glide phantom-like over the 
 
 
 
48 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 \ 'i 
 
 : 
 
 !*; ■ 
 
 f. 
 
 , ^''1 
 
 agitated bosom of the waters, and gradually hiding 
 the bright rays of the mid-day snn. Jets of spray, 
 and huge billows flecked with a creamy foam, come 
 dashing madly forward, like savage heralds of the 
 advancing storm-kiiii*;. The broken waves wash 
 over the decks; the mist envelops the ship, and the 
 winds roar hoarsely through the rigging. But the 
 sailors had seen the danger; the sails had been low- 
 ered and furled ere the squall struck, and the vessel 
 kept before tlie wind. Disaster is thus usually 
 averted; but persons unuvsed to such scenes are filled 
 with awe, and feel for ^neas when relentless Juno 
 obtained from yEolus the release of the winds from 
 their rocky prison-house. 
 
 Morgan had witnessed one of these squalls, and 
 wished that Virgil could have seen it, in ordei" that 
 his description of the Trojan hero's perils might 
 have been yet more vivid. But worse was to come. 
 During the day the wind veere<l round all the 
 points of the compass, and settled at the northwest. 
 Tliis caused a heavv swell of sea, and when after 
 nijjhtfail the j^nlo increased to a liurricane, the 
 gallant ship was tosse<l about as aimlessly as a 
 bubble (lisj»orting in a zephyr. Towards midnight 
 the storm reached height; it was impossible to 
 keep before the w <J, for the waves were washing 
 over the deck and drenchin<2: the cal)in. Sail was 
 furled, and the ship was "hove to." 
 
 Poor Morgan felt slightly sick and somewliat un- 
 nerved. He thought it would be a dismal fate to 
 sink, on that wild night, beneatli the surging sea, 
 amidst the crasli of timbers, the hissing of the 
 
 I' i: i 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 49 
 
 oine. 
 
 tlio 
 kvest. 
 after 
 
 tho 
 as a 
 
 ij^ht 
 le to 
 
 ling 
 
 was 
 
 11 n- 
 
 ,e to 
 
 sea, 
 
 the 
 
 i 
 
 waters, and the screams of tlic passengers ; to liave 
 all the aspirations of youth rudely buried in the 
 seething waves : to perish on the pitiless ocean, so 
 far from home, while loved ones were perhaps 
 wondering where he might he, or perchance olfer- 
 ing up a prayer to the Almighty for his safety ; to 
 think, as life was departing, that no one would he 
 left to tell the storv of liis fate, or to give to sor- 
 rowing friends the mournful satisfaction of knowing 
 how he had died. 
 
 These thoughts coursed quickly through his 
 mind, and awoke all the tender affections of his 
 soul. It is in such moments as these that one 
 l)ecomcs aware of the real nature of one's love for 
 friends. 
 
 Morgan was resolved not to die in his stateroom, 
 hnt to go on deck and he prepared to battle for life, 
 or at least to be able to look up to the sky wlien 
 sinking. But soon an unaccountable something 
 dispelled all gloomy thoughts; he felt his time had 
 not yet come; he felt that the })rotection of the 
 Jnimaculate Virgin, unc'er whose patronage he had 
 placed himself, was not withdrawn.- 
 
 All night the storm raged, but gradually de- 
 creased towards dawn. The sight presented by the 
 sea at daylight was terrific. No one who has not 
 witnessed an Atlantic storm can imagine its un- 
 tamed fury. At one moment the ship would rise 
 on the crest of a towering wave, hundreds of feet 
 above the natural level ; next moment it would 
 descend with a giddy whirl into the trough of the 
 sea, while mighty billows rose far above its masts 
 
 {) 
 
 -T~rr 
 
1^' 
 
 13! 
 
 I- S* 
 
 50 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i • 
 I * • 
 
 ^1, 
 
 
 u i 
 
 on each side. One would fancy escape impossible ; 
 but in a moment the swell of a wave from behind 
 would rise under the vessel's keel, and quickly shoot 
 her aloft on its advancing tide. The water no 
 longer appeared liquid, but seemed to be pressed 
 into a firm substance, and to surge to and fro in solid 
 masses, like great bodies of snow, emitting a hissing 
 sound not unlike the noise of a snowdrift on a, ild 
 day in February. 
 
 After the storm had subsided, a favoring breeze 
 soon wafted the ship into tlie magnificent harbor 
 of Liverpool. Without delay Morgan started by 
 train to London, and quickly passed on to Brussels. 
 Thence he went on to Cologne, and up the banks 
 of the Rhine by railway. 
 
 Arrived at Bale he resolved to pass into Italy by 
 Mount St. Gothard, one of the Alpine range. lie 
 crossed the beauteous Lake of Lucerne, which 
 quietly nestles in the bosom of snow-capped Alj)s, 
 like a lovely child asleep in the arms of a hoary 
 grandparent. At Altorf, a small village, he took 
 the stage-coach, which conveys passengers who de- 
 sire to ride over these rugged heights up the frown- 
 ing mountain. 
 
 The road is, in great part, cut out of the rock 
 along the edge of the ascent, and runs zig-zag up 
 its almost perpendicular sides. As you ascend it 
 becomes more steeji ; the path is quite narrow, the 
 outer wheel of the carriage being only a few inches 
 from the brink. The mountain falls down with 
 alarming steepness. Far below rushes a wild tor- 
 rent, plunging and hissing through its rocky gorge. 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 51 
 
 Jagged rocks and stunted trees offer, liere and there, 
 ;i precarious footing for a daring climber. One 
 slight push over the edge of the road, and all would 
 he over in this world. The torrent, thundering so 
 far below, would receive the shattered fragments of 
 what had once been a human body, and would bear 
 them to the Rhine, and thence to the German Ocean. 
 
 The drivers of these conveyances have a startling 
 hit of professional playfulness, not always appreci- 
 ated by travellers. It is this : when a timid passen- 
 ger remarks that the wheel is dangerously near the 
 brink, the driver says, "Look here!" and jerks the 
 horses until the wheel grazes the extreme edge. 
 Your only consolation is the certainty that an upset 
 would involve the death of the coachman and 
 liorses, as well as your own. 
 
 Along this mountain track traces of human habi- 
 tations are to be seen. A rude shed, supported by 
 a jutting rock, serves the hardy mountaineer for 
 a dwelling; scanty patches of clay 'mid the clefts 
 of the stone, and table- rocks covered with soil carried 
 u|) from far below, affoi'd a little space on which to 
 <,now a sparse crop of vegetables. The wild goat, 
 wliich, l)y some process known only to itself, ekes 
 out a livelihood on these barren heights, sup])lie8 
 meat and clothing. Blasted trees are good fuel ; 
 what more is wanting to those who desire no better? 
 
 The free air of heaven blows coldly, at times, 
 over their exposed brows ; the sharp frost pinches 
 their gloveless hands; the wild goat may elude their 
 pursuit, — but what of that? Is there no misery in 
 towns and cities ? 
 
52 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ' ill 
 
 Tlic mountaineer is not haunted by the tax gath- 
 erer ; lie is not dunned by the baker ; he is not bul 
 lied by the butcher. Freely he climbs his rugged 
 patrimony ; sweetly he sleeps in his rude hut ; fer- 
 vently he prays in the little oratory or before a pic- 
 ture of the Madonna set in some rocky recess. If 
 contentment of mind be a true measure of happi- 
 ness, the mountaineer is more blest, in this regard, 
 than the millionnaire. 
 
 When Morgan and his companions had arrived on 
 the summit of Mount St. Gothard, a wild and rugged 
 panorama was presented to view. They were thou- 
 sands of feet above the level of the sea. The mists 
 were thickened and congealed in the cold upper air. 
 Snow was on the ground ; snow was in the air ; 
 snow was drifting in eddying whirls down tlio 
 ijoro^es of the mountain. 
 
 The various bald peaks of the Alpiiie hills looked 
 as cold and cheerless as the bi'okcn shafts and draped 
 funeral urns which, unrelieved by the (Jross or any 
 emblem of ho})e, may be seen in many cemeteries. 
 The sublime savagery of unreclaimed nature stood 
 forth in all its massive strength and beauty. 
 
 What a puny being man appears v.hen considered 
 side by side with one of these dark, frowning moun- 
 tains! yet what a noble superiority is his which en- 
 ables liim to triumphantly scale these giddy heights, 
 or to pierce a track through their rocky bowels 
 along which screeching engines may rattle and 
 labor, a fitting heart for such enduring hills. 
 
 But even these savage wilds have been warmed 
 and brightened by Catholic charity. Ages ago, ere 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 53 
 
 yet steam and electricity had become the servants 
 uf man, and ore an ungrateful world iiad begun to 
 persecute its benefactors — the religious orders — a 
 community of monks was established on these bar- 
 ren peaks. They employed their time in glorifying 
 God amid these howUng soHtudes, and in caring for 
 the occasional wayfarer who passed from Switzer- 
 land to Italy. 
 
 We often hear sneers and gibes against those 
 i^enerous men who, renouncing all worldly comforts, 
 dedicate tliemselves to the service of God, and to 
 the care of his suffering creatures. Men who have 
 rarely denied themselves a forbidden pleasure, or 
 wrought at any useful trade, or assisted a fellow- 
 being in distress, will prate about " lazy monks" 
 and political economy. Unable to appreciate a 
 iiuble spirit of sacrifice, they declaim against it as 
 unreal. With long-drawn faces they will deliber- 
 ately swindle day after day, falsify bank accounts, 
 impoverish and crusli witiiout remorse, and then 
 cant and whine at prayer-meetings about the evils 
 of monasteries. Had such as these been ever ex- 
 hausted in the dreary waste of Al})ine snow, and 
 felt tliC cold shadow of <leath from frost-bite grad- 
 ually projected over theii' bodies, and been roused 
 to consciousness by a huge but gentle dog licking 
 the snow from their face, and by a draught of warm 
 wine and milk proffered l)y one of these abused 
 monks, perhaps even their devilish malice against 
 God's holy ones might be softened. Hundreds, 
 aye, thousands of hunum beings have been saved 
 from death by those devoted men who left cheerful 
 

 54 
 
 aftp:u weary years. 
 
 I i i 
 
 l] 
 
 
 if I 
 
 ! !i 
 
 rooms to wander out into the cold blasts of the Alps 
 in search of lost travellers. 
 
 At the old monastery the poor are fed gratis, and 
 ordinary travellers can procure an excellent dinnei* 
 at a small cost. A fresh relay of horses was pro- 
 cured for the descent towards Italy. The I'oad was 
 cut out of the mountain in a manner similar to that 
 already described. Naturally the descent is more 
 expeditious than the ascent, but it is perhaps more 
 trying to weak nerves. The horses are jerked so 
 often and so sharply around the corners of the zig- 
 zag path, that one begins to fear they may grow 
 dizzy and fall. 
 
 As the coach in which Morgan rode passed near 
 a small hut, a little girl, with all the wild beauty of 
 a mountain sprite, came out and nimbly ran for a 
 distance at its side, holding up for sale a few flowers 
 which she had just culled. They had none of the 
 rich coloring or luxuriant foliage of the flowers 
 which grew in the plains beneath ; they were cold 
 and chaste, and redolent of the mountain's snow. 
 
 Towards nightfall Morgan alighted and walked 
 for a short time, whilst the driver was engaged in 
 mending a broken strap. He gazed round on a 
 scene well calculated to inspire awe. Far below 
 him, to the south, stretched the Italian plains, dinily 
 lighted up by the autumn twilight. Lago Maggiore 
 faintly glistened in its beauteous recess ; the Ticino 
 hoarsely chafed down its gloomy ravine; little 
 streamlets which, through an open valley, would 
 have babbled peacefully onward, leaped with a sharp, 
 hissing sound from crag to boulder, and frothed 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACROSS THE ALPS. 55 
 
 and foamed in their puny strength. Iligli above 
 him the grim peak wliicli he had descended stood 
 frowning and stern, despite the glow on its summit 
 wliich yet caught tlie sun's expiring beam. It was 
 not unlike a gloomy misanthrope in a well-lighted 
 (h-awing-room. 
 
 Every ol)ject around, the beetling crags, the thiin- 
 ilering river,, the foaming brooks, the irregular mass 
 of unshaken mountain, spoke of strength and great- 
 ness. 
 
 O God ! how little does man's power seem amid 
 the Alpine heights! how great doth thine appear! 
 
 At the foot of the mountain Morgan remained all 
 night, and crossed the isle-dotted Lago Maggiore in 
 tlie morning. Tiiis is, after Lake Conio, the most 
 beautiful in Europe. The scenery around its banks 
 and on its fairy aits, is varied and magnificent. 
 From the bold grandeur of the Jura Mountains to 
 the smiling loveliness of the Italian shores, every 
 phase of natural beauty is to be seen. 
 
 Morgan landed on the Italian soil, and swiftly 
 sped by train to Milan. The great cathedral was 
 hastily inspected, and on he went to Venice. 
 
 The Queen of the Adriatic still attracts the tourist 
 and the lover of art. No adventurous Doge })ilots 
 licr fleets to distant lands; no martial sailors sweej) 
 (h»wn the Gulf to bear supplies to an army of Cru- 
 saders. The Lion of St. Mark sleeps listlessly at his 
 })ost ; the great square, which once resounded with 
 the tread of heroes, now echoes at times the foot- 
 falls of scheming revobitionists, wlio plot, in dark 
 lod«^e8^ the downfall of that Church to which Italy 
 
 r 
 
( ' 
 
 s$ 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ^t:,l 
 
 owes all its glory. Yet there is a lingering of old- 
 time beauty and majesty around Venice still; she is 
 a discrowned (^ueen, l)Ut traces of royal greatness 
 remain. The song of the gondolier is still heard on 
 her canals, and the great Oliurch of 8t. Mark still 
 tells of past glories, and speaks from its every stone 
 a hymn of praise to God. 
 
 It was while visiting this cathedral that Morgan 
 met a party who were his fellow-travellers after- 
 wards to Rome. Said ])arty consisted of an elderly 
 man and his wife, together with their two daughters 
 and a son. They were from the United States, 
 and were a good specimen of that class of vulgar 
 persons who acquired money during the late Civil 
 War. 
 
 Newspaper scribblers would, probably, call Mr. 
 Drew a '•' self-made" man. By this phrase you often 
 find designated creatures wlio are composed, so to 
 speak, of ninety-nine parts beast and one part man. 
 So that the individual has made money, whether by 
 honest business or by defrauding the Government, 
 or by cheating the Indians, or by robbing a credu- 
 lous multitude, he is frequently styled a "self- 
 made" man. A gushing reporter will give a sketch 
 of his life, and propose it as a model to rational 
 beings. Small wonder that dishonesty is rampant 
 when it is fawned upon instead of being denounced. 
 
 Mr. Drew had made his '' pile," as he called it, by 
 supplying bad army-shoes at an enormous price. 
 He was shrewd, ignorant, and unprincipled. Ilis 
 wife was vulgar, but good-natured. The daughters 
 had been sent to a boarding-scliool, where they 
 
OVER THE ATLANTIC, AND ACKOSS TJIK ALPS. f)7 
 
 learned to haiiiiner a little on the piano, to forget 
 English and to dabhle in Fnnch and German, to 
 dress extravagantly, to talk about the ''beaux," and 
 to despise all manner of household duties. The son 
 had })rofited lirst by the ''glorious free schools" to 
 the extent of being able to stammer tolerably well 
 
 tl 
 
 iroiii 
 
 :h d 
 
 ime novels, aiK 
 
 d of 
 
 ic({uiring vieions 
 
 (> 
 
 liai)its. Then lie had been sent to a mushroom 
 university, where he chewed tobacco, swore great 
 oaths, frefpiented low haunts, and otherwise im- 
 proved his mind for three years. At the expiration 
 t' that period he laid down fifty dollars, and picked 
 up a parchment dubbing him an A.M. The '" sec- 
 ular schools" of the United States have produced 
 many such families. 
 
 The young ladies had been looking at something 
 which they pronounced "awfully nice," and ''fear- 
 fully pretty." Desiring to know more about it, 
 they endeavored to ask the custodian its history. 
 Evidently their French was not strong: "Yous 
 savoir le history du cette ... " but here the jargon 
 failed. Morgan, seeing their difficulty, kindly came 
 to their rescue. 
 
 Mr. Drew, hearing an English voice, at once intro- 
 duced himself and party, llis appreciation of fine 
 arts and of the grandest monuments of hunum 
 genius was on a par with that of his countryman 
 " Mark Twain." Doubtless there are some with 
 whom Mark's vulgar attempts at wit in " Innocents 
 Abroad " pass for gems of the purest water ; but 
 they belong to the class of Mr. Drew. 
 
 "What a tarnation fine shoe-factory this would 
 3* 
 
 c 
 
 1 
 
08 
 
 AFTKR WEAUY YEARS. 
 
 make! You could put in a couple more lofts; ram 
 your engine in that nook ; cram your leather here ; 
 stuff your slioes round there." 
 
 Thus spoke Mr. Drew, as he gazed around the 
 noble edilice. 
 
 " Lawk, Daniel," said Mrs. Drew, " you are always 
 thinking of shoes. Me and the girls thiidv it would 
 be just the go for a surce^'' probably soiree. 
 
 " Yes, quite ow feet^'' said the elder ; words which 
 Morgan at length supposed to be intended for au 
 faiv. 
 
 " What a nice cool place to keep the rm vine,''^ 
 said the younger, (Jernian being her strong point. 
 
 ''How that little chaj) is skedaddling,^^ said the 
 heir of the house of Drew, as he pointed to an 
 angeh 
 
 Poor Morgan felt it useless to ])oint out the beau- 
 ties of St. Mark's to such uncultured minds. With 
 a keen sense of pity for such animal men, of whom 
 the United States can boast thousands, he got out of 
 the church as soon as possible, closely followed by 
 his new-found friends. Next mornifig they all 
 started for Rome. Mr, Drew, with easy famili- 
 arity, asked Morgan his object in going to the 
 Eternal City. Wlien told that it was to fight for 
 the Pope, lie " guessed it was quare the old fellow 
 could not do his own lighting"; and wished to know 
 how the expected trouble had been brought about. 
 As many of our readers may wish to know the same 
 thing, we will tell them in the following chapter. 
 
TIIK OllIGIN OF THE TROUHLE. 
 
 59 
 
 CllAPTEll V. 
 
 HOW THE TROUBLE HAD BEEN BUOUGHT AROl'T. 
 
 Theke is soinetliiiijj most exliilariitinff in the mo- 
 tion and clatter of an express train. To be whirled 
 tliroiijLi^li a lovely eoiintrj at the rate of fifty nnles 
 an hour; to feel tlie (juick rush of a balmy atmos- 
 })here fannin*^ one's brow ; to catch fleetinij^ 
 Ljlimpses of ruined towers, bold mountain ridges, 
 and glistening lakes; to know that you are fast 
 di'awing near your journey's end, — to experience all 
 this while comfortably seated and under no neces- 
 sity of driving or guiding, is surely enough to 
 cheer one's spirits. The })ulse is quickened, the 
 lieart beats in unison witli tlio rattling music of tlie 
 wheels, and the pLiy of thought keeps time with 
 the rapid change of scene. 
 
 If generals were to bring their men to the held 
 of battle on an express train, they would, on alight- 
 ing, make the most gallant charge ever yet wit- 
 nessed. This will, doubtless, be part of the tactics 
 of the future.* The roar of cannon will be drowned 
 in the swelling wave of sound created by the fierce 
 rattle of advancing wheels, and the crackling of 
 musketry be elided by the shrill whistle of putting 
 engines. Krupp cannon will be preserved in 
 museums, as a monument of a clumsy German in- 
 vention. Englishmen will, like their remote ances- 
 
 * It has been done since the above was written, in Egypt, 
 two or three years ago. 
 
 ■iMi 
 
f 
 
 
 
 I' 4 
 
 
 60 
 
 AFTKIt WEARY YKAK8. 
 
 tors, go to war in chariots, hut no vuhicriil)le liorses 
 sliall ho yoked tlicreto. Tlio scythes of the early 
 Hritons will he succeeded hy electric hatteries 
 which shall discharije artilicial thuuderholts into 
 the midst of a terrified enemy. 
 
 In the L-reat hattle of the future, 1)V which a 
 Catholic JJritish Empire, comprising, in addition to 
 the United Kingdoms, America North and South, 
 Germany, Uussia, and India, shall be iirmly consoli- 
 dated, and the (yhnrch receive her greatest worldly 
 triumj)h, the English strategist will employ tactics 
 similar to these hercnn foreshadowed. Some may 
 smile at this fancy, hut we believe in a mighty 
 future and an almost universal dominion to be at- 
 tained by England after her return to the faith of 
 her forefathers. 
 
 Feelings and thoughts akin to those expressed 
 above were experienced by Morgan, as he sped 
 from Ancona towards Rome. 
 
 It was late in November, but the spirit of Sum- 
 mer seemed to be still hoverini:; in the air, and warm- 
 ing it with her gentle breath. Summer never dies 
 in Italy ; she sleeps for a season whilst the rains de- 
 scend ; but every glancing sunbeam wakes her froui 
 her slumber, and she smiles over the valleys in 
 every warm gleam. 
 
 The verdure was fresh and green ; wild-ilowers 
 were growing by the roadside, and many species of 
 vegetables were flourishing in the gardens. Mor- 
 gan, accustomed to the cold of a Canadian Novem- 
 ber, almost fancied that he had fallen asleep some- 
 where for six months, and that it was now May. 
 
THE OUKJIN OF THE TKOUHLE. 
 
 61 
 
 For fionie tiniu hv li:id sat gazing out at the coun- 
 try through wliich they were passing so rapidly, 
 wlien Mr. J)ruw questioned him as to his reasons 
 for going to Koine. Tlien he wished to know how 
 the expected trouble liad been brought about. 
 
 "It is a lung story," said Morgan, *' and its pri- 
 mary cause is very remote ; possibly it ndght tire 
 you to hoar it related." 
 
 Mr. JJrew protested that lie ••' rayther liked a long- 
 spun, hifalutin sort of o-ration," and would listen 
 with " tarnation pleasure." 
 
 Having said this he spat out of window the jel- 
 lied products of half a " l>lng" of Virginia, and as 
 Morgan, who was between him and the window, 
 foreseeing the discharge was about to move, he 
 ({uietly said : "don't niuoc, 1 i^iiasti I'll clear you," 
 and true to his word shot it fairly over his head and 
 out into the harmless air. 
 
 Morgan looked aghast at this novel mode by 
 which Mr. Drew avoided distm'ljing his fellow- 
 passengers. That gentleman a])peared to enjoy his 
 surprise, and Mrs. Drew laughed until big tear- 
 drops coursed down her Habby cheeks. When she 
 recovered the power of s])eech she said: 
 
 That's nothing, thi<,t ain't, to what I see Daiuel 
 doing once at a hotel in Nevada. There was three 
 lu fellows from the hills smoking in the bar, and 
 a boasting of how truly they could squirt into the 
 spittoon. Daniel he walks in in a kind of careless 
 way and sa , 'I aint much in the smoking Ihie 
 myself, but I guess I can spit about as true as any 
 of you.' Then the barkeeper he gets a fly and pins 
 
 itJ 
 
62 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 IE J I 
 -i ; 
 
 it to the wall. He marks off three yards and tells 
 them to toe the scratch. The man as spits the 
 widest from the fly the most times out of three 
 pays for the drinks^ says the barkeeper. One tall 
 miner spits first and hits the fly twice. The next 
 hits oidy once. Tiien comes Daniel's turn ; and 
 winking to nie (lauk, how I hiui,died !) he 8te{)S n[» 
 to the mark, and standing with his hands behind his 
 back, he spits three times, rpute rapid like, and hits 
 the fly every time." 
 
 During the recital of this feat of expectoral 
 prowess, which will show, better than any descri])- 
 tion of ours, the unadoi'iied vulgarity of the Drews, 
 Mr. Drew ha<l taken a fresh half " plug," put his 
 feet up higher than his head, and drawn a small cap 
 partly over his eyes. Now assuming a shrewd, sus- 
 l)iciou8 look, he said : '" I am regularly booked ; 
 blaze away at the wjunr 
 
 Taking this for a hint to begin, Morgan said : 
 
 "Ever since the sin in Eden there has been a 
 continual fiij-ht between m)od and evil. Like two 
 great armies drawn up in battle array, the hosts of 
 Satan and the soldiers of the Cross confront each 
 other. The flght rages continually ; sometimes 
 only a part of the armies are engaged ; sometimes 
 the combat is general. Satan leads the onslaught 
 against the good ; Christ is the leader of the just. 
 Often the wicked triumph for a time, and the vir- 
 tuous arc op})ressed." 
 
 "15ut," interrupted Mr. Drew, " if Christ leads 
 the good, why don't they always win ? Ain't he 
 GodV' 
 
 i 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE TKOITHLE. 
 
 63 
 
 i 
 
 " Truly lie is God," replied Morj^an ; " i)nt it does 
 not enter into the present providence of God to 
 make the good always happy and prosperous in this 
 world. There is another life in which the virtuous 
 will reign triumphant; there will he a day of final 
 reckoning, on which it will he made manifest to all 
 how much hetter it was to he afflicted for Christ in 
 tliis world, than to he prosperous under Satan. 
 
 "Ahel, the just, fell hy the hand of the impious 
 Cain; the chaste Joseph was sold into slavery; the 
 Divine Saviour himself was cruelly persecuted ; liis 
 chosen A})ostles were whippe<l and scourged. 
 Christ foretold that his followers would have to 
 suffer much from the world, hecause they were not 
 of the world, and that nuiiiy would he put to death 
 for his name's sake. This foreseen and foretold per- 
 secution of the servants of (/hrist was not limited 
 to any particular age or i)lace. It would be horn 
 with the religion in Jerusalem, and spring up side 
 hy side with it in other lands. Even as dai'k 
 shadows are projected hy objects in the glorious 
 sunlight and .decrease, or grow into giant propor- 
 tions, so the shadow of persecution ever hovers 
 lound the man who stands in the full blaze of the 
 Gospel light. At times the shade is small and 
 scarcely noticed ; but suddenly, perhaj)s, it increases 
 and fjrows black like a huL'e storm-cloud. Prisons, 
 as gloomy as the inky vapors about to descend in a 
 torrent of rain, are prej)ared for the faithful ; or 
 swords, bright and keen as the gleaming streaks 
 which quiver in the rift of the thunder-cloud, 
 cleave their dauntless breasts; or wild animals roar 
 
 
WW 
 
 if' 
 
 64 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ! f 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
 ing like the angry claps of thunder are let loose 
 against their defenceless persons. For a season the 
 storm rages against the Ciinrch: a few, appalled by 
 the horj'ible din and murky atmospliere, fall away 
 from the valiant raidvs ; but the vast majority, 
 clothed with the armor of Faith and protected by 
 the helmet of Truth, remain faithful to their stand- 
 ard — the Cross. If cut down in the fight, they 
 fondly clasp the Cross in their dying arms, and press 
 it hopefully to tiieir ))aling lips. The blood of 
 nuirtyrs, like oil cast on troubled waters, soon calms 
 the tempest, and the Church once more stands out 
 uncon(|uered and unshaken, witiiout a spot or a 
 wrinkle on her virgin face. 
 
 '""This has ever been the history of the Church. 
 Founded by the blood of CMirist, — watered by the 
 blood of his Aj)ostles, — spread by the blood of mis- 
 sionaries, — its supernatural beauty is never more 
 fully manifested than during fierce persecutions. 
 In the second century of its existence Tertullian 
 said : ' The blood of martyrs is the seed of Chris- 
 tians ' ; and the same holds good in our own day." 
 
 '' 1 opinionate from this," renuirked Mr. Drew, 
 " that you rayther like a good tall light; it is the 
 steam engine of your great overland train." 
 
 "We do not fear that persecution will destroy the 
 Church," said Morgan ; " we even believe that it will 
 eventually increase her sway; still we do not court 
 it, — we ])ray God to avert it. The reason is, that 
 nmny are weak, and may give way in time of trial. 
 God will draw good out of the malice of persecu- 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE TROUHLE. 
 
 65 
 
 tors; but it is no doctrine of the Church to do evil 
 tliiit good may thence follow." 
 
 Mr. J)rew, who paid that concentrated attention 
 to Morgan's words which is characteristic of the 
 real American, said : • 
 
 "We hitch up otir teams here pretty close. But 
 tell us how the Pope got to be king. Did he flare 
 up a war of Independence? If so, who was his 
 George Washington V 
 
 Morgan could scarcely restrain a smile ; still, since 
 Mr. Drew was attentive and desirous of information, 
 he thought it well to j)roceed. 
 
 '• The temporal Power of the Popes," said he, " was 
 not obtained by reljellion, nor i>y a war of conquest. 
 The Prince of the Apostles lixed his seat in Rome ; 
 it was then the caj)ital of a vast Em])ire. From this 
 central spot the rays of Divine Faith were more 
 oasily dilfused over the various ])arts of the State 
 than they could have been from any other place. 
 
 "For three centuries the blood of innumerable 
 inartvrs was shed: the crimes and enoi'mities of 
 j)agan Home were cleansed by thlc stream of gore, 
 (yhristianity began to permeate all classes of society ; 
 the city became ripe for a Christian Prince, (rod 
 disposes everything iirmly, but sweetly. Constan- 
 tino was hailed with delight. There were still very 
 Miany pagans in Koine, but they had grown accu^- 
 tuined to the Christians. Just as educated Protest- 
 ants in England no longer believe absurdities about 
 Catholics, even so educated pagans in the time of 
 Coustantine.did not believe that the Christians were 
 impious sorcerers or witches. 
 
 . I :■ 
 
117 
 
 1 1 '•■ 
 
 66 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 -Jl!i 
 
 "Constantine felt that a Pope and an Emperor 
 would not be suitable in Eoine. The glory of the 
 Pontifical court would eclipse that of the Imperial. 
 Hence he moved his seat of government to the 
 banks of tlie Bosphorus. 
 
 " Gradually the colossal Empire, like every pre- 
 ceding kingdom, began to decay. Human institu- 
 tions have not the property of immortality ; they 
 are the offsprings of mortal parents, and are them- 
 selves mortal. Incursions of fierce barbarians shook 
 rudely the tottering State. The grand march 
 of events went- quickly onward, and numerous 
 chang-es were effected. Even as numv kingdoms 
 had sprung from the ashes of the Macedonian Em- 
 pire, so many States began to rise from the dust of 
 the Itoman. Constantinople became powerless at 
 length to defend its Italian subjects from the devas- 
 tating attacks of the Northern hordes. It tacitly 
 relinquished its right to rule Rome, and left it to 
 consult its own safety. Now in every community, 
 as in every man, there is the right of defence against 
 unjust aggression ; and in every community there 
 is, independent of the will of man, by Divine ordi- 
 nation, a civil power which is to provide for the 
 temi)oral good of that community." 
 
 " But I opine," said Mr. Drew, " that the people 
 give the power to rule. No darned monarchy for 
 me ; our eagle flies over a free people, and sticks its 
 claws into all despots. Is not the })ower of our 
 President from the people?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Morgan. "All power 
 is from God, Man cannot give to another what he 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE TROUBLE. 
 
 67 
 
 has not got liimself. But no niiiii lias, from him- 
 self, the right of governing himself or others; 
 hence he cannot give it. Where no one has a pre- 
 existing right to rule, men may choose by vote 
 one who is to become the organ of civil power. 
 But this is not conferring authority ; it is only desig- 
 nating the subject that is to exercise a Divinely 
 given power for the common good. You may 
 choose the seed which you plant; you may select it 
 from a thousand, still vou do not confer on it the 
 power of germinating. It is God who does that." 
 
 "That's Gospel, choke me!" ejaculated Mr. 
 Drew. " Then you think a president is the same as 
 a king?" 
 
 "As regards the power which they exercise, cer- 
 tainly ; the authority of each is from God. They 
 were made the subjects of that power l)y different 
 means, and they hold their positions under different 
 conditions, but in their quality of supreme civil 
 rulers they are on an equal footing. Perliaps you 
 think it an advantage to delude yourselves into the 
 belief that you are a very free people because you 
 are supposed to elect your rulers; for my part I 
 would prefer the chance of having a suitable man 
 horn and educated to the position. You do not 
 always get the best man for Piesident," rather 
 maliciously added Morgan. 
 
 "Gospel again, by jemimy! but go on about the 
 Pope." 
 
 "The Romans," pursued Morgan, "being l(;fr, 
 without a' ruler, turned their eyes towards the Pope. 
 In him they saw all the qualities requisite for a 
 
 
 
w 
 
 i 
 
 1 :^ 
 
 i. ^ 
 
 68 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 noble prince. Already he had, as the spiritual 
 head of the Cliurch, great power and influence. lie 
 had learning, and a knowledge of affairs. He had 
 no faction to serve, for he was the father of all ; he 
 would be just, because virtuous; he woukl be mild, 
 l)ecause tlie Vicar of Him who was meek and hum- 
 ble of heart. On more than one occasion previously 
 the Pope had saved tlie city by interceding with the 
 invaders. Moved l)y all these reasons, and more 
 still by the secret dispensations of Providence, the 
 liomans besought the Pope to be their civil rulei*. 
 He accepted the post, and thus peacefully and legit- 
 imately became a temporal king. ' 
 
 " Well, that explanation rather knocks over the 
 apple-cart of some of our editors. Is all this true V 
 
 "It is," answered Morgan, *'and any conscien- 
 tious student of history will admit it. 
 
 " But see the beautiful designs of Providence. 
 Before there were anv Christian kingdoms the 
 Popes did not require a temporal power. So soon, 
 however, as Christian States should arise, mutual 
 jealousy might be engendered in princes if the 
 Pontiff, who had to rule all in spiritual matters, 
 were the subject of any earthly ruler, lie was to 
 be the arbiter of disputes in the Christian common- 
 wealth ; but to be above the sus])icion of partisan- 
 ship, he must be independent. To fearlessly re- 
 prove the vices of kings and emperors, to freely ex- 
 ercise the duties of his exalted office, a territorial 
 independence would greatly conduce. Hence, al- 
 though God could in other ways provide for the 
 good government of His Church, still this way is 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE TROUBLE. 
 
 09 
 
 most suitable, and it is tlic one which ITc lias chosen. 
 Tlie temporal power of the Popes is a dispensation 
 of Providence for the benefit of the Christian com- 
 monwealth. " 
 
 " If all our ministers and editors sav about the 
 tyranny and ignorance of the Popes be true, T rather 
 guess the Pomans got done up brown pretty tall by 
 ijetting them for kings," riiiietlv remarked Mr. 
 Drew. 
 
 For a moment Morgan's face flushed with a glow 
 of contempt ; but fpiickly checking this feeling he 
 smiled half sadly, and made answer: 
 
 " Your observation is but the echo of the old 
 false cry. It moves to sadness to find in many gen- 
 erous nntures this fossil prejudice against Pome; it 
 gives a shock like the <ligging up of a j)etrified 
 toad from a beautiful stalagmite. The City of the 
 Popes did not send forth mailed warriors to subju- 
 gate the world to its civil rule; but it sent forth 
 learned and holy men — heroes of Christian virtue — 
 to announce to all the glad tidings of salvation. 
 The heavenly message of ' peace on earth to men 
 of good will' was proclaimed from purified temples 
 and fanes, and wafted on the wings of Catholic zeal 
 to the four corners of the earth. 
 
 "When you arrive in Pome you can wend your 
 way to the foot of the Cielian hill and see the mon- 
 astery whence issued St, Augustine and his brethren 
 bearing light and civilization to England. From 
 the tond) of St. Peter went forth missionaries to all 
 the nations of Europe ; and not oidy to all parts of 
 Europe, but also to Asia and Africa. And when 
 
 em 
 m 
 
 c 
 
 m^ 
 
 a 
 
iji 
 
 i '< } 
 
 70 
 
 AFTER WEAKY YEARS. 
 
 that noble pioneer of faith and tnie progress, Co- 
 ]nml)us, liiid discovered a new world, apostles re- 
 ceived from the successor of St. Peter commission 
 and power to bear over the waters of the Atlantic a 
 slip from God's living vine, and to implant it on 
 Columbia's shores. The candid admission of Guizot 
 that Europe owes all her culture, all lier art, and 
 the best of her laws to Rome, is but the simple 
 truth. 
 
 " Whilst the arts and sciences were driven before 
 the Goth, Vandal, and Ilun — whilst Europe was 
 lighting for life and could not attend to them — they 
 found a quiet home and magnificent patronage near 
 the Popes. Look at the churches and buildings of 
 Rome; examine its repositories of art; read the 
 long roll of eminent men who received almost 
 kingly honor from the Pontifical Court, and then 
 say whether I exaggerate. Call to your mind the 
 colleges, universities, and academies founded and 
 endowed by the Popes; think on tlie numberless 
 volumes copied and j)reserved at their instigation ; 
 glance at the catalogue of great writers who flour- 
 ished under the fostering care of the Church, and 
 then ask yourself what are the spasmodic etforts of 
 British associations and of infidel professors com- 
 pared with Rome's unceasing work? 
 
 " Or if you look for that grand distinctive mark 
 which was to characterize the followers of Christ, 
 Charity, wdiere will you see it so conspicuously as in 
 the hospitals of the Eternal City, and at the doors of 
 its monasteries? In the fever wards, by the bedside 
 of those smitten w'ith small-pox or by the fearful 
 
^m 
 
 THE ORIGIN OP THE TROUBLE. 
 
 71 
 
 cJioleia, you will see iu attendance, l)y day and 
 night, persons of both sexes delicately reared, who 
 liave consecrated their lives to God for the nursing 
 of those sick ones. Go to the door of a monastery 
 and you will find men of great parts, men highly 
 cultured and refined, serving out a substantial re- 
 past to the halt, the blind, and the infirm. Knowing 
 these things, is it any wonder that we should be 
 deeply pained at hearing the stale trash of smirking 
 hypocrites and bigots about Rome's ignorance and 
 cruelty ?" 
 
 "Wal, yon can't blame me for what I said; I 
 don't set up for a scholar in them things; but I de- 
 clare it is too bad to» be hocussed so completely by 
 them as ought to know." 
 
 '• You are right," said Morgan ; " I am well aware 
 that a vast amount of silly prejudice is due to. the 
 bigotry of self constituted teachers. You spoke of 
 tyranny. Now look at this historic fact. The Jews 
 were pretty badly used in different States of Europe. 
 Indeed, it is not so long since England admitted them 
 to Parliament. In this respect she was behind my 
 own Catholic Lower Canada. The Popes, whose 
 tyranny wife-beating old women of the nuvle sex 
 bewail, received the Jews kindly, allowed them 
 their synagogue in Rome, and permitted them to 
 have a magistrate of their own for deciding civil 
 suits. This was doi"^ in what those who are ignorant 
 of history call the 'Dark Ages,' and this disposition 
 remains yet. 
 
 " Again, whenever a king or an emperor en- 
 croached on the liberties of his people, or violated 
 
 o 
 
 
m-'i 
 
 72 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Willi 
 
 m 
 
 i m 
 
 the coTifititiition of liifi State, tlie Pope, wlien in- 
 voked, always threw his great power on tlic side of 
 the people. In the many struggles between the 
 Church and tein})oral rulers we never find the sub- 
 jects of these rulers against the Pope. It is never a 
 league of Po])e and king against the people ; it is 
 always Pope and j)eo})le against a licentious or 
 tyrannical king. This clearly proves that the Popes 
 always sought to uphold the rights of individuals 
 and nations against the aggressions of tyranny." 
 
 " Your story looks pretty straight, but you have 
 not come down to the cause of the present danger." 
 
 " I told you," said Morgan smiliiig, "' that the story 
 was long. I wished you to have a true idea of the 
 origin of the Pojie's tem[)oral power, and also of the 
 Ijcnefits conferred by Rome on Europe, so that you 
 might fully see the ingratitude of the plotters and 
 the justice of the cause of those who are going to 
 enlist under the l)anner of Pius IX. 
 
 "The Pope is the liead and centre of Catholic 
 Unity ; he is, likewise, the corner-stone of the social 
 state. Every intelligent man, be he Catholic, Pro- 
 testant, or intidel, fully understands that the Roman 
 Pontiff could not disappear (were such a contingency 
 possible) from the world without bringing about a 
 total upheaving of society. This social cataclysm is 
 exactly what some wish to effect. A wild growth 
 of humanity, unsoftened by religion and unawed by 
 law, has sprung up in the dark lanes of every large 
 city. Formerly, owing to the comparative isolation 
 of kingdoms and towns, these lawless bands were 
 kept in check by the law-abiding citizens. Now, 
 
THE ORIGIN OF THE TROUBLE. 
 
 73 
 
 liowevcr, that godless education is being ]>r(>j>agated 
 and tlie means of communication multiplied, a bond 
 of impious fraternity has been established between 
 the criminal classes of eveiT nation. All that they 
 know of civil laws is that they will be punished l)y 
 them ; their knowledge of religion is limited to the 
 certainty that it would impose restraints on the 
 gratification of theii' passions. Hence they look 
 upon law and religion as their enemies, and band 
 together to crush them. They see that the Catholic 
 Church is the great bulwark of both ; they know 
 that the Pope is head of the Church. If they could 
 smite the head they fancy that their end would be 
 gained. Not recognizing that the Church is a 
 Divine institution they fondly hope to succeed. 
 
 " It must be borne in mind that Satan has a share 
 in this work. Even as he stirred the pagan em- 
 perors up to persecution, so he now stirs up these 
 corrupted masses. Seeing that unity gives a great 
 power of resistance to the Church, he seeks to make 
 an infernal travesty of it among the secret societies. 
 
 " The revolutions throughout Europe in 184S were 
 the outcome of secret machinations. The Pope had 
 to leave Rome for a time, but Frauce, with all her 
 faults, had not lost her love for Christ's Vicar. 
 
 " Her arms restored him. Since that time she has 
 kept some soldiers in his territories ; but the secret 
 societies have not been idle. They set themselves 
 the task of corrupting the youth of Italy. Mem- 
 bers of the impious fratei'nity wormed themselves 
 into the councils of princes, into chairs in the uni- 
 versities, and into the ranks of the clergy. In all 
 
 em 
 
 
T 
 
 74 
 
 AFTKR WEARY YKARS. 
 
 ;;; t: 
 
 ^1 
 
 m 
 
 thcficpositioiiR the}' began disBcniiuating their princi- 
 ples ; they ("orrnpted the Rource« of knowledge and 
 (ensnared the nnwary. Througli ail these artifices 
 they have succeeded in making some proselytes; 
 the oidy wonder is that they have not made more. 
 When we hear of the many Italians (few, however, 
 in comparison with the virtuous) who are leagued 
 with foreign (■onimnniststo assault Rome, we ought 
 to bear in mind the long years of artful and ])atient 
 hd)or of the emissaries of corruption. 
 
 "Napoleon is about to withdraw his troops; the 
 infidel revolutionists are jubilant ; they hope to stir 
 up a revolt in Rome, and to force the Pope to flee 
 again. To frustrate this plot Catholics are flocking 
 to enroll under the banner of St. Peter. To do my 
 share of the glorious duty T am here." 
 
 Having now arrived at Koligno the passengers for 
 Itome changed cars, and in the hurry Morgan was 
 se})arated from his new-found friend Mr. Drew, 
 lie was not sorry for this. Although not of a mo- 
 rose disposition, still at times he preferred to be 
 left to his own musi'igs. On no occasion could Mr. 
 Drew be a companion, in the proper sense of the 
 word. They had little in common : Morgan had 
 kindly endeavored to dissipate the cloud of preju- 
 dice and ignorance which overshadowed him. It 
 was a good seed sown whicli might fructify here- 
 after. 
 
 The train sped on, and soon issued from the defiles 
 of the hills, and rattled mei'rily along the undulating 
 Campagna. Now, as it swept gracefully round the 
 jutting base of the last mountain hill, Morgan fancied 
 
 m 
 
THE OKICHN OP" TIIK TROIIBLE. 
 
 75 
 
 he ouii^lit Kiglit of .1 grove in wliicli, here ami there, 
 some h>ftier tree raised proudly heavenward its nod- 
 ding liead. 
 
 Tlie sun was Hearing its sliimmering bed, and 
 sliot bright gleams around the towering ercsts in the 
 visionary forest. As Morgan gazed intently towards 
 them, they seemed to end in a glittering cross. The 
 sun was directly in front of the advancing train and 
 rendered it difficult to distinguish objects. 
 
 Gradually it sank ; darkness fell upon the lower 
 part of the prospect ; a golden beam still tipped each 
 lofty lieight. One by one these sparks of light went 
 out, until only one glowing shaft was left. So high 
 uprose this sunlit trunk that Morgan wondered how 
 one tree could be so vei'y much taller than tlie rest. 
 
 At this momenta traveller looking out exclaimed : 
 " Roma, Ronui ! ecco San Pietro." 
 
 With a strange, wild thrill the words fell on Mor- 
 gan's ear. He was gazing on the nuijestic dome of 
 St. Peter's, still brightly glittering long after every- 
 thing around had been sunk in darkness. 
 
 Thus, thought he, will the Church of Christ shine 
 ill the sunset of the world's allotted span, when the 
 institutions of men and the vain efforts of the im- 
 pious shall have been long buried in the murky past. 
 
 Thus, O Rome, City of the Soul, will the failing 
 sun form an aureole of glory around tliy brow, mak- 
 ing thy old age as beautiful as thy youth 1 
 
 
It '? 
 
 76 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE FEAST OF ST. AGNES. 
 
 1} i^e^i 
 
 The plcasure-soelving tourist wlio, on a briglit 
 winter's morning, canters gaily along the Nomen- 
 tana Way, to enjoy the pure n'aiintain air which 
 conies cool but soft from the snow-clad Sabine hills, 
 and to feast his eyes Cii the rich and variegated 
 scenery of undulating plains, gently sloping hills 
 dying imperceptibly away into sunny valleys, and 
 stei-n mountain-peaks coldly frowning like grim 
 sentinels posted there by nature — or the dreaming 
 poet who escajies from the confined air of the Eter- 
 nal City, and seeks inspiration for his epic poem by 
 contemplating the classic scenes of ancient Rome, 
 might pass unheedingly by the spot to which we 
 will soon introduce our readers. Still, what a sub- 
 ject for sober refiection, what a noble argument for 
 the Christian muse would not this place supply ! 
 The duties which as rational beings we owe to our 
 Creator, the ennobling use of time and talents, the 
 most heroic examples of praiseworthy devotion, love, 
 and sublime fortitude, — these are tlie lessons which 
 might be learned from the story of the broken and 
 weed-covered walls of the ancient Iloman villa to 
 which our story leads us. Fain would we linger 
 over the details of its history ; fain would we desire 
 to give some adequate account of the short life and 
 
 iiJ:.: 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. AGNES, 
 
 77 
 
 r 
 
 iijlorioiis (Icatli of t.lie List mistress of that villa. It 
 is equally bevoiid our present scope and the power of 
 our pen to do this ; still, a few words arc necessary. 
 Every one who has read the acts of tlie martyrs 
 must experience a thrill of deep emotion whenever 
 lie hears the name of 8t. Aii;nes. So young, so 
 beautiful, so filled with generous love for God, she 
 seems more like unto a happy spirit that had been 
 sent on a heaven Iv mission to this world, than a 
 \m\\iZ ot mortal mould. The dauij^liter of wealtliv 
 and Christian parents, she disengaged her youn< 
 heart from earthly things, and gave to her Saviour 
 ;ill her love. Flattered by man, she despised the 
 soft iarji-on, and onlv thou£!:ht how she could best 
 
 .10' u O 
 
 please, in every action, the Almighty. Surrounded 
 by an atmosphere of pagan corruption, she remained 
 spotless ; her soul, like a sweet lily growing in a 
 marshy soil, hemmed itself round with the fragrance 
 of its own })urity. Thus she showed how virtue 
 can be practised, 110 matter what unsought tempta- 
 tions may assail us. Asked in marriage by a power- 
 ful personage, she refused, for already she had 
 given herself as the spouse of Christ. She did not 
 consider, of course, that marriage was wrong; she 
 knew it was the state of life intended for most per- 
 sons ; she knew that Christ had raised it in his 
 Church to the diirnity of a sacrament : but slie 
 likewise knew from the example of the Blessed 
 Virgin, and from the teachings of St, Paul, that 
 celibacy was a much more perfect state. She fell 
 that to her it had been ffiven to lead in the flesh the 
 life of an angel ; and she thanked Crod that he hud 
 
 0mm 
 
 ut^'i 
 
78 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 chosen lier to Ijc one of tli;it. white-rohcd choir who 
 will follow, for all eternity, tlie " Lamb whitherso- 
 ever lie goeth.'" Hence she looked upon her suitor 
 as the " food of corruption," and tohl liini that she 
 was betrotlied to " Ilim wljom aui^cls serve; whose 
 beauty the sun and moon admire; loving Him I am 
 chaste; embracing Him I am pure; espousing Him 
 r am a virijin." This sublime lani^uau-e will fall 
 strangely on the ears of very many ; by some it will 
 be turned into ridicule, by others it will be called 
 contrary to the order of nature (as if celibacy were 
 not highly eulogized \u the Holy Scriptures, and 
 recommended to those who had the grace of contin- 
 nence). Modern young ladies whose sense of wom- 
 anly delicacy ib not startled by being frequently, and 
 for long hours, alone with that most useless and unin- 
 teresting of the human species, a moon-struck lover, 
 — young ladies who have had day-dreams of mati-i- 
 mony while yet in sliort clothes, and carried, per- 
 haps, their school-books in a coquettish nianner, will 
 be unable to realize the ennobling feelings of St. 
 Agnes. Let the reader bear well in mind that the 
 Saints were of the same frail mould as ourselves ; 
 they were not, as a general rule, exempt from tierce 
 temptation ; their human passions were not extinct, 
 but smouldered hotly, and were only kept from 
 bursting forth into a Hame by unceasing prayer, 
 mortification, and watchfulness. Uod requires rude 
 tests of our love, just as he gave rude tests of II is 
 love for us. If we wish to reign triunq)hant with 
 Ilim in his glory, we must first })artake of the igno- 
 miny and suffering of the Cross. 
 
 When 
 eiiitor he 
 cased her 
 irood deal 
 with the } 
 has his coi 
 may bo d 
 Si. / .;iies 
 c:iii suffer 
 to the clo 
 Calmly si 
 though m 
 aiid threat 
 .-tancy i 
 gods, slie 
 there, stai 
 sacrifices, 
 for her blo' 
 in the forn 
 God. Tiic 
 the most f( 
 «»ne a,s St. 
 house of ii 
 the though 
 moment of 
 •* Why not 
 ster, and 
 mighty int 
 heluved A< 
 like the re: 
 s|>read hei 
 said : " I ] 
 
riTK FEAST OK ST. AGNK8. 
 
 79 
 
 When St. Agues spurned tlic love of a worldly 
 i^iiitor lie hecanie enraf:;ed, and, hcintf; a pagan, ac- 
 cused her to the judges of heing a ('hristiau. A 
 ii:ood deal of meanness and pride was mixed u\^ 
 with the professed love of this suitor; perhaps he 
 lias his coujiter})art often in our own days. Ye who 
 may 1»*^ disposed to make light of the words of 
 Si. Agnes to her would-he lover, and ye also who 
 can suffer nothing for the religion of Christ, attend 
 to the elosinir scenes of the life of this lovelv urirL 
 Calmly she b;ood before the judges, and iirinly, 
 though mildly, she professed her faith. Promises 
 and threats wei'e alike unable to shake her con- 
 ptaney, I's-rne by force to the altars of the false 
 irods, siie .efused to do them homaji'e ; but even 
 there, standing by the flames that consumed the 
 sacrifices, surrounded by angry crowds that thirsted 
 for her blood, the noble girl strcitched forth her arms 
 in the form of a cross, and spoke aloud her faith in 
 (lod. The malice of Satan suggested to the judge 
 the most fearful threat that could be nuuhi to such a 
 one as St. Aijnes: he threatened to send her to a 
 house of infamy. (Ireat God ! the blood curdles at 
 the thought of the impious threat, and in the first 
 moment of indignation we are tempted to cry out: 
 "Why not, O God, strike tlead the inhuman mon- 
 ster, and free thy handmaiden f' Ihit the Al- 
 mighty intended to be still further gloi'ified in his 
 heluved Agnes. At the sound of this threat a flush, 
 like the reflection of a rosebu<l cast on a lily, (»ver- 
 spread her face, but the next moment she quietly 
 said : " I have with me an Angel of tlie Lord who 
 
 VsM 
 
 {'I 
 

 80 
 
 AFTER WP:AUY YEARS. 
 
 i^uards iriy body." Curried to tlie dcii of inicjuity, 
 lier pure presence cliuuged it into ;i place of prayer; 
 even as a burning grain of fraidvincense dissipates 
 tlie noxious vapors of a sick-room, so did tlie heav- 
 enly odor of her purity cleanse the public brothel. 
 Hearts loni»: dead to every sense of shame were 
 melted, lips that never uttered anglit save curses 
 sought to form a prayer. In that very spot there 
 has for long centuries stood a beautiful church, a 
 monumental proof of this glorious triumph. 
 
 Back to the judge was, at length, brought the in- 
 nocent girl. No need for her to hang her head, or 
 to blush. To use her own beautiful words, by God's 
 grace she " had escaped the threats of the sacrileg- 
 ious tyrant, and with an unpolluted heel had tram- 
 pled on the filth of the flesh." She was condemned 
 to be belieaded, and was manacled pre})aratoi'y to 
 being led forth. But the slight, girlish hands were 
 too small for the cruel bracelets, and she playfully 
 shook them off. More joyfully did she proceed to 
 the place of torture than did ever a victorious gen- 
 eral tread the Triumphant AVay. It was the road 
 to heaven ; it was but a few steps, and then she 
 M'ould see face to face her eternal Spouse. The 
 cruel spectators were softened at the sight of her, 
 in the first flush and glow of life so ready to lay 
 it down. They wept ; she alone rejoiced. The 
 headsman, whose eyes had long been as arid at the 
 sight of human sufferins: as a dried and broken foun- 
 tain, shed tears of compassion, and vainly endeav- 
 ored to induce her to do the bidding of the judge, 
 — viz : to sacrifice to the idols, Iler outer ffarmeuts 
 
THE FEAST OF vST. AflNES. 
 
 81 
 
 were removed, ;iiu] tlion Jier loiii' iifolden hair 
 Htrcained down around her I'ody, enveloping her 
 as with a glistening eloud. < )!k; moment she stood 
 in silent ])rayer, while an oppressive stillness reigned 
 among tlie crowd ; tlieii saying, " Perish the body 
 that can be loved by eyes that I wish not," slie bent 
 her slender neck to receive the death-stroke. The 
 headsman trend>led ; many a cheek grew pale that 
 hlanched not in battle, and a sn})pressed murmur of 
 agony ran through the multitude. The golden hair 
 parted slightly, and fell on each side of her bent 
 neck, which whitely gleamed like a mooid)eam 
 throuii;h the rift of a vellow cloud. As she knelt 
 thus tlie executioner I'aised his axe; it glittered for 
 an instant in the air, and ere it had reached tlie earth 
 the soul of Agnes was with her God. In a beauti- 
 ful church in her own suburban villa her saintly 
 bones are resting, awaiting the angel's trumpet; her 
 shrine claims the re6})ect and devotion of every gen- 
 erous soul, and her example will shine to the end of 
 all centuries. 
 
 It is to this pleasing relic of earlv Christian Rome 
 that we will take our readers. It is the 21st Jan- 
 uary, 1867; this is the day on which the Church 
 celebrates the Feast of St. Agnes. It is always, at 
 least so far as observation during numy years can 
 prove, a clear, cheerful day. Although about the 
 middle of the short Koman winter, it is mild and 
 genial. A slight hoar-frost has made the ground 
 crispy and the air bracing. The sun has risen in 
 unclouded splendor, and a bright tranquillity reigns 
 around, as if the gentle spirit of Agnes were hovcr- 
 4* 
 
 n 
 
82 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ing in tlie air and filling it witli a balm from heaven. 
 Passinji; out by the " J*orta Pia,"" we tread tlie well- 
 paved Nomentana Way ; lier by lawns ajid grassy 
 mounds are checkered in the sunliLdit. Shenliei'd 
 boys, picturesquely clad in sheepskin jackets, red 
 flannel vests, dark trousei's and strong leggings, tend 
 their bleating flocks, nincli after the same fashion 
 as did their far-oif ancestor Romulus. IJght-hearted 
 peasants in parti-colored dresses are ui)lurning the 
 mellow soil of tlio vineyards, or hilling the cavoli 
 and broccoli which are now tlonrishing. The sinu 
 ous Tiber, just increased by the watei-s of the Anio, 
 flows swiftly through the outstretched plain, bear- 
 inic from its mountain sources old-fashioned barges 
 laden with elm-wood ; from tliis is made the char- 
 coal so much used in Uinne. 
 
 Away in the Northeastern horizon lies, in rugged 
 grandeur, the chain of Sabine hills from whose 
 recesses, as legends have it, Romulus and his daring 
 companions bore oil* their shrieking brides. Per- 
 haps by this very road they re-entered the newly 
 founded city ; perhaps at this point they paused to 
 defend themselves against their pursuers. Be this 
 as it may, the traveller now needs have no appre- 
 hension of meeting with such a band of club-armed 
 warriors, lie will pass a few Capucliin monks, 
 whose coarse garb, shorn heads, and sandalled feet 
 bespeak a total inditTerence to aught save holy con 
 templatiun and the obligations of charity; silently 
 telling their well-thund)ed beads they look as happy 
 as innocence of life and duties fuliilled can make 
 one in this world. lie will see a number of students 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. AGNES. 
 
 83 
 
 of every nation, and will hear evei-y iaiii;iiai;'e iVtmi 
 Kiif^lisii to (Jliinese. He may reflect tliat tlie fore- 
 fatliers of tliese youtlis were perhaps hronght cap- 
 tive to ancient Itonie to fi^race a conqueror's char- 
 iot; and that tliese their descendants, captivated 
 by the intellectual power of Christian Rome, fol- 
 lowed, but under liapj)ier auspi(;es, the footsteps of 
 their sires. Verily Ttoine will ever draw to her 
 classic bosom enchained yet free and jVnous bands, 
 lie may see the rich cari-iages of tlie wealthy and 
 creakint^ cars of rude design, drawn by oxen whose 
 hranchini^: horns arc often brouirht in threateninir 
 proximity to his pei'son. Ever and anon a gilded 
 coach of some prince of the Church will flash past, 
 and add a new feature to the varied scene. 
 
 About a mile and a half from " Porta Pia" stands 
 the (/hurch of St. Agnes: it is to tliis sj)ot that all 
 are tending. The floor of this sacred ediflce, like 
 that of manv ancient ones in Rome, is several feet 
 below the level of the ground. I'y a door near the 
 southern corner you enter, and descend a long and 
 gently sloping flight of marble steps. They land on 
 the floor of the chui'ch. You now And yourself in 
 a beautiful little basilica, decorated with that good 
 taste which subdues and renders delightful ))r()fuso 
 ornamentation. One false shade of coloring, one 
 inartistic carving, one badly matched panelling, 
 would mar the whole. In our experience Italian 
 churches are the only ones in which profuse decora- 
 tion is a success. The hiijh altar stands in the 
 centre of the transept,. and beneath it rest the relics 
 of the *!'entle Amies. A beautiful gilt flgure of her 
 
 
84 
 
 AKTKK WKAKY YEARS. 
 
 stands on tlio altar ; iiuineroiis lights in rusc-tinted 
 glasses burn constantly near, giving a cliastened ray 
 like the How of her virtues. Cut in a marble slab 
 less than a century after her death, are the following 
 verses by Pope Daniasus : 
 
 r!Ii^» 
 
 ml 
 
 W3 
 
 " Fama refert sanctos dudum retulisse parentes 
 Agnun, cum lugubres cantus tuba concrepuisset, 
 Nutricis gremiuiu subilo liquisse puollam, 
 Sponte trucis calcasse minas nibieinquc tyranui. 
 Urero cum flumiiiis voluisset uobilc corpus 
 Viribus immensuni parvis superassc linioreni; 
 Nudaque i)r()fusuni crineni per membra dedisse 
 Nu Domiui leniphun facies pcritura viduret. 
 O Veueranda iiiibi, sauctum docus, ahna pudoris 
 Ut Damasi precibus faveas, precor, inclyta martyr." 
 
 For the benefit of those who are not Latin schol- 
 ars, the following translation is offered : " It is said 
 that once on a time, when the pious parents of 
 Agnes were bringing her home, and whilst the 
 trumpets were giving forth mournful strains, the 
 young girl quickly left her nurse's arms, and of lier 
 own accord braved the threats and the rage of the 
 cruel tyrant. When he wished to burn her noble 
 person, she overcame by her childish courage the 
 immense fear of this threat ,' and that her flowing 
 hair fell profusely around her form, so that mortal 
 eyes might not gaze upon the temple of the Lord. O 
 holy beaut}' ! O soul of purity so venerated by me ! 
 I pray thee O glorious martj'r, that thou mayest be 
 favorable to the prayers of Damasus." 
 
 We can learn from this inscription how the glory 
 of the lovely Agnes shone in the ear^y Churchj and 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. A«NES. 
 
 85 
 
 also liow the first Cliristijms invoked the prayers of 
 the saints. If we jwdiije the power of a cause \)y 
 tlie effects it ])roduces, we must, wlieii contein[)Iat- 
 iiig this beautiful soul, form an exalted idea of the 
 living power of grace and faith which vivifies the 
 Holy Roman C/hurch. Christian maidens! keep the 
 image of St. Agnes ever before you ; she is a noble 
 type of womaid\ind, the noblest after the IJlessed 
 Viricin. She is not the ideal creation of some 
 novelist's clever brain ; she is the real work of Divine 
 faith and grace. That faith still glows as brightly 
 as ever in llolv Church, and that ij^race still flows as 
 stroncjly as ever throuich its Divinclv constituted 
 channels, the Sacraments. AVhat is to prevent you 
 from trampling " with unpolluted heel the filth of 
 the flesh " ? 
 
 The Church of St. Agnes was soon crowded with 
 persons of all ranks and stations : there is no aristo- 
 cracy of faith. The feast of a saint is a lumily one 
 common to all the faithful, for are we not tlie " fel- 
 low-citizens of the saints, and the domestics of 
 God." The tillw of the soil, the shepherd, the 
 merchant, the nobleman — aye, and princes loo, 
 are kneelinir in the same line, and aduressino- their 
 prayers to the same God. Clad in gorgeous vest- 
 ments a cardinal is celebrating mass at the shrine of 
 Agnes. The altar and sanctuary glow with innu- 
 merable lights from silver lamps and glittering 
 chandeliers. Choice flowers in rare old Etruscan 
 vases scent the atmosphere with a delicious balm. 
 Subdued strains of solemn music come floating 
 gently down, like the whisperings of angels, from 
 
 
86 
 
 AFTKIi VVKAKY YKAKS. 
 
 I'll in 
 
 tlie distant clioir. " Johus, Crown of Viri^ins," Ik 
 tlie hurdoFi of tlio soiii::. Uii.ys of siiiilii:;lit steal softly 
 in through stainod-i^Iass windows; they sparkle 
 hriijjiitly on gilded crosses, silver reliquaries and 
 crystal sconces; tliey j)lay with dancing motion 
 around the graceful pillars of the nave, and laugh- 
 ingly hide in the recesses of the fretted vaults. As 
 the solemn moment of consecration appi'«ja(;hes every 
 sound is hushed ; one can scar(;ely realize how so 
 many thousand persons (!;in he so still. The one 
 ahsorhing thought that desus is ahout to descend on 
 thealtar - that the sacrifice of (^^dvarv is ahout to he 
 repeated in an uid)loody mannei', holds all hearts 
 entranced. Theie is a vivid reality of devotion pic- 
 tured on every downcast face; many, perhaps, of 
 them may he careless or sinful livers; still the 
 teachings cd' faith speak to their hearts now, and 
 stir ui) within them manv a i:;ood resolution. How 
 often may the hlessing of a holy death be traced to 
 the sweet iniluence of grace falling on the heart at 
 such a moment as this. Now it can be felt that 
 reliijion is not a mere sentiment of maudlin affec- 
 tion ; but that it is a supernatural element engrafted 
 on the soul. The cold forms of worship of those 
 outside the Church can never bring about such a 
 picture of real adoration. Love is the electric cur- 
 rent which circulates throngh every fibre of the 
 prostrate multitude as the sacred IJost is elevated ; 
 love, which is kindled into a blaze by the Real Pres- 
 ence of its lieavenly soiirce. Such an air of lieavcn 
 haui^s over the adoring congregation that one forijets 
 for the time all meaner thoughts; the cares and 
 
THK FEAST OF ST. A (INKS. 
 
 87 
 
 trials of life vaiiiish before the i;entle iiiHueiiee of 
 the place, like the shadow of iiii^iit chased hy a suii- 
 heani. Happy those souls who carry out with them 
 to their everyday duties souie few drops of the 
 heavenly dew whi(;h falls at such times so ahuii- 
 (iantly on their hearts. 
 
 Morgan Jiealiy had often assisted at sulenin func- 
 tion in the imposing (;hurch .<jf Notre Dame in 
 Montreal, hut never before had he been so mu(di 
 touched. He wns j»resent, dressed in a militaiy 
 ludform. Often had he read of St. Agnes, and 
 often had he shed sweet tears over (cardinal Wise- 
 man's almost ins[)ired des(!ription of her in '.' Fabiola." 
 To he now praying before her shrine, to be kneel- 
 ing on the spot ovei' which, in the innocent sport 
 of her childhood, she ha<l often gambolled; to be 
 reverently looking on the sacred relics, while all the 
 surroundings were so gorgeous, was of itself enough 
 to stir up liis deej)est emotions. But he had another 
 motive to move him ; he had come to Home to un- 
 slieath the sword in defence of the rights of Holy 
 Cliurch ; for love of the faith Agnes had died, and 
 for love of the faith he was ready to risk his life. 
 Every good deed generously performed brings an 
 inward pleasure unattainable in any other way; do 
 any small action of charity purely for the love of 
 God and see what a soothing feeling will take pos- 
 session of your soul. The remembrance of one such 
 moment is enough to cheer a heart 'mid many a 
 dreary sorrow. Morgan was now enjoying this 
 s[)iritual luxury of feeling in reward for his braver\ 
 ill having left his pleasant Canadian home to battle 
 
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 AFTER WEAUY YEA US. 
 
 for tlie Pontifical cause. Devoutly he prayed dur- 
 ing mass, and with fervor ho chose St. Agnes fo)- 
 his patroness. 
 
 After mass two youii^ lambs were blessed on the 
 altar. Morgan was at first at a loss to know why 
 this was done, but soon learned that it was an 
 ancient custom, and that after these lambs grew up 
 tlieir wool would be used to make the palliunis 
 given by the Pope to Archbishops. At length the 
 sacr»3d ceremonies were brought to a close ; the 
 congregation dwindled raj)idly away. A few de- 
 vout v/orshippers still lingered to say a last prayer 
 and to ask a last favor. The waxen tapers were 
 extinguished, and the straine of music were hushed. 
 Outside the church many wandered round the 
 monastery attached to the churcli, and strayed mus- 
 ingly over the enclosure of the ancient villa. There 
 is not that sadness and desolation hovering around 
 these broken walls such as one feels so acutely when 
 visiting other ruins. Here is brig\it hope ; here 
 the calm assurance of being still united by the holy 
 bond of Communion of Saints with the fair young 
 mistress of the place. She is indeed dead, and the 
 once magnificent patrician palace of her ancestors 
 has crumbled away ; but her spirit lives with God 
 and is joined to us by a link of charity ; and over 
 the ruins of pagan work Christian art has raised a 
 beautiful temple to the living God. Not far from 
 the church stands an oratory of circular form raised 
 by Constantia, the daughter of Constantine. This 
 princess had come to pray at the tomb of Agnes, 
 and to ask a restoration to health. St. Agnes ob- 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. AGNES. 
 
 89 
 
 tiiined the grace from God, and in pious tlianksgiv- 
 ing Constantia built this oratory. 
 
 When Morgan emerged from the cliurch he was 
 joined by a young man, dressed like himself in a 
 military uniform. It was Lorenzo Aldini, whom 
 three months previously we saw gathering grapes on 
 the banks of Lake Albano. He liad been in the 
 army only about a month when Morgan arrived in 
 Rome. They were both in the same company, and 
 a close friendship quickly sprang up between them. 
 They were both enthusiastic, but Morgan was more 
 grave and less easily moved to anger. Lorenzo ad- 
 mired the deep and delicate sentiments of lofty 
 piety which he soon detected in Morgan ; he was 
 delii^hted with his refined culture and well-stored 
 mind. On the other hand, Morgan was charmed 
 with the frank disposition and cheerful manner of 
 Lorenzo. The latter seemed to ])revent Morgan 
 from growing too austere, and Morgan was a useful 
 check on Lorenzo's excitable temperament. Lorenzo 
 spoke both French and Englisli as well as Italian, 
 and with him as a niaster and a constant companion 
 Morgan was fast acquiring a knowledge of Italia's 
 musical tongue. • 
 
 Walking arm in arm through the courtyard of 
 the monastery Lorenzo drew his friend up to a large 
 glass door, and told him to look in. Morgan did as 
 he was bidden, and saw a large square room with 
 lofty ceilings, and a fresco painting on one wall re- 
 presenting many persons apparently falling in great 
 confusion. He recognized amongst them Pius IX., 
 but could not understand what it meant. Turning 
 to Lorenzo he asked an explanation. 
 
 
 m 
 
 § 
 
 i 
 
 
 < ! 
 
 
90 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 " It is soon given," said his cheerful companion* 
 " That picture, although not a work of great art, is 
 not, as some English writers flippantly term it, a 
 daub. The features of the various personp. are 
 exact, the positions in keeping with tlie story, and 
 were it only three hundred years old, I dare say 
 some of your great English critics would be in rap- 
 tures over it. However, we have nothing to do 
 with the merits of the picture as a work of art. 
 It represents one of the many wonderful scenes 
 in the life of our great Pontiff. On the 12th 
 April, 1855, the anniversary of his return from 
 Gaeta, Pius IX., attended by a brilliant suite, 
 amongst others the arenerals of the French and 
 Austrian armies of occupation, went out to visit 
 the tlien lately discovered ruins of the Church of 
 St. Alexander. About seven miles farther out this 
 road th(j College of Propaganda has an extensive 
 estate, and on it were unearthed the interesting 
 relics of that early Christian basilica. Keturning 
 from the visit, his Holiness called at this monastery, 
 and in a laraje room above this one he received the 
 homage of the monks and of the students of the 
 Propaganda. When about eighty of the students 
 had been presented, a sudden crackling sound was 
 heard. Immediately after, those in the room, to the 
 number of one hundred and twenty, felt the floor 
 giving way, and the next instant were hurled pell- 
 mell down to the floor of this apartment, a distance 
 of nearly twenty romati palms. The centre beam 
 directly beneath the Pope's chair had given way and 
 caused the disaster. Four or five persons standing 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. AQNES. 
 
 91 
 
 near tlie door remained on the brink of the broken 
 pavement, and gazed honor-stricken down into the 
 abyss. On tlie floor of this room were several rude 
 benclies, pieces of iron, a cart-wheel, and some old 
 tables. On to these, from such a height, one hun- 
 dred and twenty persons, old and young, fell in a 
 confused heap, together with Ave large lounges and 
 a heavy table. Moreover, four persons — namely, 
 tlie two generals, and Marquis Serlupi and Marquis 
 Sacchetti — had swords at their sides ; and, more 
 terrible than all, a huge block of travertino was de- 
 tached from the window-sill, and fell crashing down 
 after the rest. The furniture that fell from above 
 was smashed, but neither from this nor from the 
 swords, nor from the huge rock did any one receive 
 a serious injury. When the floor gave way, the 
 noise and dust struck terror into the hearts of the 
 few above. The lime-dust choked tl.osc who fell, 
 and after the noise of falling material had died 
 away no sound was heard from those below. It 
 seemed as if all were swallowed up in a common 
 death. Soon, however, the dust subsided ; a door 
 below was opened, and tiirough it every one was 
 soon extricated. A few were slightly hurt, but not 
 a bone was broken. The Holy Father did not re- 
 ceive a single scratch. Imagine the joy and thanks- 
 giving of all when, assembled in the garden, they 
 could congratulate one another on their happy es- 
 cape! The Pope entered the church and intoned a 
 solemn " Te Deum," which was devoutly sung by uli. 
 In commemoration of that wonderful escape, this 
 fresco was painted. The bars of iron above mark 
 
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 ti n\. 
 
 99 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 the heiglit of the ceiling which broke and fell. 
 The names of all are painted down each side. 
 Above, the artist has represented St. Agnes kneel- 
 ing to the Virgin, as if asking her to obtain the 
 safety of those who are falliiig. Every year since 
 the 12th of A})ril is a civic holiday; on it, tlie 
 stndeiits of Propaganda make a ])ilgrimage of 
 thanksgiving to the shrine of Agnes. At night all 
 Rome is splendidly illuminated. This is the story 
 of yon picture." 
 
 " A most interesting one it is," said Morgan ; 
 " but was no one really hurt ?" 
 
 " Six days after the event every one was as well 
 as ever, except one student of Propaganda, who was 
 still slightly ailing. But he soon completely re- 
 covered." 
 
 " Well," said Morgan reflectively, " the hand of 
 God was evidently in the work ; otherwise bones 
 must have been broken as well as tables and 
 lounges." 
 
 : " So all who were present at the time believed," 
 answered Lorenzo ; " but just as similar events are 
 derided at the present time, so was that slighted by 
 a couple of journalists in Turin." / 
 
 " The old story," said Morgan, as they turned 
 away. " Seeing they will not see ; the Jews were 
 witnesses of the miracles of Christ, still they did 
 not believe." !r 
 
 " Did it ever strike you as a strange psychologic 
 phenomenon, Morgan," resumed Lorenzo, " that 
 our modern unbelievers in the miraculous interven- 
 tion of God are, of all others, the most superstitious ? 
 
THE FEAST OF ST. AGNES. 
 
 98 
 
 Look at the foolisli credulity of yonr Americans 
 regarding spirit-rapping, witches, and fortune-tell- 
 ing. If all I read be true, a clever impostor who 
 professes to be in the mysteries of the invisible 
 world can make a rapid fortune in the United 
 States. A century or two ago, such impostors 
 would have been burned by the grim old Puritans. 
 IIow astonishingly stupid in their rigor were these 
 uncongenial Pilgrims! Still," laughed Lorenzo, "it 
 is a question if they did not manifest more sense by 
 burning the supposed witches, than do their descen- 
 dants by believing in mediums. At least the for- 
 mer were more consistent ; what say you, Morgan ?" 
 
 " Why, Lorenzo, as usual, you have touched upon 
 so many different subjects in a few words that I 
 scarcely know which I must answer." 
 
 " Take the last one first, Morgan." 
 
 " All right ; 1 think both the burners of the 
 witches and their descendants, who believe in every 
 table-rapper or medium, display very little common- 
 sense. Both are the victims of a false religious be- 
 lief : the early Puritans, having rejected the teach- 
 ing of the Divinely appointed expounder of God's 
 Word, were left to their own vagaries. Straining 
 at a gnat and swallowing a camel, they made reli- 
 gion an oppressive burden. Outward observance 
 took the place of inward sanctity ; a mechanical 
 routine of sighing, lengthening their faces, and 
 drawling out doleful strains of psalms, were substi- 
 tuted for such cheerful, confiding devotion as we 
 witnessed just now in the church. Actually, Lo- 
 renzo, when travelling through Maine I shudder as 
 
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 04 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 some old \roman of the true Puritan type steps into 
 the train. So grim, bony, and cheerless is the look 
 of her face that it reminds me of a wild Atlantic 
 rock sprinkled with snow. I doubt if even you 
 could laugh in her presence. The descendants of 
 the " Mayflower pilgrims" retain the cheerless ex- 
 pression of their ancestors, but have cast off the 
 ceremonial yoke. They know but litUe about spir- 
 itual matters, and little of (esthetics. They are 
 shrewd in business matters, and ingenious as me- 
 chanics. Of course, that natural conviction of the 
 existence of an unseen world remains ; but, untaught 
 by a religion wliich alone can satisfy the intellect of 
 man, they grasp eagerly at the marvellous. They 
 will not laugh at miracles if the theory and facts of 
 a particular one be laid clearly before them. Igno- 
 rance is the parent of their spiritual desolation." 
 
 " After all, Morgan, they are not nearly so much 
 to be blamed as some of my countrymen. Why, even 
 here in Rome, in the mid-day rays of truth, there 
 are persons plotting against us. It reminds one of 
 Lucifer sirmitig in heaven." 
 
 "You don't mean," said Morgan with surprise, 
 " that there such persons in Rome 1" 
 
 " Altro !" laughed Lorenzo, " in Rome but not 
 of Rome ; we aliall see them at work." 
 
 II 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 95 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 .*^- 
 
 THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 A DARK rainy night! a thick mist on the river; 
 a tliick mist enshrouding Castle St. Angelo; a thick 
 mist clinging to the dome of St. Peter's. A cold, 
 creeping mist, biting the exposed hands and stealing 
 up to the elbows ; a cowardly mist in its coldness, 
 for it did not attack you manfully like a keen Cana- 
 dian frost, but settled gently down on you at first, 
 and then pinched you unmercifully. It was not a 
 part of the rain ; it was an independent agent that 
 went forth on a mission of annoyance quite distinct 
 from that of the rain. It penetrated into the nose, 
 eyes, and ears of the pedestrian ; it sneakingly stole 
 in by the carriage-window of the aristocrat and 
 tweaked his Roman nose ; it rose mysteriously from 
 the brick floor and plastered wall of the student's 
 room, and sent many a twinge from his toes to his 
 throbbing temple. It stuck fast to the half-finished 
 statue in the sculptor's studio, and caused his chisel 
 to slip aside; it soaked the canvas on the artist's 
 easel, and made painting an impossibility. It rushed 
 viciously into the throat of the vender of cialduni 
 (rings of pastry carried on along pole) in his nightly 
 round, and prevented him from announcing, in his 
 stentorian voice, that four could be had for a cent. 
 
 Few persons^were abroad ; now and then a figuie 
 
 4i 
 
96 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 muffled in a liuge cloak would dart quickly along, 
 and would soon be enveloped, like ^ncas, in an 
 impenetrable mist. Occasionally some pious old 
 woman would be dimly distinguished by the dull 
 glow of a few coals burning in an earthen basket ; 
 this portable stove is frequently carried by old peo- 
 ple in Rome, particularly when going to pray in a 
 church. 
 
 The rain pattered with a mournful monotony on 
 the roofs, and dripped with a sound like the foot- 
 falls of disturbed spirits on the sidewalks. The 
 nervous watcher by the bed of death might easily 
 imagine that the inmates of the graveyard were 
 coming to bear off their unburied companions. The 
 rays of light from the gas-lamps were cut short in 
 their tiight, and hopelessly died a few yards from 
 their source. 
 
 Such was the night in Rome shortly after the 
 Feast of St. Agnes. 
 
 The whole region of the Aventine Hill is nearly 
 covered with dank weeds and shapeless ruins. The 
 night-owl dismally shrieks through the deserted halls 
 of the Baths of Caracalla, and the jackdaw caws 
 loudly from its broken arches. Even in mid-day it 
 is almost like a solitude, although close to the in- 
 habited parts of the city ; on such a night as we have 
 described it is as gloomy as the descent to Avernus. 
 The pickpocket fleeing from the police, or the ruf- 
 fian pursued by the soldiery, finds a quiet asylum 
 'mid its tumbling walls of masonry. 
 
 At the back of the ruins of the Baths a narrow 
 passage runs between two converging walls. At 
 first sight it appears to be a blind alley, and to have 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 97 
 
 no connection witli the interior. But if you follow 
 it for a few yards you will come into a dark room, 
 and turning to your left you can descend a flight of 
 stone steps to a damp cell. From this another pas- 
 sage leads by various windings to an upper apart- 
 ment, apparently the tiring-room of the Baths in 
 the days of tlie Emi)ire. Traces of fresco still adorn 
 the wall ; the floor is of mosaic-work, and squares 
 of tin coated with mercury, used for mirrors, are 
 let into the walls. A laughing Bacchus clinging to 
 a clustering vine looks roguishly down from the 
 ceiling. Owing to the fall of the brickwork above 
 and around this apartment there is no outlet save by 
 the dark passage already mentioned ; it is, moreover, 
 for the same reason completely isolated. No one 
 can approach nearer than a hundred yards to it. It 
 is not very damp, for it is too well protected from 
 the rain, and is ventilated by currents of air which 
 circulate through various crevices. It is, on the 
 whole, a secure and comfortable hiding-place. 
 
 On this night it is not unoccupied. Seated on a 
 rude bench in one corner, near a pan of glowing 
 coals, is a human figure. He has a scowling and 
 hunted appearance, like a tiger brought to bay. 
 His long hair is unkempt, his beard grizzly and 
 matted, and his large cloak greasy and worn. His 
 forehead falls quickly back, as if seeking, by an in- 
 stinct of nature, to hide the word villain, which any 
 one may read on it. His hook-nose is pointed like 
 the beak of a hawk, and lias such a savage look 
 that one might fancy that it was about to make a 
 grasp at his twitching upper-lip. But it is chiefly 
 
 ij 
 
 
 
 4. 
 
 
98 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ■:|| 
 
 iii; 
 
 in his eyes that one can read tlie man's iniquity 
 They are small, close together, and brilliantly black. 
 You can alinoat imagine tliat you see a dancing 
 demon in each of those malicious-looking orbs. We 
 never saw such eyes but once ; it was when walking 
 the Roman Corso during the days of the Garibal- 
 dian raids in 1867. Had we been a Roman police 
 officer, their owner would have had to show good 
 cause why he should not be shot for a consummate 
 villain. 
 
 The solitary occupant of what we shall call the 
 Den was restless ; ever and anon he started into a 
 listening attitude, like a person who apprehends 
 danger, or is anxiously awaiting some one. Green 
 lizards run playfully down the walls near him, and 
 hurry away so soon as he glances towards them. 
 Even a black scorpion, that carries poison enough to 
 give death to half a dozen queens, darts quickly off 
 when freed from the magnetic iniluence of his 
 wicked eyes. At length an indistinct rumbling 
 sound is heard ; he starts to his feet, seizes a large 
 revolver from a stone bench, and pulls a stiletto 
 from beneath his cloak. He then stealthily shrinks 
 back behind a broken statue near the entrance to 
 the Den. A peculiar cry, half snarl, half growl, 
 resounds through the outer hall. Stepping out 
 from his lurking-place, he answers with a similar 
 noise, and soon live persons enter. Four of them 
 are dressed in checkered trousers, brown velvet 
 vests, and dark cloth coats; on their heads they 
 have broad - brimmed, low -crowned felt hats, in- 
 dented, apparently, of a set purpose, over the left 
 
THE PLOTTKRS AT WORK. 
 
 99 
 
 ear. They have finger-rings, and large gold chains, 
 ornamented with a profusion of seals imitative of 
 deer's horns, and small cameos. Tlie fifth person 
 W.1S a yonng man of slightly dissipated appearance, 
 and with a dropping jaw which gave a weak look 
 to his face. 
 
 The four new-comers, who were dressed alike, 
 bowed low to tlio occupant of the Den, whilst the 
 fifth cnie stood awkwardly by. 
 
 " Whom have you here ?" said, or i nther jerked 
 out of himself, he of the evil eyes 
 
 " One who wishes to join our nuiks," replied the 
 
 "It is well so; it is a wish worthy of a patriot; 
 ours is a noble cause. Do you know what it is?" 
 said he, turning to the fifth one. 
 
 " Why, partly," stammered the latter. 
 
 " Listen ; I will tell you. It is to make Italy one 
 and undivided from the Alps to the LiliboBO. Do 
 you know me ?" 
 
 " No," was the faltering answer. 
 
 "Well, I am Capodiavolo; yoii have heard of 
 him?" 
 
 The young man started back with a wild look of 
 teiror, as he heard the dread name of Capodiavolo, 
 or Head Devil. That name was connected with 
 secret murders, and all the mysterious disapj)ear- 
 auces of many unfortunate young men. 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Capodiavolo; "you have 
 heard my name before. My namesake is down 
 there," said he, stamping on the floor ; " but he will 
 not get me for some tim^,,jj;^i«,J^elong to Young 
 
 4 
 
 (I- 
 
 u^i 
 
100 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 iiii iiJ- 
 
 mii 
 
 m- 
 
 Italj for many years to come. I am a child of fate, 
 and must work out my allotted task. But don't 
 fear me, my brave young volunteer; it is only 
 traitors who feel my wrath. Do you know my 
 friends here?" Saying this he laid his hands on 
 the young man's shoulders, and brought his demon- 
 lighted eyes to bear on those of his " brave young 
 volunteer." Tlie latter did not at all enjoy his 
 position. He was visibly afraid of Capodiavolo, as 
 well he might be. At length he answered that he 
 did not know the other persons. 
 
 " This is Mars, this Bacchus, this Cupid, this 
 Minos," said Capodiavolo, rapidly indicating eacli 
 one. lie always apj)eared to jerk forth his words, 
 much after the manner one miglit suppose an ani- 
 mated forcing-pump would speak, if it could. 
 
 " They are my council," continued Capodiavolo. 
 " Mars will be the leader of the troops ; Bacchus is 
 the social compj^.Tiion who meets young men in 
 wineshops, and whispers to them over their cnj)s 
 about Italy, one and undivided; Cupid enlists the 
 sympathy of the fair sex in our cause ; and Minos — 
 but what do you think Minos does, my bold volun- 
 teer? You don't know," he went on, seeing the 
 other's vacant look. " I'll tell you — he passes the 
 death sentence on traitors !" 
 
 As he hissed these last words, like a choking 
 forcing-pump, the dancing demons almost leaped 
 from his eyes. 
 
 " So you are going to be one of us, my fine fel- 
 low," went on Capodiavolo ; " you are burning to 
 be a patriot. The blood of the ancient Romans 
 
 if 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 101 
 
 runs hot in your veins." (To all appearance tlie 
 "fine fellow's" blood w;is })retty cold just then.) 
 "We will make you a imtriot to-night. Our club- 
 room is not properly Utted up, nor are all our offi- 
 cers here. We cannot, consequently, have a grand 
 iiiipofting ceremony ; but we can bind you all the 
 same. Wc can enroll you on our list; we can tell 
 you what you have to do ; and we can show you the 
 [)imishu)ent meted out to traitors." 
 
 Again his evil eyes glowed with the concentrated 
 malignity of a dozen enraged serpents; as their 
 baleful light fell on the yo'mg man all thought of 
 ever being uble to free himself vanished. He be- 
 came a passive instrument in the hands of CajJO- 
 (liiivolo. 
 
 During all this time the other four had not 
 sj)oken a word. Mars was iiercely standing, with 
 his hand on his sword-hilt; I^acchus was looking 
 carelessly up at liis luutiesake on the ceiling ; 
 Cupid was arranging his cravat before one of the 
 pieces of glittering tin; and Minos was seated on a 
 fnigment of a broken Faun, looking profoundly 
 judicial. 
 
 When Capodiavolo had become assured that the 
 young man was thoroughly subdued and brought 
 to a sufficient sense of dread, he turned to his Coun- 
 cil and said : " To business ; enroll a new })atriot." 
 
 When the words were uttered, J>acchus drew up 
 a small table froui one co'-ner and placed it in front 
 of the "new patriot"; MinoF brought from a dark 
 nook a skull, and an old stiletto rusted with blood, 
 and Cupid began to light a Bengal candle, which 
 
 c 
 
 nam 
 
 
If 
 
 102 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 If 
 
 |;;:^ 
 
 ,f 
 
 U 
 
 i 
 
 
 shed a bluish-green ray over the Den. The rusty 
 stiletto was placed in the unresisting hand of the 
 " new ))atriot "; Capodiavolo stood opposite him ; 
 Mars drew a revolver and aimed at an imaginary 
 foe; Bacchus looked encouragingly at the novice 
 so as to keep up his spirits ; Cupid held the light, 
 ai!d Minos read a summary of the object of the so- 
 ciety. Its aim was to make a " free and undivided 
 Italy," and to prepare the way for the Universal 
 Ilepublic. " Italians," it said, " were the descen- 
 dants of a conquering race; they had fallen, but the 
 day was fast approaching when Young Italy, rising 
 like a beauteous nymph from the mists t)f a valley, 
 would soar aloft to the mountain-peak of earthly 
 glory. The patriots were a band of brothers ; Lil)- 
 erty. Fraternity, Equality, was their motto ; a united 
 Italy their watchword. To achieve their aims 
 every art was to be employed ; at present the Sar- 
 dinian Monarchy was to be used as a tool, for the 
 people were not prepared for a republic ; but once 
 their aim of making Home the capital of Italy had 
 been accomplished, they would begin to concert 
 measures for the proclamation of a republic from 
 the halls of the Capitol. The enemies of their soci- 
 ety were to be got rid of by any and every means, 
 and false brethren were to be pursued to the farth- 
 est corner of the earth." 
 
 A vast lot of such bombastic and visionary non- 
 sense was read aloud by Minos. During its recital 
 Capodiavolo kept the young man transfixed with 
 his glittering eyes. At the conclusion of the read- 
 ing, the " new patriot" was told to thrust the rusty 
 
 111 
 
THE PLOTTEKS AT WORK. 
 
 103 
 
 stiletto into the eyeless socket of the skull, and to 
 swear fealty to the constitution of the society and 
 unquestioning obedience to the commands of its 
 heads; to perform faithfully every task assigned 
 him, even were it the killing of his own brother, 
 and to never betray by sig»i or word the members 
 and doings of the society. Were he to fail in any 
 of these he invoked on himself most horril)le 
 curses, and the piercing of his brain in the same 
 way as he now drove the stiletto, rusty with the 
 blood of false brethren, through this rattling skull. 
 
 It was an infei lal spectacle ; the blue-green light 
 tlickered weirdly through the Den, casting on the 
 I'epulsive features of (Japodiavolo such a leering 
 look of nudice as would sit well on his satanic 
 namesake when receiving into his abode of ever- 
 lasting horror one who has been his dupe upon 
 I'urth. The impious oath by which the '* new pat- 
 riot" abdicated his manhood and gave himself up 
 a slave to the will of the leaders of the revolution, 
 was worthy of the surroundings. Only in hell 
 could such a plot for uphejiving society and for de- 
 grading man by making him the hangman of his 
 own liberty have been hrtched.. Only those who 
 had never known, or who had fallen away from, the 
 dignity and liberty of the Children of the Church, 
 in which Truth i .kes men free, could be the dupes 
 of such villany. 
 
 When the terrible oath was ended, Minos entered 
 on the rolls of the society the name, ai^^e, condition 
 in life, and personal apj)earance of the new 
 " brother." He was given to understand that this 
 
I 
 
 104 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 •ii: 
 
 ^H 
 
 s 
 ill' 
 
 Ii 
 
 m 
 
 3: s 
 
 
 
 was (lone in order to enable them to hunt him out 
 should he ever try to quit their society. Bacchus 
 now produced a flagon of wine and five glasses ; the 
 new brother and Capodiavolo were to drink out of 
 the same one for this night, so as to seal their com- 
 pact. When the glasses had been filled, Capodiavolo 
 drank " Death to traitors," and lianding the half- 
 emptied glass to the neophyte told him to drink the 
 same toast. This was another link in the chain of 
 terror by which these unholy societies bind fast 
 their dupes. 
 
 " To our banner, emblem of our hopes," drank 
 Mars. 
 
 " To the bowl, that helps us to recruits," said 
 Bacchus. 
 
 " To the ladies, whose sympathy we seek," spoke 
 Cupid. 
 
 "The stiletto, our sharp avenger," growled Mi- 
 nos. 
 
 After they had all partaken pretty freely, Capo- 
 diavolo turned to the latest volunteer, whom they 
 named Cecco, and proceeded to enlighten him fur- 
 ther about their designs. " The Pope must fall," 
 said he. "So long as he remains a temporal sover- 
 eign we cannot succeed. lie nmst be overtlirown ; 
 his office is not required ; we have cast off all relig- 
 ion. Italy is our God ; the Republic claims our de- 
 votion." 
 
 Cecco was not a bad man at heart ; he had fallen 
 away from the practice of his religious duties, and, 
 as a consequence, had grown lukewarm. He ^ had 
 also been given to frequenting low wine-shops, and 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 105 
 
 ■if 
 
 had fallen in with loose companions. It was at one of 
 these places that he liad met JJacchus, and, charmed 
 by his vivacity and excited by the idea of a Young 
 Italy, had partly consented to join them. At that 
 time he did not know their impious designs in full. 
 It is a part of the policy of these societies to veil 
 for a time from their dupes the extent of their im- 
 piety. Once that they have got them to take the 
 oath, and have terrified them into obedience, they 
 unfold more fully their plans. Poor Cecco had 
 come to the Den thinking that he would examine 
 for himself, and remain free if he did not approve 
 of their ways. He was, however, so completely 
 overawed by the eyes of Capodiavoio that he could 
 only passively follow his directions. Hence he 
 took the oath. Now when he heard such blasphe- 
 mies against religion he awoke to a sense of his po- 
 sition. He knew well enough that the Pope was 
 the legitimate King of Rome ; he knew his govern- 
 ment was the mildest and gave the most real free- 
 dom of any in the world ; he was certain the Catho- 
 lic religion was the only true one, and, although he 
 had been careless in fulfilling its precepts, he did 
 not wish to be cut off from its communion. 
 
 Something like this he tried to say ; but such a 
 diabolical light came into the eyes of Capodiavoio 
 that he shuddered and became silent. 
 
 " 1 tell you," hissed this monster, " that body and 
 soul you are ours ; you have sworn ; your name is 
 entered down ; you have no longer a will of your 
 own ; in life and death, for good and evil, we hold 
 you bound to our ranks. Forget as soon as possible 
 5* 
 
 o 
 
 1 
 
w 
 
 1(X5 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 n 
 
 all about your Catechism, and learn the creed of 
 young Italy." 
 
 Leavin^ij Cecco to reflect on his condition, and 
 trusting tliat he would, seeing himself so thoroughly 
 ensnared, quietly accept the situation as he had 
 known many hundreds to do, Capodiavolo turned to 
 his "Council" and asked what news. 
 
 " The procuring of munitions of war goes on 
 satisfactorily," said Mars ; '" we have begun a depot 
 for Orsini l)ombs, fire-arms, and swords on the 
 premises of Ajani, the cloth manufacturer. Already 
 a good many of these military stores have been 
 safely passed under the very nose of t le J^apal 
 police. Keen-scented as those fellows undoubtedly 
 are we have outwitted them this time. Once landed 
 on Ajani's premises they are safe ; no search will 
 ever be made for arms there." 
 
 "Why not?" said Caj)odiavolo. "Is Ajani a 
 Koman ?" 
 
 " No," returned Mars. " he came to Rome some 
 few years ago ; but he is such a good hypocrite that 
 he has deceived the priests most effectually. Why, 
 he supplies all the cloth to the College of Propa- 
 ganda for the students. It is a capital piece of act- 
 ing to see him kissing most reverently the hand of 
 the Rector of Propaganda.* Never fear; om his 
 grounds our stores are quite safe." 
 
 * Note. — This Ajaui is tlie one at whose place in October 
 1867, a fight occurred between the Pontifical soldiers and the 
 Garibaldians. Several bombs and other things were discovered 
 at the time. Some of the Garibaldians were killed and several 
 taken prisoners, Ajani amongst the latter. We well remember 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 107 
 
 "That's good," said Capodiavolo; "men like 
 Ajani are required ; what a clever dog he must be ! 
 I could never act that way, but it is well to have 
 some of our men who can. For twenty years I have 
 been working for Young Italy, and never once did I 
 succeed in deceiving these Papal guards." 
 
 " Because," laughed Mars, "" you have an unfortu- 
 nate face ; it is as legible as the alpliabet on a child's 
 cardboard." 
 
 "Let that be," growled Capodiavolo; "your own 
 is not too handsome. But what further news?" 
 
 " I learn from the provinces that we must use 
 great caution," continued Mars ; " the ])eople are at- 
 tached to the Papal government, and will not be 
 moved to a revolt." 
 
 "A million curses on the wretches!" came in such 
 muffled accents from Capodiavolo that it almost 
 seemed as if the forcing-pump must surely burst or 
 clioke. " Will they not tight for liberty ?" 
 
 " They say they are quite free and prosperous 
 under the Pope," added Mars. 
 
 "The vile slaves, to remain subject to priestly 
 rule when the Universal Republic is calling all to 
 arms," now fiercely shrieked the scowling Capo- 
 diavolo. "But what from other parts?" 
 
 " In the various cities throughout Italy we are 
 gathering a few munitions; but generally we have 
 to conceal our intended attack on the Pope from the 
 
 IT' .-< 
 
 MfKom 
 \t*tm 
 
 the incredulous surprise with whicli the good Hector of Propa- 
 ganda first received the news. Ajaui was condemned to be 
 shot, a fate he richly deserved. Several prominent foreigners 
 had the impudence to intercede for the miscreant. 
 
 in 11 
 
 :^m|I 
 
 1 ;:Mfcffl 
 
 ' i^;.^^Ol 
 
108 
 
 AFTKU WEARY YEARS. 
 
 11^ 
 
 I 
 
 •I' 
 
 people. We tell them tliiit it is to free liiiii from 
 the foreign soldiers; we make them believe that he 
 is inviting us to come to rescue him from these troops. 
 It is our only chance ; Italy clings, despite all our 
 labors, to the Papacy. l>y masking our designs, 
 and by getting power in the council of Victor 
 Emanuers governnicnt, we may succeed. A fig for 
 the nation if we hold the purse-strings and the 
 military power !" 
 
 Capodiavolo felt the truth of this, so he could 
 only inwardly writhe and vent himself in horrible 
 blasphemies, that curdled the blood of Cecco, who 
 sat shivering in a corner. Bacchus now began his 
 report : 
 
 " I frequent the restaurants and wine-shops con- 
 tinually • ever since the departure of the French 
 soldiers the Roman police have been most active. 
 Many of our schemes were nipped in the bud by 
 those prowling blue-coats. I have approached 
 many of the Pope's soldiers, but found them all en- 
 thusiastic in his cause. Now and then I pick up 
 some half-witted stripling like Cecco yonder, wdio 
 listens to my glowing accounts of a United Italy ; 
 but I fear the Romans will never join our party. 
 The talk everywhere is about the lightness of tlieir 
 taxes compared with those of other parts, the abun- 
 dance of food, and the comparative security of life 
 and property. They say, too, that the glory of 
 Rome as the seat of the Pontifical throne is far 
 greater than it could ever be were it merely the 
 capital of Italy. They recall the decay of glory and 
 wealth which ever followed when the Popes had to 
 
 IM 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 109 
 
 n 
 
 quit their city. I try to work against tlicee senti- 
 iiieiits, and spend freely the money supplied l)y the 
 Society. Cacchus, you jolly god, through you I 
 sometimes enlist an odd volunteer. Here's to you, 
 you climbing elf." 
 
 Thus the human J3acchus ended his, to Capo- 
 (liavolo, discouraging report. However, this latter 
 had plotted too long, and had too much determined 
 malice, to think of relinquishing his schemes. 
 Merely telling Bacchus to frequent the places of 
 public resort, to spend freely his money as their 
 treasury was well rephjnished by contributions and 
 legacies, and to learn all he could concerning the 
 movements of the Roman police, he turned to Cupid 
 for his report. This individual was the exquisite of 
 the party : his duty was to enlist the sympathies of 
 women in behalf of the cause of Young Italy. Many 
 advantages were to be hoped from this source. It 
 brought in money ; it brought news of the move- 
 ments of the Pontifical authorities ; it helped to 
 spread the republican idea ; and, greatest of all, it 
 gave hope of immense results in the future. The So- 
 ciety knew well that if it could enlist the mothers of 
 Italy under its banner the next generation would be 
 theirs. Every false system of ethics or civilization, 
 every visionary scheme of political adventurers, has 
 sought, and ever will seek, to take woman out of her 
 sphere in the social order. Make woman the slave 
 of man; make her a brazen "lady of fashion"; 
 make her a gadding politician, or a garrulous 
 lawyer ; make her a stump orator, or a peripatetic 
 preacher ; make her, in short, anything except \vhat 
 
 ^i»«li 
 
 <» 
 
 o 
 

 110 
 
 AFTER WEAUY YEARS. 
 
 God intended her to be — viz., tlie companion and 
 helpmate of man, the modest, clieerful honsehokl 
 spirit, the liigli-priestess of the family altar ever 
 presidinj^ in her own place — and all familv life will 
 soon be destroyed. Thus will the founuations of 
 society be overthrown, and anarchy will soon reign 
 supreme. Hence the importance attached by secret 
 societies to the securing of the influence of woman. 
 
 Cupid, who was a true type of a modern fop — 
 languid, simpering, brainless, and brazen — began his 
 tale. 
 
 "1 have succeeded pretty well ; several ladies of 
 fashion are enthusiastic over our cause. One Eng- 
 lish lady, very rich, very fashionable, is working 
 night and day for us. Per l^acco ! it makes me 
 faint with laughing to think of her enthusiasm. 
 These English are so enthusiastic over anything 
 that catches their fancv. Thick-headed and so 
 easily gulled, they are prime chaps for our purpose 
 See when poor old Garibaldi, whom of course in 
 public we reverence, went to England, what a com- 
 motion he excited! Ha, ha, lia! it was great fun 
 to see those great Signori and Signore bowing and 
 scraping to the cunning old fox. Had it not been 
 for those hot-blooded Irishmen, what a time he 
 would have had in England ! Well — but I lose the 
 thread of my discourse — this English lady of whom 
 I speak has done well for us. With the Roman 
 matrons I can do but little. They are tooth and 
 nail for the Pope." 
 
 While Cupid was laughingly speaking about the 
 childish excitement of uiany persons in England 
 
 In^ 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WOKK. 
 
 Ill 
 
 dnriiij^ the visit of tlie drivellincf old revolutionist, 
 Garibaldi, the features of Capodiavolo underwent 
 the nearest approacli to a smile that they liad ever 
 been known to assume. His evil eyes lost a triHe of 
 their diabolical lij^ht; his twitching upper-lip al- 
 most touched the beak of )iis nose, and the faintest 
 indication of a line became traceable on each cheek. 
 The Italian has a keen sense of the ridiculous; 
 much as the revolutionists were delii^hted at (lari- 
 baldi's reception, they coidd not but laugh j>rivately 
 at the gulled Englishmen. That sensible men should 
 run after a hackneyed revolutionist and a vulgar 
 demagogue could only happen among a people 
 whose intellectual faculties are oppressed by an 
 incubus of ])rejudice. The Italian rarely allows 
 prejudice to warp his judgment, although he may 
 let it sway his actions. Hence lie is peculiarly well 
 adapted either for the high walks of intellectual 
 investigations, or for the dark ways of secret plot- 
 ting. He does not try to blind himself to the un- 
 popularity of his cause, although he will hide it 
 from liis dupes. This is wliy Capodiavolo and his 
 Council spoke so coolly and with no disguise regard- 
 ing the sentiments of the Roman people. 
 
 During all this time Minos liad sat lowerinnr on 
 his favorite seat, the broken Faun. He was not at 
 any time a person of an inviting aspect, but now the 
 dark scowl which corrugated his brow and nose, as 
 if a demon's paw were grasping his face, gave him 
 a most forbidding appearance. Capodiavolo noted 
 it as he turned, and at once su8j)ected that some- 
 thing had gone wrong. "What uow, Minos j are 
 
 .,.<! 
 
 c 
 
w 
 
 112 
 
 AFTER WKARY YEAKS. 
 
 ill ti 
 
 W(5 disco vui'ud, or huvo our brotliur lodgob failed 
 
 U8?" 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that," j^rowled Minos ; " but 
 a traitor seeks to leave our ranks. He is \vat(;hed ; 
 to-ni^i(lit I expect they will brinj^ him hither: you 
 know what fullt)W8.'" 
 
 "Yes: death slow and painful; death i)roh>nged 
 till every nerve and fibre (juivers with spasms of un- 
 told agony ; death that will slowly eat into the mar- 
 row of the traitor's i)oncs, and make him suffer a 
 thousand deaths in everv inch of his vile frame." 
 The voice and look of Capodiavolo as he jerked 
 forth these words were a grand masterpiece of dia- 
 bolical acting. The dancing demons shot a shower 
 of sparks from his evil eyes that served to make the 
 picture finished. 
 
 "Who is he? and what has he done?" he then 
 demanded. 
 
 "Young Marini, who was initiated three months 
 ago ; he avoids us in the streets, and he has been 
 seen frequenting the churches. As yet I do not 
 know how much he has disclosed, but after to night 
 his tonj^ue will be still enouij:h." 
 
 "Have you taken precautions for his capture?" 
 
 " Yes, and I expect my men every minute." 
 
 They sat in silence for some time brooding over 
 their fancied wrong. Here were these men traitors 
 to their God, to their religion, to their king; traitors 
 to the young and unwary ; traitors to the liberty 
 -•^Md dignity of man, growing furious over the fact 
 that one whom they had betrayed into swearing 
 away his manhood, his liberty, his virtue, and his 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WOliK. 
 
 ii:{ 
 
 loyalty, was now endeavoring to free liiinself from 
 the bond of inicpiity by wliicli they lioj)ed to bind 
 liiin to their eause. And thus it ever is: the men 
 who have sworn away their individual liberty by 
 joining secret societies of any hue whatsoever are 
 the very ones to j)ratc most about freedom, they 
 themselves being held in a viler bondage than ever 
 was a Kussian serf. 
 
 After a short time the rumbling noise and pecu- 
 liar sonud which had preceded the entrance of Mars 
 and . s companions were again heard, and three 
 ruftianly looking j)crsuns entered, dragging a fourth. 
 Tliis latter was handcuflcd and gagged, lie was a 
 young man of about twenty-seven, well formed, and 
 respectably dressed. There was an a})pearance of 
 quiet courage and latent strength in his lustrous 
 eyes that gave a noble expression to his face. The 
 gag was removed from his mouth, and his hands 
 were set free ; in the Den he was completely in 
 their power. 
 
 Oapodiavolo glared fiercely on him, and Marini 
 met his gaze without any sign of fear. Cecco was 
 called from his dark corner, and Capodiavolo, ad- 
 dressing him, said : 
 
 " You see that man ; he is a ti'aitor. Like you he 
 swore to obey us, and to remain true to our Society. 
 He has broken his oath, and tried to escape. But 
 the arms of our Society are long ; our means of 
 reaching traitors many. Here he is now in our 
 power, just as any other false brother will surely be. 
 Take a warning by his example : you shall see liow 
 we can punish," 
 
 
 
J jyi ^u^<|iM|iiiaji|ib«;_;i(> 
 
 !«! 
 
 
 f '4.', 
 
 A: 
 
 w 
 
 114 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Poor Cecco trembled ; he saw the suppressed fury 
 of Capodiavolo glaring in his eyes ; he felt that 
 nought but the blood of the unfortunate Marini 
 could sate his vengeance. Fear held him powerless. 
 Marini appeared calm, and manifested no fears. 
 His breath came and went quickly ; his nostrils 
 slightly quivered, his lips were tirm-set, and his eyes 
 rested on Minos and Capodiavolo with an unflinch- 
 ing gaze. " Why have I been dragged hither?" he 
 at length said : 
 
 " To be tortured, to be pained, to be put to death 
 by inches," snarled Capodiavolo. " You are a traitor, 
 and you know a traitor's doom. You invoked it on 
 yourself in this very tipot, and soon you will And it 
 settliuiic around vou." 
 
 '' I was a traitor once," bej'an Marini, " and that 
 was when deceived by the Hue words of yon fellow," 
 pointing to liacchus, '•'• I joined your cursed Society. 
 1 did not then know its real object ; still, 1 knew 
 enough to have prevented nie from taking a secret 
 oath. Tn that I sinned, and if in atonement for my 
 offence (xod requires my life, I am ready to lay it 
 down." 
 
 " Fool !" sneered Capodiavolo, " fool, to talk thus. 
 You have been, I suppose, to confession lately." 
 
 '' Tliank God, I have," quietly rej)Iied Marini; 
 " had I always attended as J should have done, 1 
 would not have taken the infamous oath. But that 
 is past, and has been pardoneil, I hope." 
 
 " What a preacher, to be sure ! Perhaps you have 
 come here to try to corivertus! Would you like 
 
THE PL0TTP:RS AT WORK. 
 
 115 
 
 US to go to confession. Friar Marin i?" tauntingly 
 said Capodiavolo. 
 
 Although I know my words will not produce 
 liny effect on your sin-seared soul, I will say this 
 much to you," solenmly said Marini. " that a day will 
 come when vou will wish that vou had jjone to con- 
 fession regularly. A day will come when you will 
 know that you are about to be plunged into the 
 everlasting punishment of hell, but on which your 
 li;il)less soul will still cling to the demon that guided 
 it so long, and which will soon bear it oil to eternal 
 woe. An outraged God may bear patiently for a 
 time 7/ith sinners, for He is eternal and can wait, 
 hut His day of stern retribution will surely^ come." 
 
 "Idiot!" roared Ca])odiavolo, who began to trem- 
 l)le, us bad men often do — aye, even as the devils, 
 who " believe and tremble"; *•' but I v.'ill give you one 
 chance for your worthless life. Here, trample upon 
 that cross, and curse the Pope and Church !" saying 
 this, lie threw down at the feet of Marini a small 
 crucifix which he had taken out of a drawer. 
 
 Marini stooped reverently, picked up the crucifix 
 and, pressing it to his lips, saiil : " O Jesus, my 
 God and my Saviour, pardon my sins; have mercy 
 on me." 
 
 '' Will you do as I ask ?" questioned Capodiavolo. 
 "Never, never! not for a thousand lives," answered 
 Marini. Now the object of Capodiavolo was not 
 to spare under any circumstances the life of Marini ; 
 but a diabolical hate suggested to him this scheme, 
 so that he might nuike him lose his soul as well as 
 
 
15 1 
 
 116 
 
 AFTER WBJART YEARS. 
 
 m 
 
 lit 
 
 'ill 
 
 riwl 
 
 I* ' 
 
 i'i<«i 
 
 liis body. Capodiavolo believed in an avenging 
 God, altliougli he outraged him ; lie knew that one 
 mortal sin was sufficient to send a soul to liell, if it 
 died guilty of it. Hence, lie luid hoped to induce 
 Marini to l)las})lienie Clirist and his (church, and 
 then to cut hiin of! hiden witli these crimes. See- 
 ing himself frustrated in this, lie turned to Minos, 
 saying: " Do your duty, Judge." 
 
 Minos then said that Marini, "being convicted of 
 l)eing a traitor to the society, was condemned to ;i 
 slow and lingering death by tlie hand of their noble 
 master, Capodiavolo." Here Minos handed the 
 rusty stiletto to Capodiavolo, and told Oecco to 
 watch the proceed i no's. 
 
 Capodiavolo, flourishing the stiletto, began: 
 "Once more, Marini, I ask you to curse the Pope 
 and the Church, and you may yet be saved." 
 
 " Once more I tell you, monsters," retorted 
 Marini. " that I shall never try to save my life by 
 con'.mitting a sin. God is my witness that I die 
 for love of Ilim." 
 
 A noble look of enthusiastic devotion lit up his 
 countenance; he stood calmlv amonirst the auijry 
 crowd. Minos and Mars seized him, one on each 
 side, and Ca})odiavolo advanced to his infernal work. 
 Many a one had he killed with his own haiul in this 
 same place. lie knew how and where to stab, so as 
 to prolong the death-agony ; he fairly gloated over 
 liis work. He gave one sharp thrust at Marini's 
 elbow. Either the pain, or an instinct of self- 
 defence, caused the latter to start. With one quick 
 twist of the body he freed himself from the grasp 
 
THE PLOTTERS AT WORK. 
 
 117 
 
 of Minos and Mars. Putting hurriedly into his 
 niouth the crucifix, which he liad hitherto kept in 
 his hands, he seized from the ground an arm of the 
 hroken Faun, and with one well-directed lAow at 
 Minos, who was rushing on him, he stretched him 
 on the floor. With a bitter curse, such as a demon 
 bestows on a ]>riest when chased bv him from the 
 d\\uor bed of one who had lonijc been ids slave, 
 Capodiavolo sprang forward and made a lunge a^ 
 Mariui's heart. J>ut the marble arm was already 
 poised in the air, and it fell on the nnirderer's wrist, 
 causing the rusty stiletto to drop on the ground. 
 A loud shout was now heard at the door of the den ; 
 torches gleamed, and swords glittered. Three 
 Zouaves and two Gensd'armes rushed (piickly in. 
 Capodiavolo took in the ])osition at glance. Resist- 
 ance was out of the question ; nothing for it but to 
 escape. Giving the word to his companions, they 
 easily in the confusion slipped out, while the sol- 
 diers were binding the three who had brought 
 Marini, and poor Cecco, who was almost dead witii 
 fear. Minos had been able to rise and to escape 
 with the rest of the " Council." Marini, seeing 
 himself safe, threw down the marble arm, and, tak- 
 ing the crucifix from his mouth, kissed the thorn- 
 crowned head of the Saviour. Having tied the 
 prisoners together, the soldiers with drawn swords 
 and pistols in hand quickly left the plotters' den. 
 
 
 c 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 
 
 ' iHM 
 
 IM 
 
 
118 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 IN THE BARRACKS. 
 
 The streets of Rome, if properly studied at an 
 early hour in the morning, will afford much quiet 
 enjoyment. It is not that they present the trim as- 
 pect of the Parisian boulevards, along which shady 
 trees stretch out fantastic shadows, and down whose 
 gutters a bubljling rill runs quickly off, an expres- 
 sive image of the stream of human beings who daily 
 roll on to the great ocean of eternity, — but it is on 
 account of the people we may meet tiiereon. It is 
 an April morning; the sun is mounting slowly over 
 the house-tops and peering gleefully down on the 
 well-paved streets. Already his beams are laden 
 with a genial warmth that causes buds to burst 
 open, leaves to expand, and spring flowers to bloom 
 in their fresh loveliness. Scavengers, around whose 
 persons tattered garments hang with the grace of a 
 toga on Mark Antony's statue, sweep the streets 
 with a bundle of twigs bound to the end of a long 
 pole. Poetry and art are in their every posture ; 
 grace and beauty in their every movement. It is a 
 great thing when even the lowest stratum of society 
 can appreciate and enjoy art and beauty. What a re- 
 fining effect the grand old churches of Rome have 
 on its inhabitants! They breathe continually an 
 atmosphere of art over the whole city, and throw an 
 
IN THE BARRACKS. 
 
 119 
 
 ennobling influence around the cradles of the low- 
 liest workman. Watch those scaven(];ers : they do 
 not use their brooms with that dull, inartistic sweep 
 of their London fellow-criiftsmen, nor with the ex- 
 cited, irregular wave of their Dublin brethren : no, 
 but as they hum an air from II Trovatore they make 
 it gently describe lines of beauty and grace, such as 
 many an artist faiii would copy. Doubtless they are 
 slower at their work than most other people ; but 
 what of that? Ts not the refining influence of their 
 manner more desirable than gold ? Tf Raphael, or 
 Michel-Auijelo, or Bramante or anv ^>ne of their 
 great countrymen had been in a hurry, where would 
 be our art treasures in oil, or stone, or towering 
 dome ? 
 
 Creaking dust-carts, drawn by a degraded-looking 
 species of oxen known as huffali, lumber along. Tt 
 would be an interesting study for a veterinarian to 
 watch the habits of these hopoless-looking cattle. 
 Domestic economy might be greatly l)enefitedby his 
 investigations. We give it as our opinion, founded 
 on a fair experience, that these creatures never eat : 
 we have seen them at early morn, beneath the mid-day 
 sun, and when the shades of niuflit were stealing 
 over the earth like the shadow of doath enterins: a 
 sick-room, and never did we find the smallest tra^?e 
 of food near them. They will haul great blocks of 
 marble; then, while the drivers are at meals, they 
 will stund yoked together, with that patient, hope- 
 less look sometimes seen on the faces of an ill-assort- 
 ed couple. Once we saw a tough old fellow licking 
 up some marble-dust near the ruins of the Temple 
 
 1) 
 
120 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 r?;,^^? 
 
 of Peace ; unless they live on that, they do not eat 
 at all. 
 
 Bakers are hurrying along, carrying on theii- 
 shoulders great baskets of bread. Stern ainazons, 
 brown and battered as the stones of the Colosseuni, 
 saunter past, bearing pails filled with living snails, 
 which they announce for sale in a cracked voice, 
 not unlike the sound emitted by a broken reed in- 
 strument. The frog merchant, bluff and burly, calls 
 forth his wares in a deep bass voice. A clear tenor 
 announces that the vendor of Aqua Acetosa, a min- 
 eral water jwocurable not far from Rome, is passing. 
 At every corner one meets a drove of goats kept in 
 order by a gootherd. At lirst sight it puzzles one 
 somewhat to account for this phenomenon. That 
 one should meet droves of goats on the hillsides 
 around Rome would be quite natural, and eminently 
 fitting ; ])ut to meet them in the centre of a city, 
 where not a blade t)f grass is to be seen, is, to say 
 the least, puzzling. J)Ut this phenomenon has its 
 explanation, and a satisfactory one it is. It argues 
 ingenuity in two classes of persons, viz.: the buyers 
 and sellers of milk. Watch this goatherd whom yon 
 iiave just met: arriving in front of yon house hv. 
 gives the word to lialt, and the obedient herd conies 
 to a stand-still; giving his well-known pull to the 
 bell-handle he walks leisurely back to the nearest 
 goat and begins to milk her just as the servant an- 
 swers the ring ; in a minute he hands over the pint or 
 quart of foaming milk, receives his money, and starts 
 on his goats to the door of his next customer. What 
 a simple and effectual plan for securing pure milk ! 
 
!'(| 
 
 IN THE BARRACKS. 
 
 121 
 
 What an easy method of carrying it around I Sel 
 ler and buyer are alike benefited by this system. 
 Milk companies in London and elsewhere that aim at 
 guaranteeing unadulterated milk might take a hmt 
 from the Romans. 
 
 On this April morning Peppe, whom we left on 
 the road to Rome last October with his vouna: mas- 
 ter Lorenzo, was quietly threading his way from 
 Piazza Navona to Castel San Angelo. He had in- 
 sisted on joining the Zouaves, but reluctantly ex- 
 changed his old flint-lock gun for a Remington rifle. 
 Now, however, he was 'svery inch a soldier, and 
 conld use his rifle with great effect ; he was the life 
 of a company in barracks; his love of fun, faculty 
 of imitation, and good nature made him beloved by 
 all. No danger of a company's being out of spirits 
 when he was present ; he could play all games, teach 
 all tricks, sing serious or comic songs. When taking 
 his daily measure of common wine at a restaurant, 
 he made himself agreeable to all present by his run- 
 ning fire of jokes. At one of these places he over- 
 heard Minos giving directions to his three followers 
 to seize young Marini, and to bring him to the Den. 
 
 Suspecting from the appearance of the parties 
 that all was not right, he at once informed Lorenzo 
 and Morgan. They, taking with them Peppe and 
 two police officers, followed the ruffians who were 
 kidnapping Marini, and rushed into the Den to his 
 rescue. Since that time Marini had joined the Zou- 
 aves, and had become a fast friend of his deliverers. 
 His captors were condemned to the galleys ; Cecco, 
 against whom there was no charge, was set free, and 
 6 
 
 
122 
 
 AFTER WBART YEARS. 
 
 If- 
 
 I'lii 
 
 M 
 
 cautioned to avoid the members of the secret society. 
 As we shall see, his soul was too craven to disregard 
 the threats of Capodiavolo, although he loathed the 
 impious object of his designs. 
 
 Peppe walked briskly along when he neared the 
 bridge of San Angelo, and, saluting the sentinel at 
 the gate of the Castel, entered the enclosure. He 
 walked towards two persons who were seated on a 
 grassy knoll, having jnst finished polishing their 
 accoutrements. " Well, Peppe," said the voice of 
 Lorenzo, "you were out early this morning; per- 
 haps you were shut out all night." 
 
 " Oibo ! much fear of that," laughed Peppe ; 
 " this is not the place, my young master, where one 
 can roam at liberty. When we were out on tlie 
 hills of Marino, I could pick up my old gun, call 
 my dog, and go my ways without asking permission 
 of any one. No fear, then, of a court-martial even 
 if I remained away all night. But here one must 
 wait until such an hour, and i*eturn at such another 
 hour, that it makes one feel like a slave.'' 
 
 This last sentence contains the reason of an 
 Italian's dislike to a soldier's life : it is not cow- 
 ardice ; it is not a dread of fatigue, but it is an 
 unwillingness to be restricted and hampered by 
 rules of unbending severity. 
 
 "I don't pity you, Peppe," said Lorenzo; "I 
 wanted you to remain at home and to take care of 
 father. Had you taken my advice, you could still 
 snap your old gun every hour of the day. Do you 
 often weep for £he loss of your gun, Peppe ?" 
 
 "Ah! Master Lorenzo, you may laugh at my 
 
^-i 
 
 IN THE BABRA0K8. 
 
 123 
 
 fondness for it, but one naturally loves that which 
 lias helped to save a loved life. It saved your life 
 
 » 
 
 once. 
 
 " Well, I must say that this is news, Pcppe : do 
 you hear that, Morgan," said he, turning to his 
 companion. " I have told you of Peppe's attempts 
 at shooting birds, and gave it as my opinion that his 
 gun never once struck fire ; but it seems I was mis- 
 taken. It shot something that threatened my life." 
 
 " I did not say that. Master Lorenzo ; but once 
 when you were small an angry dog rushed at you. 
 I was near; I snapped the gun, but somehow it 
 missed lire ; then I ran at the dog, and knocked 
 him over with a blow struck with its butt." 
 
 "That was just as good," began Morgan, "as if 
 you had sent a thousand shot through his brains ; 
 but what news did you hear ?" 
 
 "Not much, Mr. Morgan; it is pretty certain 
 tliat Capodiavolo is still in Rome, but the sectaries 
 keep very quiet. On account of the great number 
 of foreign bishops and others who will be here next 
 June to celebrate the eighteenth century of St. 
 Peter, it is not likely that they will make any nove- 
 ment until vStev that time. This much I have 
 picked up." 
 
 " Why will they keep quiet until after that cele- 
 bration ?" questioned Morgan. " Is it out of respect 
 to St. Peter?" 
 
 " Oibo ! (a favorite exclamation with Peppe, 
 liaving the force of our English — the mischiefs no) 
 —Oibo, Mr. Morgan, not likely ; those fellows 
 respect the devil more than any one else j at least, 
 
 
124 
 
 AFTER WBART TEARS. 
 
 they obey him better. But, from what I can learn, 
 they fear to make any disturbance during that 
 time, lest foreign governments should interfere." 
 
 Peppe, being dismissed, trudged off, and soon 
 might be heard imitating, for the benefit of liis 
 comrades, the conversations he heard in the restau- 
 rants. Now, he assumed the deep bass voice of a 
 burly butcher; now, tlie soft tenor of a low com- 
 edian ; now, the harsh tones of a wealthy drover, 
 and now the shrill treble of a scolding snail-woman. 
 So quickly and naturally did he pass from one 
 character to another that any one standing outside 
 of the room would never suspect that there was but 
 one actor. He was in no sense of the word a spy ; 
 but in his daily rounds he did not scruple to find 
 out as much as he could concerning the doings of 
 the revolutionists. He never feigned to belong to 
 them ; but his pleasing manners and ready wit made 
 him popular everywhere, and a few well-timed 
 questions generally gained him more or less infor- 
 mation. 
 
 When left to themselves Morgan and Lorenzo 
 resumed their interrupted conversation. They 
 were seated on a grassy mound that overlooked the 
 bastion of the fort towards the river. Castel San 
 Angelo was then the chief fort in or around Rome. 
 It is the huge mausoleum which the Emperor 
 Hadrian built to hold his mortal clay after death. 
 The lower part is formed of immense blocks of 
 stone, with a lining of cemented brick. The shape 
 is circular ; the upper part is more modern, having 
 been built during the Middle Ages. Beneath are 
 
<M\ 
 
 IN THE BAERAOKS. 
 
 126 
 
 strong vaults for the storage of munitions of war. 
 Aloft, on a high pedestal rising from the centre of 
 the building, is a bronze statue of St. Michael 
 sheathing a sword : hence the name of Castel San 
 Angelo. It is related in history that, during a 
 plague in Rome, Pope St. Gregory the Great was 
 heading a solemn procession from St. John Lat- 
 eran to St. Peter's. All were imploring God, 
 with te.ars and penitential cries, to stay the work- 
 ings of His wrath. When opposite this spot, St. 
 Michael appeared in the air, sheathing a sword, 
 and the joyous words of the liegina Coeli floated 
 through the atmosphere. Immediately the plague 
 ceased, and in commemoration of this event the 
 bronze figure of St. Michael has long surmounted 
 the once pagan sepulchre. 
 
 The Castel, or fort, is situated on the right bank 
 of the Tiber, not far from the foot of the Vatican 
 hill. A covered way leads from it to the Vatican 
 Palace. Before the invention of the murderous 
 war instruments of recent years, the Castel could 
 offer a stubborn resistance, and during some of the 
 troubles in the Middle Ages it afforded a safe asy- 
 lum to the Popes. The enclosure around about it 
 is fortified with walls and bastions, forming a series 
 of outer forts, well mounted with cannon. Com- 
 manding as it does the bridge of San Angelo and 
 the river, it would be a strong point during a civic 
 outbreak. 
 
 As the two friends sat on this historic ground 
 gazing dreamily on the yellow Tiber that ran swiftly 
 past, they spoke of many things. Lorenzo, who was 
 
 o 
 
126 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 l! 
 
 .-'■ 
 
 f n 
 
 ill 
 
 more fully acquainted with Italian history and popu- 
 lar legends than Morgan, had hecn giviiif^ him some 
 details about the Castel and its past story. 
 
 " Now," said Morgan, " tell mc just how the 
 present army organization i)ogan. I know in a 
 general way, of course, but I want more particu- 
 lars." 
 
 "They are easily given, Morgan. When the Pope 
 had to leave Rome in 1848 everything was turned 
 upside down. These revolutionists are great fellows 
 at pulling to pieces; they beat the rag-pickers in 
 that respect. In a very short time they managed to 
 disorganize everything. Antonelli and Hossi coul<l 
 build up, and would have built up, a great and pro- 
 gressive government, if those red-handed villains 
 had remained quiet." 
 
 " True, Lorenzo ; but the object of the revo- 
 lutionists was not, I suppose, the good of the peo- 
 ple?" 
 
 "Of that you may be quite sure; what they 
 wanted was to dethrone the Pope, to overthrow re- 
 ligion, rnd to rule over the masses. They caused 
 Rossi to be assaosinatcd on the steps of the Caneel- 
 leria, and besiegovl the Pope in the Quirinal. This 
 is enough to show what their designs were. "Well, 
 the army of France scattered the revolutionary 
 hordes, and Pius IX. returned. He found every- 
 thing unhinged and an enormous debt, but not of 
 his own contracting. Antonelli, whose name will 
 go down to all time in Church history as the most 
 able and heroic of statesmen, set to work to bi'ing 
 order out of the chaos. The different departments 
 
m THE BARRACKS. 
 
 127 
 
 of the public service were organized, the debt paid 
 off, and tlie taxes lightened." 
 
 "How different from other countries!" inter 
 riipted Morgan ; " taxes are generally increased, and 
 public debts rarely diminish. Yet people cry out 
 against the government of the Pope. What do they 
 mean? Is not that government the best under 
 which a people, for the smallest amount of taxes, 
 enjoy the largest share of tem})oral blessings hap- 
 pily subordinated to eternal felicity ? We boast 
 and with some show of reason, too, that under the 
 British Empire we are free. Our young Dominion 
 secures many advantages to its citizens, but often 
 British freedom is more theoretic than practical. 
 Under the Pope, however, there is liberty in its 
 fullest and most legitimate sense, with light taxes 
 and an extinguished public debt." 
 
 "Do not get excited, Morgan; you will scarcely 
 convert the prejudiced against our holy religion by 
 any arguments. They will cry out against the 
 government of the Pope, let it be what it will, simply 
 because it is the government of the Pope. Wh}', 
 some of your bigoted dunderpates have only one 
 principle of arguing — viz., to oppose whatever Rome 
 does." 
 
 " You are always hard, Lorenzo, on these people. 
 Many of them do not merit your reproaches ; they 
 are blinded by the atmosphere of prejudice that was 
 thrown round their cradles. Living in Italy, you 
 cannot understand how much these people have to 
 contend against. I have personal friends who, be- 
 fore thev became acquainted with me, had the most 
 
 ),- 
 
 
 1) 
 
w 
 
 128 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 II :. 
 Ii'l 
 
 absurd notions about Catholics. As for a Catholic 
 priest, they almost expected to see his brow adorned 
 witli horns." 
 
 " Well, let them use their reason a, little. After 
 they became acquainted with you they learned tliat 
 your religion was quite different from what it had 
 been represented ; they thus learned, too, that their 
 own could only he justified in the supposition that 
 yours was what they had been taught. If revela- 
 tion is to be accepted, it must have remained pure 
 always; hence, our religion could never have been 
 corrupt; it must, therefore, be true. Theirs, being 
 opposed to what is true, must be false." 
 
 "Yes, yes, Lorenzo, you are, like "all Italians, 
 logical ; an Italian will never be a Protestant. If 
 he falls from the Church he will become an infidel ; 
 he is quick enough to see that if there be any true 
 religion it must be ours ; but Englishmen are dnller. 
 They are imposed upon by an easily discovered 
 sham. As for the Scotch, the Calvinistic principle 
 has given such a twist to their intellect that it has 
 left an impress on their faces — a dark, glooiny, dreary 
 look. But continue about the army organization." 
 
 "After the departments of the civil service had 
 been put in working order," resumed Lorenzo, 
 "attention was turned to the militarj'. At the 
 Congress in Faris in 1856, at the end of the Crimean 
 war, a cowardly attack was made on the Pope's 
 government. Cavour, as wily a knave as ever 
 breathed Italian air, was planning a scheme for a 
 United Italy. It was sought to discredit the Ponti- 
 fical government in the eyes of Europe. Antonelli 
 
m THE BARRACKS. 
 
 129 
 
 divined the plots of the revolutionists, and sought 
 to form a force sufficient to keep order within the 
 Roman States. Lamori?iere, a man who had dis- 
 tinguished himself in Algiers, a true soldier and a 
 Christian, placed his honorable sword at the service 
 of the Holy See. He at once set about forming a 
 corps of soldiers on the plan of the Algerian 
 Zouaves, and hence our regiment. He and Pimo- 
 dan were the fathers of the present Pontifical army. 
 You know how persons from all countries flocked 
 to range themselves under the Pope's standard in 
 1859. Ireland sent her brigade, and slashing fel- 
 lows they were. France, Belgium, and other 
 countries did the same. In 1860 the Pope's terri- 
 iories were invaded. Around Spoleto and Castel- 
 fidardo our soldiers saved their honor, though they 
 could not save the integrity of the Pontifical States. 
 Pimodan lost his life on the field ; Lamoriciere is 
 since dead, but their work lives. Our present 
 Colonel Aliec, and his able lieutenant. Da Charette, 
 are, as you knowy consolidating and increasing the 
 Pope's army. Ere long, Morgan, we wili be called 
 on to draw in defence of Holv Church's cause." A 
 gleam of enthusiasm lighted up Lorenzo's face as he 
 said these last words. It was easy to see that, if he 
 did ever draw, it would not be in vain. 
 
 "I am not," slowly began Morgan, "the first 
 Canadian who has taken up arms for the Pope ; Mur- 
 ray — you have seen him — and Laroque have been 
 here some years; but when the hour of battle 
 comes I shall not be the last to charge." 
 
 "I know it, Morgan ; I can see it in the glow of 
 6* 
 
 Isi^mfll 
 
m-'^ 
 
 130 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 PI' 
 
 
 that bright eye of yours : but now let us stroll round 
 the enclosure." Arm in arm they sauntered around ; 
 everything was clean and bright. The corps of 
 Zouaves, which at this time numbered about 4000 
 men, comprised persons of every country and condi- 
 tion of life. It was a miniature of the Church. 
 Nobles and peasants stood side by side in the ranks, 
 and even princes marched in the same line with 
 those of humble birtli. It was not an uncommon 
 sight to meet a captain and a private arm in arm ; 
 this would be a seven davs' wonder in Enorland, but 
 here it never excited surprise. Perhaps the private 
 was, in civic life, higher in the social scale than his 
 captain ; perhaps they were brothers, or intimate 
 friends who had left a pleasant home to serve the • 
 cause of the Holy See. De Charette, the popular 
 lieutenant, was the ideal of a noble soldier. Hand- 
 some and strongly built, the blue-gray Zouave 
 trousers, close-fitting round jacket, and small cap 
 lent an air of strength and lightness to his whole 
 person. He was a worthy descendant of the gallant 
 Charette, whose name is linked with the mournful 
 glory of the Yendean War. A lion in the fight, he 
 was a meek and devout worshipper in the Church. 
 Some Catholic young men who are ashamed to be 
 Been performing an act of piety should have seen, 
 as we have often seen, this gallant soldier making a 
 visit to the most Holy Sacrament, and then clanking 
 along to the Altar of the Blessed Virgin, before 
 which he knelt in humble prayer for a short time. 
 He knew well that true courage and piety should 
 adorn the Christian soMier. 
 
IN THE BARRACKS. 
 
 131 
 
 As Lorenzo and Morgan came to a spot which 
 looked directly down into the Tiber, the former 
 spoke : 
 
 " Is your great St. Lawrence much larger than old 
 Tiber?" 
 
 " Oh dear, yes ! in one of its waves there is as 
 much water as there is in this whole river. In 
 many places it is miles in width. I used to read so 
 much about the Tiber in the classics that I imagined 
 it must be larger than the St. Lawrence. Actually 
 I was disgusted when I first looked upon it — it was 
 so narrow and yellow. Still, it has great memories." 
 
 " When I stand gazing on a river," half-soliloquized 
 Lorenzo, " I always seem to be trying to catch some- 
 thing that flees from my mind. It seems to me that 
 I used once, long ago, to gaze upon a great, wide 
 liver, but I can recall nothing distinctly. Perhaps 
 it was only some mountain torrent that appeared 
 mighty to my young mind." 
 
 " That may be, Lorenzo, for size is but relative : 
 however, I trust you will one day look on our noble 
 St. Lawrence. What a consolation you would be to 
 that poor Mrs. Barton about whom I told you ! I 
 am sure she would love you very much." 
 
 " Well, I think it would be mutual ; even now I 
 almost look upon her as a mother. Since you first 
 told me about her I have often pictured her to my- 
 self, sitting near her door holding the cap of her 
 lost son. What a sad lot hers must have been ? the 
 only marks in her quiet life are those sorrowful 
 anniversaries. Her grief litis grown into her exist- 
 ence, and will never depart." 
 
 ■,1 
 

 132 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 " Unless her son returns," said Morgan. 
 
 "Ah ! it is scarcely possible after so many years ; 
 but she still hopes, you say." 
 
 " Yes, and it seems to me^ at times, that she must 
 be right." 
 
 Tliere was but one reservation between these two 
 friends: Lorenzo had never told Morgan about the 
 photograph given him by his father, of a fair young 
 child. Often he was on the point of doing it, but 
 Morgan's grave manner made him half-ashamed to 
 speak of what appeared so trifling. He was on the 
 point of speaking now, but the drum called them to 
 their quarters. 
 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 
 THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 "Kow, girls, hurry up there; it is nearly nine 
 o'clock. Me and Daniel were ready long ago. 
 "Where's Washy ? Out chewing tobacco, or guzzling 
 wine, I'll bet. If we are going to see all them won- 
 ders as we were told about, it's about time we 
 began. Are you ready yet ?" 
 
 " Oh, la ! ma, don't make such an uproar. They 
 will think us horribly vulgar; do be quiet for a 
 little." 
 
 " Yes, ma, don't arouse all the house ; it is not the 
 polite thing to be getting ready to go out at this 
 awfully early hour." 
 
 "Oh, bother politeness now! "What on earth do 
 Italians know about that,? Didn't our deacon say 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 138 
 
 that the Romans are ignorant and barbarous ! Why 
 do they put figures of them old heathen gods around 
 their pumps, leastwise fountains I mean, if they 
 are not barbarous ? Perhaps they are heathens like- 
 wise. I wish Mrs. Hezekiah Flintwood, the presi- 
 dent of our Bible Society, was here. Me and her 
 would distribute a few Bibles among the benighted 
 barbarians. Instead of the fandangos we heard last 
 night at them vespers, as you call them, we'd learn 
 them to sing, 'Send down sal — send down sal — 
 send down salvation from the skies,' with * Glory 
 hallellujah ' at the end.' But make ready at once." 
 
 " I always did say, ma, that you would be better 
 at home ; it bores one so dreadfully to be thought 
 vulgar." 
 
 " Yes, ma, and only vulgar people now call the 
 Italians barbarous. Do remember that we are mak- 
 ing the grand tour, and must show ouiselves equal 
 to our position," 
 
 " That's the way you always try to put me down 
 with them boarding-school notions of yours. Don't 
 everybody know that the United States can whip 
 creation ? Isn't any of our citizens better than any 
 king in Europe ? But I wont say no more. Now 
 then, just you two hurry along." 
 
 The above conversation took place in the Hotel 
 d'Amerique at Rome early in January 1867. The 
 speakers were Mrs. Drew and her two daughters ; 
 the former was shaking the door of a bedroom while 
 she spoke, and the voices of her daughters came 
 from within. Poor Mrs. Drew meant well ; she 
 only reflected, perhaps slightly exaggerated, the 
 
 i) 
 
 o 
 
134 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 tone and sentiments of many a newspaper in the 
 United States. It is impossible to make a Euro- 
 pean understand the Inige national delusion under 
 which our Republican neiglibors labor. Devoid of 
 all the ennobling influences of the fine arts, devoid, 
 with the exception of a very few works, of a respect- 
 able literature, flooded with trashy novels, the 
 sickly product of a vicious school system, and with 
 newnpapers in which one may look in vain for a 
 sc'ten -- of parsable English, with little security for 
 lii'e, aud too often with purchasable justice presid- 
 1' g over criminal tribunals, this people imagine 
 themseives lords of creation, and chatter about the 
 "efltete despotisms of Europe." It is little wonder, 
 then, that Mrs. Drew had not as yet cast her national 
 coat ; for her the Italians were the '* ignorant bar- 
 barians" whom she had so often heard despised by 
 rural deacons. 
 
 Mr. Drew, being naturally shrewd and observant, 
 had not failed to detect some symptoms of life and 
 greatness in the various countries through which he 
 had travelled. He was not quite prepared to rank 
 them in the same line with the United States ; still, 
 his ideas regarding " effete despotisms of Europe" 
 had undergone % great change. He was now walk- 
 ing around the court-yard of the hotel closely watch- 
 ing the actions of three or four persons of the lower 
 class who were standing inside the ^archway, and 
 who appeared to be greatly excited. Two of them 
 were standing facing each other about a yard apart. 
 Each had his right foot considerably in advance and 
 hie body bent forward. They were looking intently 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 136 
 
 in each others' eyes, and jerking rapidly foi*ward 
 their right hands, calling out at the same time some 
 number such as " five — nine — seven." Sometimes 
 tliey would cease for a moment the jerking of their 
 hands, and one would give a cent to the other; at 
 other times the hand-jerking would stop, but a loud 
 angry clatter of tongues would ensue : after a gen- 
 eral hubbub they would begin again, glaring more 
 fiercely than ever into each others' eyes. Mr. Drew 
 was at a loss to understand what they meant ; evi- 
 dently they followed some settled plan and were in 
 earnest. Inquiring of one of the waiters, he learned 
 that they were engaged in a game of Morra, a game 
 which divides the affections of the lower class with 
 Bocce. The former is said to have been invented 
 by Fabius Maximus, to divert his soldiers during 
 their long period of inaction, when by his policy of 
 delay he conquered. Each one as he jerks out his 
 right hand extends one or more of his fingers, and 
 calls out some number from two to ten inclusive. 
 If the number of fingers extended by both parties 
 should agree with the number called out by either 
 one of the players, that one wins the game. Should 
 neither guess correctly or should both guess aright, 
 it is a drawn game and the jerking goes on. Such 
 quickness of action and eye do the players acquire 
 that their motion is as rapid as the flapping of the 
 wings of a sparrow; and so passionately fond of it 
 do some become that they are like confirmed gam- 
 blers. At the time of our story it was not allowed 
 to be played inside the walls of Rome ; henco the 
 lovers of the game wcro obliged to play it surrep. 
 
 
 1) 
 
 I 
 
■ 
 
 136 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i;f 
 
 i I 
 
 titiously, after the manner of boys in our cities who 
 have a weakness for coasting. 
 
 Master Drew, who rejoiced in the name of "Wash- 
 ington when given his full title, but who was treated 
 only to Washy by his mother and sisters, was, as his 
 mother had predicted, " guzzling" wine at the bar. 
 Had his family prefixed Wishy to his pet name and 
 made it Wishy-wasliy, it would have eminently ex- 
 pressed, in vulgar phraseology, his attributes. 
 
 After a good deal of running up and down stairs 
 on the part of Mrs. Drew, banging at doors and tell- 
 ing the " girls to hurry up," the whole family as- 
 sembled at the door of the hotel. The young ladies 
 were dressed in a costly style ; in this age that style 
 seems to liold t'^f3 place of a becoming one. Mosaic 
 sets from the most fashionable jeweller in that most 
 fashionable jewel-mart the Via dei Condotti, elon- 
 gated the lobes of their ears, and sparkled in their 
 dresses. Washy had procured a pin at the same 
 establishment, and an enormous seal for his watch- 
 chain. Mrs. Drew had the weakness of her sex for 
 gaudy apparel, and glistened in the sunlight like an 
 embodied rainbow. The Hotel d'Amerique is close 
 by the " Piazza del Popolo," the most imposing 
 square of aiiy city in the world. It is elliptical in 
 form and has a magnificent Egyptian obelisk in the 
 centre ; around the basf; of this column four lions of 
 Egyptian mould rest on lofty couches of marble, 
 giving forth from their mouths a continual stream 
 of water. There is a beautiful symmetry of design 
 and an elegance of finish observed in the buildings 
 that front on this piazza. A noble gateway, beneath 
 
TflE DREW B*AMILY tN ROME. 
 
 137 
 
 which passes out the Flaminian Way, stands in 
 one end of the ellipse, and from the other end three 
 spacious, well-paved streets lead to the very heart of 
 Rome. 
 
 Tliere is in every large city a certain class of use- 
 ful, though at times annoying, citizens. They are 
 abroad in all weathers and at everv hour of the 
 twenty-four. To them the heat and dust of summer 
 are as much trifles of no consequence as the chill 
 rains of winter. They have never been seen eating, 
 but they are always ready for a drink. If ever they 
 close their eyes it must be while at work, for you 
 never catch them sleeping when idle. They are 
 iievei sick ; iney never grow older ; such as you 
 have first remarked them such they remain. "Were 
 it not for the certainty we have of the universality 
 of death, we would maintain that they never die. 
 They have a keen relish for a joke and no great love 
 for a police officer. They are usually armed with a 
 whip, and are known as cabmen, cabbies, or jehus. 
 Generally their horses partake of the characteristics 
 of their masters. In fact, it is difficult to have a 
 right conception of a representative cabman without, 
 at the same time, including an idea of his horse. 
 That one could recognize a cabman from having 
 seen his horse, and vice versa, is pretty certain. 
 Wlio can explain this strange fact? 
 
 No sooner had the Drew family appeared at the 
 door of the hotel than with a clatter of hoofs, a 
 cracking of whips, a rumbling of wheels, and loud 
 yells, a dozen cabmen charged wildly down on the 
 devoted group. It reminded Mr. Drew of the 
 
 
 ''S 
 
w^ 
 
 1 
 
 !! 
 
 138 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 stampede at Bull Run, an event which he had 
 witnessed from a friendly height. Tiie horses en- 
 tered into the spirit of the thing, and stretcliQd their 
 foundered legs with surprising agility. The loud 
 shouts and excited looks of the cabmen would 
 make a stranger believe that it was a Koman Jugger- 
 naut sent forth to crush the hapless Drews. Their 
 intentions, however, were quite pacific ; it was only 
 a friendly race to secure a goodly fare. "When Mr. 
 Drew called from the ranks a two-horse coach the 
 others evinced no show of ill-humor, but, with a 
 professional jest, quietly subsided into the sedate 
 and philoso])hic state so characteristic of the cab- 
 man on a stand. 
 
 " Here, girls, get up in haste; me and Daniel will 
 take the back-seat ; you two in front. Washy can 
 mount the box with the driver." 
 
 Thus spoke Mrs. Drew, and thus she hoped to 
 easily provide for the convenience of all. But 
 though cabs may have a great capacity of stowage, 
 there is to it, as to all finite things, a limit. If any 
 one doubts this, let such a one attempt to pack into 
 a cab a long angular man, a big fat woman, two 
 large and fashionably dressed young ladies, three 
 shawls, four camp-stools, two reticules, a waterproof, 
 an overcoat, and two bouquets of winter flowers, and 
 scepticism will dissolve in a noonday flood of evi- 
 dence. At length, by dint of sitting on the shawls, 
 holding the reticules and bouquets, putting on the 
 overcoat and waterproof, and packing the stools on 
 the perch under the cabman's feet, the party started 
 bravely for the Coliseum. 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 13d 
 
 In a short time they arrived at this monument 
 of ancient Rome's greatness. Tlie grandeur of its 
 design and its graceful proportions claim our rever- 
 ence for the genius that presided over its erection, 
 but the remembrance of the cruelties enacted with- 
 in its enclosure causes us to shudder, and to thank 
 God that its day has passed away forever. 
 
 "What are we going to do now, girls?" said Mrs. 
 Drew, as they dismounted. " I don't see much use 
 r\ staying here long to gape at a pile of tumble- 
 down stone and brick." 
 
 " But, Ma, this is the great Coliseum, the Flavian 
 amphitheatre, where the emperors and all the great 
 people used to come to see the gladiators fight, and 
 all that," — thus Miss Drew. 
 
 " And the place where they use^ to let lions and 
 tigers loose on the Christians, Ma," — thus Miss Lu- 
 cilla Drew. 
 
 "It's hoky old-looking, at any rate," was the 
 classic remark of Master Washington Drew. 
 
 " I rayther carlkerate that if it were well white- 
 washed and roofed in, it might make a respectable 
 factory. Pity there was not a little more American 
 enterprise in Rome," — thus the practical Mr. Drew. 
 
 They now entered by a lofty archway to 1.' ' en- 
 closed space in the centre. This was the spot on 
 which the athletes strove for victory ; the spot on 
 which gladiators fought and died to " make a Roman 
 holiday"; the spot on which thousands of our fore- 
 fathers in the faith were torn by wild beasts, or 
 suffered cruel torments in testimony to Christ. Puri- 
 fied and consecrated by the blood of so many raar- 
 
 
 . , u 
 
wv 
 
 140 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 tyrs, it is a sacred spot to Catholics, and one which 
 no true Christian can tread without a feeling of holy 
 awe. After Calvary's blood-stained heights it moves 
 most the lofty heroism of gi'cat souls. As you '} 
 on that love-dyed ground, picture to yourself a fair 
 young girl, or a graceful boy, standing in the centre, 
 where now stands yon cross, about to offer to God, 
 for God, the life he gave. Tens of thousands of 
 savage eyes glare down unpityingly from the packed 
 seats that rise above one another in a dizzy circle. 
 Of all that panting crowd no heart is softened with 
 pity, no sonl is stirred with geneious emotion. The 
 debasing influence of paganism has seared every 
 heart; only the gallant young martyr standing be- 
 low, with outstretched hands, looks up to h< n. 
 Already he can hear the approaching harmony of 
 the celestial choirs ; as the savage lion bounds quick- 
 ly towards him, he can hear the turning of the snia- 
 ragd hinges of heaven's gate ; as the beast springs 
 on him he feels the flutter of angels' wings, and 
 closing his eyes on a gloating multitude, he opens 
 them in the bosom of his God. This is the picture 
 which hallows the Coliseum, and surrounds it with 
 an atmosphere of holiness. 
 
 Around the inner wall the " Stations of the Cross" 
 have been erected — a fitting spot for this devotional 
 memorial. In the centre a large cross is planted, 
 symbolizing the triumph of meek endurance over 
 raging hate. A Cardinal was just finishing his 
 prayers at the foot of that cross as the Drew family 
 came forward. He was attended by a secretary and 
 a footman in livery. The gaily-braided attire of 
 
 th 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 141 
 
 the latter at once canglit the attention of Mrs. Drew. 
 She thought him some nobleman of high rank, and 
 the Cardinal and secretary his servants. Full of this 
 discovery she said excitedly: 
 
 ''Look, girls, look! that's a Roman prince as sure 
 as eggs. What a splendid dress, and how he carries 
 his military hat !" 
 
 " I do declare, Ma, he's coming this way ; what a 
 distingue air he has ! such a love of a Roman nose, 
 and all that," said Miss Drew. 
 
 "Just the picture of the German hero Arminius; 
 1 have half a mind to hum 'Kennst du das Land'; 
 they say," blushingly continued IM^iss Lucilla, " that 
 these Roman princes prefer foreign wives." 
 
 The liveried footman, unconscious of the admira- 
 tion he had excited, came towards them in advance 
 of the Cardinal, to call round the coachman, who was 
 some distance off. As he passed by the Drew fam- 
 ily its respected head took off his cap ; Mrs. Drew 
 made a duck forward, achieving a motion between a 
 pronounced courtesy of the old style and a modified 
 modern bow; as a gymnastic performance for 
 strengthening the action of the lungs it was a com- 
 plete success. The Misses Drew gracefully effected 
 a most polite bow, languishingly gazing on the 
 stolid features of the footman ; Washy pulled the 
 knob of his cane from his mouth, and gave that 
 most irritating and abominable of nods, which con- 
 sists in putting the head out of plumb by an eighth 
 part of an inch. This species of salutation is mucli 
 in vogue among independent young gentlemen, and 
 is brought about by a slightly convulsive twitch of 
 
 
 'imi' ik-.!jj^fei^ 
 
142 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 the muscles on the right shoulder and jaw. The 
 result is a momentary kink in the neck, which one 
 is tempted to make permanent by giving the fel- 
 low's head a good strong twist. This homage having 
 been paid to the supposed prince, the pai'ty stared 
 impolitely enough at the Cardinal and his secre- 
 tary. It was Cardinal Barnabo, a man well acquain- 
 ted with persons from every country. A quiet 
 smile played roguishly over his good-natured fea- 
 tures as he divined the mistake of the Drews. '*! 
 must braid my coat after this," he remarked to his 
 secretary. 
 
 There was another witness to the above scene. 
 It was a person dressed in the costume of a Zouave; 
 he was leaning carelessly against a broken buttress 
 when the Drews entered, but watched tlie subse- 
 quent proceedings with interest. Evidently lie 
 enjoyed the situation, and laughed to himself as he 
 muttered, "It's the Drews; I'll have some fun with 
 them." Now Peppe, for it was none other than 
 Lorenzo's faithful attendant, had heard Morgan 
 speaking about his encounter with the Drews, and, 
 recognizing them by the description, was resolved 
 to have a little quiet amusement at their expense. 
 He could spfiak English tolerably, having passed 
 some years i Jngland while Lorenzo was in college 
 there. See...ingly vdthout any design, he threw 
 himself in their way, and politely begged pardon, 
 as he almost stumbled against Mr. Drew. Hearing 
 his native tongue, Mr. Drew was delighted, and at 
 once began a conversation : 
 
 "I always said that you can never find a spot 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 143 
 
 where English is not spoken I would lay a thou- 
 sand dollars 'gin an X, that when the first man 
 gits to the North Pole, he'll find some one there as 
 speaks English. Be you an American?" 
 
 " Ko, mister," answered Peppe ; " my race took 
 its rise in the East. My history is a strange one, 
 and my fate a mystery ; but can I be of any service 
 to you ? You came, I suppose, to visit these ruins ?" 
 
 " That's just whereabouts it is ; we have come to 
 Rome to see the elephants ; can you tell us some- 
 thing about this brick-and-mortar pile ?" 
 
 Peppe intended to be truthful regarding the 
 monuments, but to put in some legends of his own 
 afterwards, so he began : 
 
 "This was built as a place for public games; it 
 covers four acres of ground. As you can see, there 
 were three walls built in almost a circular form, a 
 few feet apart. The space enclosed by this inside 
 one is about, as you see, two acres ; this was the 
 arena for the games. A few feet farther out arose 
 the second wall, which was built higher than the 
 inside one, and was connected with it by arches. 
 Tlie third wall was some distance outside of the 
 second, and rose higher than it, and was likewise 
 joined by arches to the second one. In this way 
 there was a long slope from the top of the outside 
 wall to the top of the inside one. On this slope 
 tiers of seats were ranged all around, one above the 
 other, and thus each person could see everything 
 that was going on below in the arena." 
 
 "It must have held a tarnation lot of people," 
 remarked Mi'. Drew. 
 
 a:? 
 
 
 c 
 
If' 
 
 144 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 I* 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 I 4'. 
 
 'i 
 
 i ^: 
 
 " Yes, about eiglity thousand," answered Peppe ; 
 " there was also a canal to the Tiber, and this field 
 could be turned into a lake." 
 
 "But how could such a lot of people ever get in 
 and out without tramping one another to death ?" 
 
 " Quite easily," said Peppe. " Look at all those 
 archways in each wall ; you could enter by any of 
 them, and wide flights of steps led jp to the 
 benches. There were more than a hundred ways 
 of entering." 
 
 "But is any of the wall standing to the full 
 height?" 
 
 " Yes, part of that outside wall is complete ; you 
 see the Popes have built a strong buttress of brick 
 to support that outside wall." 
 
 During this explanation, Mrs. Drew and her 
 daughters were attentive listeners. The frank bear- 
 ing and military uniform of Peppe made him at 
 once a favorite with the young ladies. Like many 
 of their sex when abroad, they saw a distinguished 
 foreigner in every smart-looking man ; and like their 
 sex, whether at home or abroad, they imagined that 
 every man who spoke and smiled in their presence 
 was seeking to win their affections. Pleasing delu- 
 sion of young girls! It fosters wonderfully their 
 self-esteem, and makes them see perpetually num- 
 berless enchained slaves lying at their feet. But, 
 like many a delusion of youth, it passes away with 
 increase of years, and too often " leaves them at eve 
 on the bleak shore alone." 
 
 " Oh, how I should love to mount up yonder, 
 where the sun is dancing on the grassy iniins ! It 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 145 
 
 would be like assisting at one of the ancient games. 
 Washy, can you find any way up?" 
 
 This speech of Miss Drew's, though ostensibly 
 addressed to her moping brother, was intended for 
 Peppe. With the native politeness of his race, he 
 answered : 
 
 " There is a way up, Signora. I will ask the cus- 
 todian to admit us all to the ascent, if you wish to 
 
 go." 
 Mr. Drew "opined it would be a pesky good 
 
 chance to git a view of the city." Washington 
 '' thought it would be jolly fine to smoke a cigar up 
 there," Mrs. Drew was " afraid, girls, lest it might 
 seem too vulgar to be going away up on them pagan 
 benches." To this half-hearted objection Miss 
 Drew put an end by saying, " Honey's sweet ki 
 mal e pence," a sentence which some readers may 
 not recognize as the well known royal motto, 
 " Honi soit que mal y pense," but then it must be 
 remembered boarding-school French is so awfully 
 polite. 
 
 Peppe then led the way up one of the old stone 
 stairs to the slope on which the seats for spectators 
 used to be arranged. In many places the arches 
 between the different walls are still solid, and, by 
 using a little caution, you can mount higher and 
 higher until you reach to the top of the outside 
 wall. It is when seated aloft on these crumbling 
 bricks and stone that one can form something like 
 an adequate idea oi the vastness of tliis amphi- 
 theatre. To a spectator seated on the highest row, 
 a lion bounding in the arena must have appeared 
 
 
■ 
 
 j|S! 
 
 ■B 
 
 f 
 
 (IdbK 
 
 A 
 
 Ugg 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 m^ 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 146 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 little larger than a spaniel, and a wiry athlete 
 scarce bigger than a boy of ten. 
 
 Nature everywhere teems with life. Even np in 
 the crevices between the stones weeds and plants 
 are growing in profusion. Were tlieir seeds brought 
 hither by birds? or were they wafted hither by the 
 breeze ? or were their constituent parts in the brick, 
 stone, and mortar, and brought into proper relation to 
 one another by the action of light, heat, and electricity 
 during past ages. There is here growing a beau- 
 teous little flower unknown in other parts. Botan- 
 ists call it the " Flower of the Coliseum." Peppe 
 gave his own version of the cause of its presence in 
 this place. He said : 
 
 "Egeria, the devotional nymph who is said to 
 have given directions concerning religious rites to 
 Numa Pompilius, was a lover of botany. Her 
 grotto, in which she gave law and religion to the 
 good old king, was filled with beautiful flowers. 
 She cultivated them with her own hand, and 
 watched their budding forth with loving tender- 
 ness. They spoke to her of the power and glory of 
 the Supreme Cause ; and she hoped to make their 
 mute language appeal to the hearts of all, and to 
 soften their fierceness. After the course of manv 
 centuries this ampliitheatre was built, and thousands 
 shed in its arena their blood for Christ. Egeria, 
 fearing that the march of events would trample 
 down her grotto and destroy her flowers, was sadly 
 troubled. Night after night she roamed around 
 her grotto singing a wild lament, and bewailing her 
 expected loss. Crossing over that place which is 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 147 
 
 now the Botanical Gardens, she wandered listlessly 
 around the Coliseum. Beneath one of its arches 
 sat tlie sprite who liad been the Genius of the place. 
 Slie too was pensive, but not sad. Addressing 
 Egeria she demanded the cause of her grief ; it was 
 soon told. For a moment the sprite of the Coli- 
 seum was silent ; then slie began : ' Egeria, our days 
 on earth are drawing to a close ; the faith revealed 
 by Christ will f.oon stamp out that reb'gion which 
 lias become fearfully degenerate since the days of 
 Numa. Every drop of Christian blood shed in yon 
 arena is a fruitful seed of life. The Coliseum will 
 stand as long as Rome stands, and Rome will stand 
 until the end of time. If, then, you wish your 
 flowers to survive and to speak of the Great Cause 
 of all, go bring hither a few seeds, and dip them in 
 the blood of that lovely young Agnes, which is yet 
 moist on the ground. Then scatter them in the 
 crevices of these stones, and fear not ; for the Flower 
 of the Coliseum, blending in one the natural beauty 
 of a plant and the symbol of Christian purity, will 
 speak to every generous heart for all time.' Egeria, 
 reassured by these words, ceased her lament, and, 
 having done as directed, died out of the world in a 
 gentle zephyr." 
 
 " Lor ! how pretty! " ejaculated simultaneously 
 both the 3'oung ladies. 
 
 "Wal, I declare," solemnly began Mr. Drew, 
 "that knocks spirit-rapping higher than a kite. 
 But what became of Egeria's shebang?" 
 
 Peppe was at a loss to understand what shebang 
 meant, and like many better scholars, not wishing 
 
 Bnsm 
 
 
148 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 HIH' 
 
 : 
 
 i''' 
 
 H 
 
 ■1 
 
 '1 
 
 
 il 
 
 1 
 
 j I;, 
 
 1, 
 
 ! i 
 
 to be thought ignorant, answered with a non-com- 
 mittal " I don't know." 
 
 "Perhaps it burst up," suggested Mr. Drew. 
 
 " Perhaps so," echoed Peppe. 
 
 " Or perhaps it was destroyed by the farmers," 
 continued the former. 
 
 " Quite likely," assented the latter. 
 
 Here botli paused and looked profoundly wise, as 
 people generally do when they imagine that they 
 have successfully disentangled the threads of some 
 complicated historical knot. 
 
 Miss Drew, who was fast receiving in her suscep- 
 tible heart shots from the bow of Cupid, each shaft 
 being winged with threads from Peppe's military 
 uniform, proposed to mount still higher, so as to be 
 able to overlook the broken wall. Now, taken by 
 itself this proposition was quite natural, and did 
 not necessarily include any idea of a matrimonial 
 project. It might easily appear the instinctive 
 longing of a youthful mind for adventure and fun. 
 But viewed in the light of Miss Drew's mellow 
 glances, and taken in conjunction with the fact that 
 it necessitated many gallant attentions on the part 
 of Peppe to conduct her safely over broken arches, 
 weed-tangled stairs, and crumbling masonry, a mis- 
 ogynist might argue that a deep scheme was art- 
 fully cloaked under an innocent proposition. Be 
 this as it may, they ascended higher, and Peppe 
 pointed out the triumphal arch of Constantino span- 
 ning the "Triumphal Way." He also called their 
 attention to the Arch of Titus, built after his victory 
 over Jerusalem. On the inside of this arch is sculp- 
 
THE DREW FA3ItLY IN ROME. 
 
 149 
 
 
 
 1 ;■: 
 
 tured a representation of the " seven-branch candle- 
 stick" that adorned the temple. These public mon- 
 uments serve a purpose unthought of by those wlio 
 raised them. They give testimony, in their own 
 silent way, in this sceptical age, to historic and 
 Biblical truth.' 
 
 When all had descended again into the arena, the 
 Drew family were desirous that Peppe should ac- 
 company them to other objects of interest or curi- 
 osity. Accordingly he took them to the ruins of 
 the Forum, and called their attention to the groups 
 of marble pillars standing in their ruined glory as 
 proudly erect as Columbus in his unmerited chains. 
 The treasures of art, both in sculpture and painting, 
 contained in the Museum of the Capitol, were next 
 visited, but Peppe himself was the only one of the 
 party who had taste enough to enjoy the visit. 
 Finding it tiresome to be pointing out masterpieces 
 of art to those who could only gape and yawn, 
 Peppe brought the party in presence of the busts 
 of Nero, Caligula, and other emperors of ancient 
 Rome. He told them whom they represented, and 
 said, " Ah ! so like them, so like them, the old ras- 
 cals." 
 
 " Does history or tradition say that these are 
 good likenesses ?" questioned Miss Drew. 
 
 " I do not know what history, or tradition, may 
 say on that point, Signora," said Peppe ; " but I 
 know from personal experience that they are faith- 
 ful representations of the originals." 
 
 " But you don't mean to soy you ever saw the 
 originals ?" persisted Miss Drew. 
 
 K 
 
 
 
I 
 
 ill 
 
 160 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 " I do, Signora," solemnly replied Peppe. 
 
 " Lawk bless me, Daniel I does the stranger mean 
 as what he lived with them old pagans?" 
 
 " I told yon," said Peppe, " that my history was 
 a strange one, and my fate a mystery. If you 
 should like to hear how I came to see the originals 
 of these busts, I will tell you. The story is not 
 long, and it is interesting." 
 
 All crowded around him in a listening attitude 
 when he began. 
 
 peppe's adventures with goblins. 
 
 "Some ten years ago, the brig Don Giovanni, 
 Antonio Tanburini commander, sailed down from 
 Rome to Ostia with a precious freight. I was on 
 board. The evening was clear and beautiful. We 
 skimmed gaily along the winding Tiber, now rising 
 almost to a level with the the surrounding country, 
 now sinking beneath a cliff-bound shore. By night 
 we neared a beetling rock, beneath which yawns a 
 gloomy cave. Far in a clammy recess of that cave, 
 borne thither by some ghostly Fury, rest the bodies 
 of many of Rome's Emperors. The shades of these 
 tyrants infest the stream by night, and, to wreak 
 vengeance on the sons of those over whom they 
 once tyrannized, raise storms by infernal art. Woe 
 to the 'nighted ship that meets these goblins on tlie 
 lonely waters! When we neared the cliff, we 
 turned our prow to the opposite shore, so as to give 
 the cave a wide berth. But all at once the moon 
 obscured; a whirlwind struck the sails; we were 
 
THE DREW FAMILY IN ROME. 
 
 161 
 
 careened over. The stream, that had been erst so 
 smooth, boiled in seething madness, and rising waves 
 swept furiously over the deck. Many a cheek was 
 blanched, and many a heart frozen with fear. A 
 horrid discord of demon yells smote on the appalled 
 ear, as if the earth were turned to one vast pande- 
 monium. With a crash and a swoop the masts fell 
 by the board ; the furious water rushed through the 
 gaping chinks ; no human skill could save our ship. 
 A hurried prayer to open the crystal gates of hea- 
 ven to the freed soul was breathed by all ; calling 
 thus on our God, the whirling water drew us 'neath 
 its foam. One lurid glare, sliot from a demon's 
 lantern, illumed the sinking ship and hapless crew. 
 Long did I battle for life, but at length grown 
 weak I would have sunk, but that mocking goblins 
 caught me up in a boat formed of four human 
 skulls, and bore me to the tyrants' cave. Here 
 feasting sat that monster Heliogabalus, who filled up 
 in four vears an asre of crimes. Here Nero and 
 Decius fed on the blood of martyred Christians; 
 here the ghastly shades of Caligula and Diocletian, 
 and a host of tyrant ghouls sat around the satanic 
 board. Words of mine would fail to unfold prop- 
 erly the devilish scenes of that night's revelry. I, 
 as beseemeth a stout soldier, was unappalled, and 
 after having quaffed a few draughts of the wine 
 forgot the shipwreck and the storm. But ere the 
 coming dawn had advanced its sparkling aureole 
 above the horizon, the maddened goblins stood 
 round me in a ring ; each shrivelled hand grasped a 
 flagon of witching wine. Thrice the reeling spec- 
 
 
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 I' 
 
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 1 
 
 ■,; ■ 
 
 1 
 
 
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 4! 
 
 
 1 
 
 .:. 
 
 162 
 
 AFTER WEARt tEARS. 
 
 lil 
 
 tres waved their goblets, and then screeching sang 
 this diabolical chorus : 
 
 • Drink to the soul of Peppe so brave, 
 Who trembled not in the tyrants' cave; 
 Drink to the hero in mortal form, 
 Who dared with ghosts to revel 'till morn; 
 Drink, ere cock-crow to hell drives us back; 
 Drinl<, ere we feel the torturing rack, — 
 Drink, drink, drink ! ' 
 
 Slowly 'mid a elond of sulphureous smoke the spec- 
 tres vanished. Methouglit I sank to sleep, while 
 gentle hands bore me from the haunted spot. I 
 woke surrounded by rude shepherds, who had found 
 me at the mouth of the cave, and had borne me to 
 a quiet hut." 
 
 The expressions of wonder, fear, admiration, and 
 various other emotions which followed the recital of 
 this adventure can only be equalled by a scene caused 
 by half a dozen young "ladies of fashiotJ," when 
 criticising the first appearance of a beauteous young 
 heiress. Miss Drew admired the noble courage 
 of Peppe. Miss Lucilla Drew thought it "awfully 
 romantic, and horridly exciting." Mrs. Drew 
 would like to take the serSB of Mrs. Flintwood, the 
 President of their Bible Society, on the matter, 
 before venturing an opinion. Washy wanted to 
 know if the " wine was doosed good," and if so, 
 " How the old plugs managed to get it ?" Mr. 
 Drew, being of a practical turn of mind, suggested 
 a visit to the spot as the preliminary to other in- 
 vestigations. Peppe rather dissented from this 
 
'••■^ 
 
 v.u 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 163 
 
 idea; he acted on the principle that ghost etoricB 
 are generally of the nature of frescos — they show 
 best at a distance. Fearing lest he might be pressed 
 for further particulars, he gracefully took his leave, 
 carrying away, quite unconsciously, the heart of 
 Miss Drew. 
 
 It being now late in the day, the Drew family 
 returned to their hotel, more than satisfied with 
 their first day of "lionizing" Eome. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 Bang! — bang! — bang! roared the cannon from 
 Castel San Angelo, shaking the grim old walls of 
 the fort, creating a series of concentric ripples in 
 the tawny waters of the Tiber, and re-echoing from 
 every lofty tower. Bang! — bang! — bang! they 
 roared again, and yet again, and the dark-blue 
 smoke curled slowly up from the brazen guns, leav- 
 ing a clear tranquillity behind, as if the spirit of 
 War had been borne from earth on the ascend- 
 ing cloud. Bang ! — bang ! — bang ! and now they 
 seemed to exult in their power, defying man, and 
 grandly booming out their hymn of praise to the 
 risen Saviour. 
 
 Hat-ta-rat-ta-rum-bum-bum, beat the drums from 
 a hundred quarters, calling the soldiers to hasten to 
 their posts. Rat-ta-rat-ta-rum-bum-bum, they joy- 
 
 
 ' il 
 
154 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 ill 
 
 
 W 
 
 •i 
 
 ft 
 
 ously sang, taking up the chorus of the cannons' 
 grand hymn to the risen Saviour. 
 
 Chmg, — clang, — chuig, burst from hundreds of 
 belfries, tilling the air with a soft metallic music 
 that made a tenor for the cannon and the drums. 
 Clang, — clang, — clang, they merrily chimed out in 
 harmony with the solemn and measured ding-dong 
 of the great bell of the Capitol. Clang, — clang, — 
 clang, — and now they peal faster, as if filled with a 
 greater joy as they continue alone the refrain of the 
 glad hymn to the risen Saviour. 
 
 Thus was ushered in the morn of Easter Sunday 
 in Rome. 
 
 Trumpets and cymbals, chord-instruments and 
 organs, war's cruel cannon and the bells of peace, 
 all, all were pressed into the service of the Lord. 
 King David's psalm became, as it were, an em- 
 bodied reality, and praised the Lord with a thousand 
 voices. No grim faces should appear on this day ; 
 hope and joy should light up every countenance. 
 Death has been swallowed up in victory ; the hand- 
 writing of death which was against us was affixed 
 to the cross by the Saviour and by Him blotted 
 out; and he who in Eden had triumphed through 
 a tree was vanquished through a tree on ^.u\ j 's 
 heiglits. 
 
 The Saviour has risen ; let the . tidings ^ 
 spread over the four corners of the t.^, ih; tlie stitig 
 of death has been plucked out ; the horr ;r of the 
 tomb has been dispelled. The mortal body may 
 indeed be consigned to its clammy recesses, but only 
 for a time ; out from its gloom will come forth, in 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 156 
 
 similitude to that of the Saviour's, the glorified 
 bodies of the just. 
 
 Let the cannon boom with notes of praise ; let 
 the drums beat with joyous accents ; let the bells 
 peal in glad refrain ! It is meet and just that it 
 should be so on such a day as this. It is meet and 
 just that Rome should assume her most festal dress, 
 and deck her thousand altars with their costliest 
 ornaments. It is meet and just that she be pre- 
 pared as a bride, for the Eternal Spouse of the 
 Church is to be hailed in His triumph. 
 
 To-day is a figure of that last awful moment, 
 when through the silent regions of the dead the 
 blast of the Angel's trumpet shall sound, and shall 
 summon each sleeper from his narrow bed. 
 
 The greasy dust and mouldering bones will obey 
 the call ; again will each one be clad with the veil 
 of the flesh, and be brought before the Judgment 
 Seat. Easter Sunday speaks to us of our own resur- 
 rection, while calling on us to rejoice at that of the 
 Saviour. It is a serious thought, that about the 
 resurrection : " We shall all indeed rise, but we shall 
 not all be changed " ; some shall rise " in glory" and 
 others " in ignominy." 
 
 Thus speaketh the Divine message. Ah, foolish 
 heart ! as thou hearest the glad chimes of the Easter 
 bells, recall tiiy wandering thoughts f"om vain and 
 sinful objects; disengage thy affections from the 
 perishable things of the world, and give at length 
 to God that love which He claims as His due. 
 Mayhap, when next these Easter bells peal forth, 
 wild-flowers will be blossoming over thy grave, and 
 
 
 
166 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 I 
 
 '5 
 
 sad friends may be fearing lest there be nought in 
 their sound which tells of hope for thee. Even as 
 these beautiful sounds are wafted joyously for a 
 time on the trembling air and then die out, so thou 
 art borne quickly along by the waves of time to in- 
 evitable death. 
 
 The cannon had been crashing, the drums re- 
 sounding, and the bells pealing for some time on 
 the morning of 21st April, 1867, before tlieir 
 mingled noise aroused a certain sleeper in the Hotel 
 d'Europe. When at length he awoke with a start, 
 he fancied that the city was assaulted by an enemy. 
 'Collecting his sleep-bedewed wits, he remembered 
 that it was Easter Sunday, and rightly guessed that 
 the noise was in honor of the dav. Ilavinor dressed 
 quickly, he threw open the window which looked 
 into the Piazza di Spagna, and sat listening to the 
 deep-toned voices of the inanimate things which 
 were singing the praises of the Lord. At first he 
 smiled almost contemptuously, but soon the in 
 fluence of the resounding atmosphere filled him with 
 a strange feeling of awe. If every creature and 
 thing be commanded to praise the Lord, why not 
 employ these cannon and drums and bells for that 
 purpose? Tiiis w;is the reflection that put to fligiit 
 his expression of scorn, and gave a thoughtful look 
 to his well-cut features. 
 
 George Marchbank, for this was the name of our 
 new friend, was a young man of prepossessing ap- 
 pearance, and, without being strictly handsome, was 
 most engaging. There was a pensive cast on his 
 well-detined face, and a dreamy light in his deep- 
 
EASTER StJNDAT. 
 
 167 
 
 blue eye, which proclaimed the artist. A short time 
 previously he had left his Canadian fatherland to 
 seek instruction and inspiration in the liome of the 
 arts, Rome. He had only arrived on the previous 
 evening, and now looked for the first time on the 
 city of his dreams by daylight. Brought up in the 
 Protestant persuasion, he was drawn to Rome as an 
 artist, not as a spiritual child. He cannot be said to 
 have any very definite ideas of religion ; like num- 
 bers outside of the Church, he was honest and 
 honorable in his actions, an agreeable companion 
 and a true friend ; but his notions of religion were 
 vague and contradictory. He believed in the 
 divinity of Christ and in the mission given to His 
 Apostles ; yet he remained separated from that 
 Church which has an unbroken succession from the 
 Apostles. Hearing in his youth much wild decla- 
 mation against the Catholic faith, he could not as 
 yet pierce the mist of prejudice which surrounded 
 him; and while he had many valued friends who 
 professed that faith, he did not seek to investigate 
 its chiims to his subjection. We who are brought 
 up in tiie truth, and who see so clearly the divine 
 origin of our Church and its prerogative of infalli- 
 bility, are unable to understand how persons like 
 George Marchbank remain away from us. Yet 
 there are many like him. To us it is so self-evident 
 that there can be but one true Church, and that that 
 one must have been the first one, and that the 
 Catholic Church was undoubtedly first, that we are 
 almost tempted to become severe in our strictures 
 on outsiders. In truth, the reasoning is evident, 
 
 I 
 
 §cnmm 
 
 

 168 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ! 
 
 and it clearly follows, that no matter how many 
 good principles may be retained in any particular 
 sect, each and every sect, by rejecting some one doc- 
 trine of the Church, is in error, and cut off from 
 the living vine. Thoughtlessness and the engross- 
 ing pleasures of life keep many a candid soul far 
 away from the saving truth. 
 
 As George Marchbank sat listening to the dying 
 echoes of the metal music, and seeing, on reflection, 
 how appropriate it was to honor God in this way, a 
 quick footstep was heard without his room. An- 
 swering to a slight knock, both his hands were 
 grasped by a handsome soldier ; for an instant he 
 imagined himself a prisoner, but a familiar voice 
 cried : " A thousand welcomes to Rome, George. 
 How are you ? Plow did you get along ? I just re- 
 ceived your note, and ran here to see you before the 
 ceremonies of the day begin. How well you look!" 
 
 "My dear Morgan," began Mr. Marchbank, "I 
 am so delighted to meet you. Where are you stay- 
 ing? How do you like Rome ? Are you an officer 
 yet?" 
 
 " Oh, I am so glad, George, that you arrived in 
 time for the feast of to-day ! Wlien did you leave 
 Montreal? How were all old friends?" 
 
 " Well, well, but it is a good augury to meet your 
 friendly face the first this morning. I was looking 
 forward to this meeting during the whole voyage." 
 
 Now it may be safely asserted that history con- 
 tains no example of two friends speaking rationally 
 for the first five minutes when meeting after a long 
 separation, or in a foreign coantry. Distance takes 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 169 
 
 the place of length of time. The meeting between 
 a man who has been three months in Rome and his 
 friends in Canada is more enthusiastic than if he had 
 been three years in New York. It was not many 
 months since George Marchbank had said good-bye 
 to Morgan Leahy, when the latter was starting for 
 Rome ; yet now, so great was their mutual pleasure 
 that they poured out question on question, and 
 added exclamation to exclamation, for full live min- 
 utes, without well knowing what they were saying. 
 After they had recovered their usual quiet, Morgan 
 said: 
 
 " So you have acted on my advice, and come to 
 the home of the fine arts. I am glad of it, for now 
 Montreal will have a painter capable of transferring 
 to canvas the glories of our young Dominion. 
 Your first great work must be Canada, personified 
 as a noble matron surrounded by seven lovely chil- 
 dren ; for in a few years all the British Provinces 
 will be united as one Dominion. Each child will 
 have to express in appearance and dress the charac- 
 teristics of one of the Provinces. You must make 
 the one representing Fiince Edward Island the fair- 
 est and most smiling. Throw over its expression a 
 glow of that quiet loveliness which we admired to- 
 getlier when gazing on the calm beauty of New 
 Glasgow and Rustico from the top of the hill near 
 Millvale. My word for it, George, but your work 
 will bring renown." 
 
 " As enthusiastic as ever," laughed George, " about 
 my poor powers. I am only, as yet at least, an art- 
 ist in desire, and you sketch out for me a work 
 
 

 ¥'^ 
 
 160 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS* 
 
 t^i 
 
 i^B/Vi, 
 
 Mi 
 
 
 which would require an artist of the first order. 
 The idea you suggest is certainly a grand one, and 
 I hope some painter of note may embody it on an 
 undying canvas. I agree with you that Prince Ed- 
 ward Island should be the sweetest child of the 
 family. The calm, dreamy beauty of the valley of 
 the Clyde, of Rustico, Wheatly River, and of many 
 other parts of that fair island, is rarely surpassed. 
 Its summer months are so pleasantly fresh and 
 genial that I wonder it is not frequented more by 
 tourists. But of yourself, Morgan ; how do you 
 like your soldier's life ? I thought you were too 
 pious to be a warrior." 
 
 " The most pious man may well be a warrior in a 
 holy cause. I like my life because I am in a posi- 
 tion to do some service for my religion. Were the 
 territory of the Pope not in danger, I would not 
 continue in my present mode of life ; but so long 
 as my arm can help to defend his sacred rights by 
 being here, so long will I remain." 
 
 "Just like your noble self, Morgan. Believe 
 me, I admire your heroism and devotion, although 
 I do not exactly see the necessity of a Pontifical 
 army. Why caimot the Pope quietly resign his 
 temporal power and attend to the spiritual ?" 
 
 *' Why should he do this ? His title to his States 
 is most legitimate, his government most beneficent. 
 Moreover, to be fully free in the exercise of his 
 spiritual government of the world, he must be inde- 
 pendent of every king. Again, if he had never had 
 his kingdom, where would the arts and sciences have 
 found a home during the dreary struggle of Europe 
 
fiASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 161 
 
 for existence against the barbarians of the North ? 
 And if he were to lose it now, liow long would this 
 city continue to attract such as you ?" 
 
 " I own, my dear Morgan, that I am not well 
 versed in these matters ; let them rest for the pres- 
 ent. I am now enjoying the hospitality of Kome, 
 and it would be most ungracious of me to say aught 
 against it. But what a grand morning hymn the 
 bells, drums, and cannon sang to the risen Saviour! 
 At first I was, I am ashamed to confess, inclined to 
 ridicule the idea ; but something in the atmosphere, 
 M'liich was filled with music, brought my mind into 
 harmony with Rome on this subject." 
 
 "You will find," said Morgan gravely, " that a 
 little reflection will bring your mind into harmony 
 with Rome on more sul)jects than this. When you 
 observe some of her customs which you do uot un- 
 derstand, and at which you may be inclined to laugh, 
 in all fairness find out, before passing sentence, what 
 tliey mean and why they are observed. Then re- 
 member that the Romans are not Canadians, and 
 consequently are not to be judged by Canadian 
 standards. If you do this you will arrive at a ra- 
 tional knowledire of our religion and ceremonies. 
 You have already told me that my family were 
 well, but did not Eleanor send me any message?" 
 
 It might have been only the reflection of the red 
 curtain, or it might have been fanc}', but it appeared 
 to Morgan that George Marchbank's face was slightly 
 flushed as he replied : 
 
 " Eleanor sent no message ; in fact, when I called 
 to say good-bye I just spoke to her for a moment. 
 
 m 
 
 If"* 
 
162 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i 
 
 r 
 
 She handed me the letter I sent you this morning 
 along with my note, and that was all." 
 
 Morgan was slightly puzzled. He knew Eleanor's 
 fond love for himself, ai)d the friendship which she, 
 in common with all the family, had for George. It 
 was strange that she had not sent some additional 
 message of love, which repeated by word of mouth 
 would seem more vivid and real than the strongest 
 expressions on paper. Had he known, however, 
 that on the evening previous to his departure 
 George Marchbank had, when walking with Elea- 
 nor near the majestic St. Lawrence, asked her to be 
 his wife, and that she, with real pain, refused to con- 
 sent, his perplexity would disappear. But tliis lie 
 did not know, and this George did not tell him. 
 The young artist had long loved Eleanor, and she 
 had always respected him for his manly qualities. 
 She had even, in the unconsciousness of her heart, 
 loved him, and when he asked hei' to be his wife slic 
 was both pleased and pained. Few young women 
 are displeased at having won the esteem of a worthy 
 man, but a true woman is likewise pained when she 
 finds herself compelled to reject his preferred love. 
 This was Eleanor's case. She knew the many noble 
 attributes of George Marchbank, but two consider- 
 ations forbade her to become his wife. She had 
 promised Mrs. Barton not to plight her troth yet ; 
 but this would only keep her back a short time. 
 But the other consideration was of the highest im- 
 portance ; there was a difference of religious belief. 
 Eleanor well knew that real love requires unanimity 
 of sentiment, a mutual sympathy of views, and, 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 163 
 
 above all, the sacred bond of a true and living laith 
 between man and wife. Mixed marriages, no mat- 
 ter how pleasing the qualities of the parties, must 
 always lack a nmtual sympathy in the higliest and 
 holiest concerns of life. At first, while sentimental 
 love lasts, this want will not be so much noticed ; bat 
 when these days are past, and they pass quickly, if 
 there be not a mutual sympathy in reason and relig- 
 ion, an intellectunl and a social level, love will die out, 
 and cold indifference or actual dislike will succeed. 
 Unlike many foolish young girls who allow their sen- 
 timent to lead their judgment, Eleanor guided her 
 conduct by religious duty. Kindly, and with honest 
 tears, she refused George Marchbank's love, thanking 
 him for his good opinion and telling him candidly 
 her reasons. 
 
 ''I am not free to promise," she said ; "and if I 
 were — although, as you know, I esteem you highly — 
 I do not love you except as a dear friend. More- 
 over, our difference of religious belief would forbid 
 our union." 
 
 '* But, Eleanor," pleaded George, " I would never 
 seek to interfere with your religious observances; 
 as my wife you would be as free to practise them as 
 you are under your father's roof. Surely you do 
 not doubt that." 
 
 '' Indeed I do not doubt it, Mr. Marchbank ; but 
 think what a cold, unsympathetic gulf would ever 
 yawn between us! In the one great affair of life 
 we would have nothing in common ; we could 
 assist each other in temporal matters, but in spirit- 
 ual ones where would be our bond of union? 
 
 
164 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Do not, I pray, cause further pain to yourself and 
 
 i, , 
 
 'm 
 
 \ n 
 
 , i ■ 
 
 1 ii 
 
 me 
 
 >j 
 
 George Marchbank was confounded. In his own 
 easy way he had thought little about religion; 
 but now, hearing those earnest words from one 
 whom he loved, he felt, rather than understood, 
 their truth. He reflected a moment and then 
 said : 
 
 " If anything could add to my esteem for you, 
 Eleanor, it would be these honest words you have 
 just spoken. I am not, alas! a religions man, but I 
 can respect and admire your faith. Yes, it is quite 
 clear now : if you were false to your duty towards 
 God you would lose, as my wife, that which I have 
 always admired in you — your noble integrity of pur- 
 pose. My dream, for the present at least, is over; 
 henceforth I will give myself to my art; it will be 
 the onlv bride I'll seek to win." 
 
 This conversation passed on the banks of the St. 
 Lawrence on the night before Geoi-ge's departure. 
 He called next day to say good-bye to Eleanor and 
 her parents. Although he and she had parted the 
 best of friends, a mutual reserve or shyness had suc- 
 ceeded to the candid avowal which each had made 
 to tlie other. When the laying bare of the heart 
 has caused pain instead of pleasure, an instinctive 
 shrinking is the result. Hence no message had been 
 sent to Morgan. 
 
 After some further remarks between Morgan and 
 George the former rose to depart, saying : 
 
 " I must take part in the military display in the 
 Square of St. Peter's this forenoon. After dinner I 
 
^m^^B 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 166 
 
 shall be free, and I will call on you. Of course you 
 will go to witness tlie blessing from the Loggia?" 
 
 " Oil, yes !" replied George ; " I have read so 
 much about the Pope giving his blessing on Easter 
 that I shall see it for myself. I will return directly 
 it is over, and await your arrival." 
 
 With a hearty hand-shake the friends separated. 
 Morgan walked quickly back to Castel San Angelo, 
 whore all was bustle and excitement. George, left 
 to himself, resumed his seat by the window, and 
 spoke half-aloud : 
 
 " What magic is there in Home that attracts such 
 noble spirits as Morgan, and makes them so enthusi- 
 astic in her cause? lie would joyfully die fighting 
 on the walls of Itome, and I believe Eleanor, despite 
 her great love for him, would not murmur at his 
 fate. What is the secret of Home's power over 
 generous hearts?" 
 
 He mused long over his question, but could ar- 
 rive at no satisfactory conclusion. There are many 
 who ask themselves the same question and remain 
 unanswered. They do not know what it is to be 
 animated by a living faith; they cannot fathom the 
 depths of God's grace in a soul that is illuminated 
 by true religion, and that endeavors to act according 
 to its teach in ojs. Those outside the Church cannot 
 understand the calm certainty regarding religious 
 truths enjoyed by Catholics. Hence they wonder 
 at our positiveness, or they grow angry at our stead- 
 fastness. The secret of Rome's influence does not. 
 and cannot, arise from anything human ; it would 
 be a childish weakness to ascribe the enthusiasm of 
 
 
 
166 
 
 AFTER WEART TEARS. 
 
 . V" ^ 
 
 .. 
 
 the great souls of St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, St. 
 Jerome, St. Thomas, or that of the hosts of pilgrims 
 in our own day, to any liuman motive. The magic 
 of Rome lies in the supernatural faith of which she 
 is the visible head and guardian. Perhaps George 
 Marchbank may one day learn this. 
 
 But now the streets were alive and noisy. Cab- 
 men rushed furiously along at a pace which seemed 
 inconsistent with the holding together of the fraine- 
 work of their emaciated nags. Staid old gentlemen, 
 guiding despondent curs, wormed slowly their dan- 
 gerous way between cab-wheels, curbstones, and 
 oxen's horns. Sturdy peasant women, ari'ayed in 
 parti-colored dresses, and with squares of cloth of 
 bright hues fastened to tl>eir knotted hair by means 
 of steel bars, terminated in gilt knobs, strutted along, 
 endangering the eyes of shuffling pedestrians with 
 those formidable hair-pins. These gilt-capped bars 
 of steel are at once an adornment of the head and a 
 weapon of defence, in case of need. In the hands 
 of an enraged virago one of these hair-pins would 
 be equal to any stiletto. The hum of many voices 
 arose from the square in front of the hotel in which 
 George Marchbank sat, and he was surprised to hear 
 nearly every one speaking English. He did not 
 know, at that time, that the vicinitj' of Piazza di 
 Spagna is the "English quarter," as the Komans 
 term it. During the winter months thousands of 
 Englishmen visit Rome, and they generally reside 
 near this square. 
 
 After the usual Roman breakfast of a cup of cof- 
 fee and a light roll, George Marchbank sallied forth 
 
iPm 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 167 
 
 to mingle with the moving throng. He had no 
 need to inquire liis way to St. Peter's ; he was sure 
 that tlie steady tide of human beings was setting in 
 towards that spot. Floating, as it were, with the 
 current he was carried down the Via dei Condotti, 
 across the Corso, past the ancient " Albergo dell' 
 Orso," the theatre and down to the bridge of San 
 Atigelo. At the corner of every intersecting street 
 fresh tributary streams of carriages and persons 
 afoot swelled the main one, and ere he had reached 
 tlie bridge it was impossible to turn right or left; 
 he could only helplessly float on, and slowly too. 
 Dragoons kept order at the approach to the bridge, 
 and here one's patience is put to a sore test. Any 
 one who may ever be in similar straits will find that 
 the least troublesome, most philosophic, and proba- 
 bly the quickest means of passing over is to keep 
 one's face turned in the direction of the crossing, 
 and with a sublime disregard of a battered hat, a 
 crushed dress, and a torn train, to employ all one's 
 strength in keeping an upright position and a cool 
 temper, and one will find orie's-self across without 
 well knowing how it came to pass. There are some 
 ill-regulated minds that torture themselves griev- 
 ously when crossing this bridge on Esister Sunday. 
 Seeing a momentary gap in the carriage-way they 
 will make a dash to occupy it; but a prancing span 
 just then turns the corner, a shout is heard from the 
 coachman, the warm breath of the foaming steeds 
 is felt on their faces ; nothing but ignoble retreat 
 remains. Others again, wishing to save their dresses, 
 or fearing to come in contact with plebeians, daintily 
 
 c:: 
 
168 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 I 
 
 $1 
 I" 
 
 gather up their skirts and stand against the parapet 
 of the bridge " to let the crowd pass." But unemo- 
 tional police officers tell them to " move on," for no 
 one on such a day is allowed to stand on the sidewalk 
 of the biidge ; on they must go, and the chances are 
 a thousand to one that they will lose their tern per 
 and inwardly curse the police for doing their duty. 
 George Marclibank acted on the philosophic prin- 
 ciple, and was carried safely across and up the street 
 into the Square of St. Peter's. Here the immense 
 crowd spread itself out over this vast area, and sub- 
 sided into a peaceful calm, not unlike the St. Law- 
 rence when it v.idens out into a smiling bay after 
 liaving foamed through a narrow pass. Here each 
 one inhaled a long and placid breath, and with a 
 self-satisfied smile looked beamingly back at the 
 crush in the narrow defile through which they had 
 passed. Within the mighty church a dense mass 
 filled every available nook. The devout worshipper, 
 the scoffing unbeliever, the respectable sight-seer 
 were all huddled together, and all anxiously await- 
 ing the arrival of the Pope. At the side altars 
 priests were saying mass, and bowed heads and 
 kneeling forms attested that very many were offer- 
 ing up their prayers to the Godhead's throne. The 
 solemn gloom of the great basilica was relieved by 
 thousands of waxen candles, glowing like distant 
 stars in chandeliers suspended a hundred feet from 
 the floor. Beneath each lofty arch, around the 
 Corinthian capital of each pilaster, along the archi- 
 traves, and dangling from the groined ceiling, 
 burned myriad lights that flashed on the costly 
 
EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 169 
 
 marbles, the delicate mosaic altar-pieces, and the 
 majestic statues of the saints. The grand monu- 
 ments of the Popes glowed in the unusual light, 
 and lost in their brilliant transformation that awe- 
 inspiring feeling which ever hovers around a tomb. 
 Fur up from the door, nearly four hundred feet dis- 
 tant, the majestic high altar stood in simple and im- 
 posing grandeur. The church is built in the shape 
 of a Latin cross, and the Jiltar stands in the centre 
 of the intersecting arms. Beneath it is the crypt 
 containing the bones of Sts. Peter and Paul, reached 
 from the floor of the church by a double flight of 
 marble steps ; above it rises that vast and wondrous 
 dome " to which Diana's marvel was a cell." From 
 four colossal arches which span the width of the inter- 
 secting arms of the cross-formed church, at a height 
 of more than one hundred feet from the ground, 
 begins this mighty dome. At its base it is one hun- 
 dred and fifty feet in circumference, and then rises 
 gradually tapering up for three liundred feet, being 
 thus over four hundred feet high. The ball and 
 cross which surmount this incarnation of architec- 
 tural skill make the whole height four hundred and 
 thirty-seven feet. The inside of the dome, above 
 the high altar, is beautifully decorated, and the vault 
 is covered with mosaics. Far up, at the very crown 
 of the dome, — so far that the eye can scarce distin- 
 guish anything, — a representation of the Eternal 
 Father looks lovingly down on this, the grandest 
 temple ever raised to His glory. A superb canopy 
 of bronze, richly engraved with various designs, and 
 tastefully relieved with streaks of gold supported 
 8 
 
 
170 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 
 i 
 
 ' 
 
 i 
 
 on four huge twisted columns of gilt bronze over 
 seventy feet high, forms a magnificent snield above 
 the altar. In the extreme end of the church, be- 
 neath an oriel window of glory, the chair of St- 
 Peter, enclosed in a precious case, is supported by 
 four colossal statues of four great doctors of the 
 Church, viz. : Saints Augustine and Jerome, Atlia- 
 nasius and Chrysostoni. Around the high altar 
 ninety-nine gilt lamps burn night and day ; on this 
 day thousands of other lights are added, creating an 
 effect of lip'^iC and beauty and illuminating a rich- 
 ness of artistic decoration such as could be seen only 
 in St. Peter's. 
 
 George Marchbank was bewildered: he had read 
 of fairy scenes, but here was one richer far than 
 ever the imagination of a romancer could invent; 
 only a deep devotional faith could have ever pro- 
 duced this overpowering combination of strength, 
 grandeur, beauty, and symmetry. No right-minded 
 man could enter St. Peter's without feeling nearer 
 to heaven, and without thinking that he was in the 
 vestibule of the celestial Jerusalem. An unaccus- 
 tomed calm soothed the jaded feelings of young- 
 Marchbank ; an unusual light shone on his soul, and 
 his heart was borne gently heavenward as he gazed 
 around with reverential awe. 
 
 At ten o'clock the Pope began mass ; silence 
 reigned through the vast church. At the consecra- 
 tion a burst of silvery music, far up in the dome, 
 seemed like the grand chorus of ministering angels 
 singing the praises of their Lord. The effect of 
 this outburst of silver trumpets and sweet voices on 
 
;:;( 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 171 
 
 tliose below is simply overpowering. All grosser 
 thoughts of earth are put to iiight ; the rage of the 
 would-be murderer is appeased ; envy vanishes like 
 tlie liideous phantom of a dream on awaking; the 
 tlioiiglitless scoffer feels a thrill of awe ; and even 
 the doomed reprobate thinks of God for a moment. 
 On the generous soul of George Marchbank the 
 elTect was deep and strong. In one swift panoramic 
 glance he viewed his past life, and saw how much 
 it was out of keeping with God's commands ; he 
 swept the horizon of the future, and felt how little 
 would riches, fame, and glory avail him, if at death 
 liis soul would not be met by rejoicing angels com- 
 ing to bid him welcome to the Feast of the Lamb. 
 In the subdued glory of light, away up by the oriel 
 window, he saw, or fancied he saw, the figun; of 
 Iillcanor transformed and purely glowing, beckoning 
 liini out from the darkness in which he seemed to 
 be immersed. A great, still soul-cry of anguish 
 went up from his heart ; the light was all about 
 him, but not in him : he saw it shining out from 
 the face of a rude peasant by his side, and sparkling 
 in the eye of a kneeling beggar close at hand, but 
 he was immersed in gloom. " Show me the way in 
 which I should walk — show me the way in which I 
 should walk," was all the prayer his lips could form, 
 and from liis inmost soul he repeated it again and 
 yet again. 
 
 Slowly the lingering echoes of the silvery music 
 rec(3ded : fainter and fainter they grew as the Avaves 
 of sound ebbed gently upward, until they seemed 
 to die in a gentle murmur, up by the image of the 
 
 
172 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 Eternal Father in the crown of tlie dome. The 
 mass was finished, and the crowd began to pour out 
 of the church. 
 
 The solemn benediction of the city and the world 
 was yet to be given by the Pope. This is done 
 from a balcony over the main door of the vestibule ; 
 beneath, the gatliered faithful fill up the vast square. 
 Wlien George Marchbank got out of the churcli. 
 his artistic soul could take in and enjoy the impos- 
 ing spectacle presented to view. The majestic fa- 
 cade of the church, its giant pillars and noble en- 
 tablatures'; its crest of marble statues, and the 
 graceful dome springing lieavenward behind them, 
 formed a magnificent background. The semicircu- 
 lar coloimades, which start from each corner of the 
 fagade and run half-way round the square, are a tit- 
 ting approach to the noble temple. Each colonnade 
 has four rows of huge pillars, each row numbering 
 about a hundred ; these support an entablature 
 <. rowned with marble statues. An immense Egyp- 
 tian obelisk, over ninety feet high, stands in the 
 centre of the square on a grand pedestal of mar))le. 
 At corresponding distances on each side of this 
 obelisk, magnificent fountains send up with almost 
 a roar a jet of water to the height of seventy feet. 
 Gradually divided and weakened by tlie resistance 
 of the air, the jet bends gracefully back to earth in 
 a crystal shower, in which rainbows sport at every 
 glance of a sunbeam.. Half-way up the lofty flight 
 of steps, marble statues of Saints Peter and Paul, 
 one on each side, guard the entrance to the sacred 
 precincts. 
 
'"*«■ ■ 
 
 EASTER SUNDAY. 
 
 173 
 
 Packed in this square, close by the towering 
 obelisk and under the mist from the fountains, on 
 the steps and far away to the farthest ends of the 
 square, aloft on the roof of the colonnades, and on 
 distant house-tops, more than 100,000 persons were 
 waiting. Military, horse, foot, and artillery, were 
 drawn out in order ; strange costumes met the eye 
 at every glance ; strange tongues fell on the ear 
 from every side. It was a miniature of the Day of 
 Tiidgment, for every nation, and tribe, and state of 
 life were represented. But amidst the hum of 
 voices and the uneasy swaying of this nndtitude, 
 every eye was continually turning to one spot — to 
 f; the balcony over the main door of the vestibule. 
 And why ? Was some gorgeous pageant to be there 
 presented to view? or was a glimpse of i^ spirit 
 world to be vouchsafed to mortals ? Protestant as 
 well as Catholic, Jew, Infidel, and Turk anxiously 
 gazed towards the same point. And still only a 
 weak old man was expected to appear. Again 
 might George Marchbank ask himself the question, 
 "What is the secret of Rome's influence,'' and 
 the answer would be the same — because the Pope is 
 Vicar of Christ, visible head of Ilis Church, foun- 
 tain and centre of unity. It was not merely an old 
 man verging on eighty that they were awaiting, it 
 was a Priest and King, the successor of St. Peter, 
 and the inheritor of his power and dignity. Could 
 aught else explain this scene ? 
 
 Soon the approach of the Pope was perceived ; 
 instantaneously every head was uncovered, every 
 sound hushed. The gentle plashings of the foun- 
 
 
 n'..1^ 
 
 
174 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 tains alone broke the absolute silence. Borne aloft 
 on liis " Sedia Gestatoria " the Pope readied tlie 
 balcony. In a clear, ringing voice he read some 
 prayers, and then stood up. He was arrayed in full 
 pontificals, and wore the tiara. Stretching out his 
 liands in tlie form of a cross, he began the solemn 
 words of the Benediction. A thrill passed through 
 every frame, and every knee instinctively bent. 
 Nothing but Moses on the mountain, praying for 
 his battling people, could be compared to the 
 sublime sight of Pius IX. blessing the Avorld. 
 George Marchbank felt this, and began to partly 
 understand the " secret of Pome's influence." As 
 the Pope brought his outsti etched hands together, 
 and tlien made the sign of the cross over the kneel- 
 ing multitude, the spell of silence was ])roken, and 
 pent-up feelings found a voice. Cannons boomed 
 from San Angelo ; drums beat in the square; bells 
 pealed from every turret. Bnt higher tlian cannons, 
 drums, or bells, and sweeter to the ear, arose the 
 wild huzzas of tlie gathered tliousands. The Israel- 
 ites did not greet their great leader, Moses, after 
 the battle gained through his prayers, witli half the 
 warmth of^loving affection with which Catholics of 
 every clime hailed Pius IX., as he retired, with 
 shouts of " Long live Pius IX., Pope and King." 
 
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 Peacefully ran the St. Lawrence this warm June 
 mornino;; gaylj sanp^ the birds in the groves along 
 its banks ; l)rigljt shone the sun on trenibb'ng leaves 
 and i»:rass-covered knolls, and the dark-screen blades 
 of the rich-growing wheat crop. The chill grasp of 
 winter had been loosened weeks ago ; the icy fetters, 
 against which the noble river had chafed in vain, 
 had melted with the advance of spring, and once 
 more the smiJins: waters of the 8t. Lawrence bore 
 proudly on their tide the growing commerce of the 
 young Dominion. Down the mighty river it lioated 
 this clear June day, down to tlie distant Atlantic, 
 thence to be wafted to various climes. Far off, the 
 slu'ill screech of snorting eno-ines started the echoes 
 in many a mountain dell ; repeated from hill, and 
 rock, and giant oak, it struck against the cliffs of the 
 St. Lawrence, and joined the chorus of deep-toned 
 wliistles given forth by the pufling steamers. To- 
 gether they careered wildly down the banks of the 
 river, leaping from crag to promontory, clearing the 
 gorges and ravines, and gleefully exulting in the 
 signs of prosperity shown by our fair Dominion. 
 
 Brightly the sun shone down on many a beauteous 
 object in the shining river, on its herby banks, and 
 in the leafy hoult; but on no fairer sight did its 
 genial rays fall than on Eleanor Leahy as she sat on 
 
 
■ 
 
 ■( 
 
 I i 
 
 I 
 
 176 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 the spot where first we beheld her and Morgan. 
 There are many natural beauties which charm the 
 eye and appeal to our sensibility : the moonlight 
 ehimmering on a well-trimmed lawn ; a broken land- 
 scape exhibiting every variety of light and shade ; a 
 gently rippling stream, or a moss-covered dale — eacli 
 has its charms and its ennobling effect. But in 
 visible creation there is no sight so fair to the eye as 
 the speaking lineaments of a noble countenance. In 
 them are blended the chastened beams of the moon, 
 every light and shade of smiling landscape, every 
 playful wake of the running waters, and the quiet 
 repose of the mossy dell ; and, more than this, each 
 one of these charms is actuated and illumed with the 
 sparkling light of intelligence. Yes ; the face of a 
 noble person is the embodiment of all natural 
 beauty. 
 
 As Eleanor sat partly shaded by a leafy beech- 
 tree, her expressive features underwent a variety of 
 change. She was reading a letter from Morgan, in 
 which he gave an animated description of the Easter 
 festivities in Rome. He spoke of George March- 
 bank, and expressed his delight at meeting him so 
 far away from home. Of his chosen companion, 
 Lorenzo, he had spoken in other letters and now en- 
 larged again on his many noble qualities. In fact, 
 through the letters of Morgan to Eleanor, and his 
 conversations with Lorenzo, the two latter were 
 almost intimately acquainted. Now any one knows 
 that under such circumstances it was quite natural 
 for each of tliese to take an interest in the other, and 
 to form an idea of each other. Eleanor half wished 
 
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 177 
 
 that Lorenzo might bear a resemblance to the bright- 
 faced, dreamy-eyed boy whose picture hung between 
 her own and Morgan's, in Mrs. Barton's quiet home. 
 She fancied what Denis Barton would now be, had 
 he lived, and she wished and thought that Lorenzo 
 was like him. On the other hand, as Lorenzo ex- 
 imined the likeness of the golden-haired child given 
 ..im by his father, he amused his lively imagination 
 by discovering traces of resemblance between it and 
 what he imagined, from Morgan's conversations, 
 Eleanor must be. Often, too, he thought of his 
 mother, vainly endeavoring to recall her features ; 
 his heart went out in a gush of tenderness towards 
 her as he pictured himself sitting on her knee, and 
 anmsing, while he worried her, with his childish 
 prattle. 
 
 After Eleanor had read and re-read Morgan's let- 
 ter she came thoughtfully down the hillside and 
 walked towards the cottage of Mrs. Barton. On en- 
 tering she noticed an excited look on the usually sad 
 and pensive countenance of her elderly friend. 
 
 "I have just received a long letter from Morgan, 
 and he sends, as usual, many kind remembrances to 
 you. If you are at leisure I will read it to you. 
 But has anything happened, Mrs. Barton ? You do 
 not look quite yourself." 
 
 "Nothing to be alarmed about, my dear child,'' 
 answered the good woman in her usual tone of quiet 
 affection. " I was thinking about you, and many 
 things just now. I am growing old, and my heart 
 is sometimes anxious — anxious to see you here as 
 mistress of this old home. But I trust in God, and 
 8* 
 
 
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 178 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
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 m1 
 
 
 
 
 reconcile myself to His will, feeling sure that it will 
 one day coine to pass." 
 
 "Ah, dear mother!" said the affectionate girl, 
 using that term of endearment as she always did 
 when Mrs. Barton spoke of her lost boy. " Ah, dear 
 mother, who can tell ? Try to think less on this 
 subject ; if ever it is to happen it will not be brought 
 about more quickly by this anxious thought of yours, 
 and you will be happier yourself." 
 
 " Not at all, my child ; you are very much mis- 
 taken. Tleniember that by God's grace I have long 
 years ago bowed to his adorable will [she might have 
 said from the first]. My grief is not bitter, the cup 
 was mercifully sweetened. I have also, as you well 
 know, a firm belief that my boy still lives. This 
 being the case, next to the pleasure of actually see- 
 ing him here, with you as his wife, is that of pictur- 
 ing it in my mind. Believe me, the artist enjoys a 
 real and consoling joy in contemplating the idenl of 
 liis future work ; it is not equal in intensity to the 
 thrill he experiences when viewing his finished 
 piece ; yet it is real, and nerves him on to his task 
 when difficulties beset his path. The well-regulated 
 mind, even if shut out from all human society, can 
 still enjoy itself with bright imaginings of what yet 
 may be." 
 
 "It seems to me, Mrs. Barton, that you have 
 studied the human mind deeply ; what you say 
 startles me at first, but I always find that your ex- 
 planation makes everything clear. Yes ; I see now 
 that a mind duly subject to God may think with 
 pleasure on what would be a matter of pain to the 
 
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 179 
 
 irreligious. Bnt, at least, your thinking of it will 
 not bring it about any sooner/' 
 
 " I would not have you be too sure of tliat, either, 
 dear Eleanor. In the first place, by frequently think- 
 ing on it, I frequently pray God to hasten, if it be 
 his will, the desired consummation. Again — possi- 
 bly I shall startle you," she said with a sweetly sad 
 smile, " but I am not superstitious; neither would 
 I wish to hold any theory that might be wrong — 
 may not one mind act in some mysterious way on 
 another during life ? If the grosser forces of mat- 
 ter can act on one another, may not the subtle spirit 
 forces do as much, though in a modified manner? 
 To me it seems that they can ; if then my darling 
 boy be alive, the longing thoughts, the intense yearn- 
 ings of a mother's soul may awaken a responsive 
 chord in his, and arouse him to think of and in- 
 quire about the mother whom, perhaps, he might 
 otherwise cease to remember." 
 
 " I am not," said Eleanor with a smile, " sufficiently 
 clear on the point either to agree with or to contra- 
 dict your opinion. Your strong mind and long 
 habits of reflection cavise you to see these things 
 more clearly, perhaps." 
 
 " A mother's heart, Eleanor, catches, perhaps, at 
 vain theories ; still this does not appear wild or im- 
 probable. Our soul is an image, a faint one indeed, 
 of the Infinite ; lie can act on our minds ; perchance 
 tlie faint image may be able to exercise a faint action 
 on its fellows. But let me hear Morgan's letter." 
 
 Eleanor read aloud the epistle. Mrs. Barton was 
 delighted at the account of the Easter celebration ; 
 
 
180 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i':Wi' 
 
 i 
 
 ^'.■. 2 
 
 she too, like Eleanor, was interested in Morgan's 
 companion Lorenzo. 
 
 " What a blessing it is for him, Eleanor, to have 
 met with such an agreeable companion ! A true 
 friend is a veritable treasure. I can well imagine 
 that under few circumstances can the value of a 
 friend be so truly gauged, as when one is in a for- 
 eign land. Morgan's strong sense of right and duty 
 would be a good safeguard against evil ; but even 
 the best may gain in virtue by association with 
 a virtuous friend. The mutual play of mind on 
 mind in their conversations tends to strengthen 
 their purpose ; and the incentive of good example 
 is continually before the eye. None can tell how 
 far out into the world, or how far down the path- 
 way of time, the influence of a good man may ex- 
 tend. His very presence is a sermon in itself ; and 
 the unconscious glimpses of his inner virtue which 
 he affords by casual remarks are potent incentives 
 to higher and holier purposes. But your thoughts 
 do not appear to be at home, Eleanor." 
 
 "In truth, Mrs. Barton, they were far enough 
 away ; they were with Morgan and his friends in 
 Rome. He has now Mr. Marchbank as well as 
 Lorenzo, about whom he is as enthusiastic. He 
 thinks Mr. Marchbank will yet be a great painter; 
 I sincerely hope he may." 
 
 "I scarcely thought that George Marchbank 
 would have left his home ; I almost feared that he 
 might step in between my lost boy and what I 
 know would be the object of his affections. You 
 know he loved you, Eleanor." 
 
OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 181 
 
 A deep flush of confusion overspread Eleanor's 
 honest face ; she did not wish to reveal George 
 Marchbank's declaration, — and she would not tell an 
 untruth. Very softly she replied : 
 
 " We were intimate from our youth, and always 
 conversed pleasantly together. This does not neces- 
 sarily imply love on either side. I was pleased with 
 his manly qualities and generous disposition ; I sup- 
 pose he found me sufficiently entertaining, and thus 
 we kept up a friendly intercourse." 
 
 "Eleanor," said Mrs. Barton, taking the fair girl's 
 hand, " before I tell you the cause of the excited look 
 which you remarked when you came in, answer me 
 one question. It is not prompted, as you will 
 readily know, by any desire to pry into the secrets 
 of your heart ; it is merely for your own peace — 
 and, perhaps, the peace of another. Do you know 
 the state of your feelings towards George March- 
 bank ?" 
 
 For a moment Eleanor appeared lost in thought ; 
 then she answered : " To be candid, I never really 
 analyzed my regard for him ; but this much I can 
 safely say, that never would I marry one not of my 
 own faith, no matter how strongly the affections 
 might tempt me. If I cannot have the blessing of 
 our Church on my marriage, and a husband wiio 
 can sympathize with my religious practices, I will 
 remain forever single. Of this much, with God's 
 grace, I am certain." 
 
 "But suppose that George March bank were to be 
 converted? It might easily happen, now he is in 
 Rome." 
 
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 182 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 " I do not know how love arises in the soul ; nor 
 do I know what particular quality in a young man 
 might excite my regard for him ; but I think that, 
 even were Mr. Marchl)ank a Catholic, he would 
 never inspire me with other feelings than those of 
 close friendsliip." 
 
 " What a beautiful soul ! what a beautiful soul ; so 
 pure, God-feari.ig, and straightforward !" — this was 
 the unspoken soliloquy of Mrs. Barton. And slie 
 was right. In these artificial days young hearts are 
 frequently bligiitcd with affectation, and what ouglit 
 to be the frank disposition of a confiding nature is 
 too often a crooked disingenuoiisness. It is by many 
 considered a clever piece of romance to hide the 
 affections of the heart from the eyes of all, even 
 from p{;!'ents, and to sneak into matrimony by night, 
 with the stealth of an expert housebreaker. Eleanor 
 did not belong to this class of simpering girls who 
 seek to throw an effect around a pure affection 
 of the soul. Slie would never bestow her affec- 
 tions on an unworthy object; and, if she truly 
 loved a noble man, she did not consider it a some- 
 thing which she ought to hide from her dearest 
 friends. 
 
 ■ Mrs. Barton remained silent for a few moments, 
 and then began : 
 
 " Last evening I was sitting by the door watching 
 the gathering shades of night. I had just finished 
 my rosary beads, and allowed my mind to amuse 
 itself with fantastic imaginings. As the warm tints 
 of sunset slowly gave place to the gray coloring of 
 twilight, I thought how expressive it was of the 
 
OLD' FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 183 
 
 course of a human life. For a brief span we are all 
 aglow with hope and bright anticipations ; the little 
 cares of life are gilt with reflected rays from our 
 youthful hopes, and become object* of beauty like 
 the small clouds bathed in the sunset's glory ; but 
 soon the advance of old age, creeping nearer and 
 nearer, darkens our bright life-picture, and unmasks 
 the erst gaily veiled cares of earth, showing them 
 stern and cold, just as the approach of night casts a 
 leaden hue over the purple and gold of the sunset, 
 and makes the small clouds stand out frowning and 
 gloomy. But though our course on earth may be 
 brief, and checkered with lines of care, if we be true 
 to our God a glorious resurrection, heralded by an 
 angel, awaits us, even as a lovely rising, ushered in 
 by a beaming aurora, awaits the sun just set. 
 
 "This was the nature of my fancies, when I was 
 all at once rudely brought down from my aerial 
 flights by becoming aware of a person standing on 
 tlie doorstep, but half-concealed by the door-post. 
 It was the iigure of a man muffled in a loose cloak. 
 The outlines of his form, as thus seen, bore no 
 resemblance to those of any one whom I can now 
 recall. In a low voice, and with, as I thought, a 
 foreign accent, he asked me if I were not Mrs. Bar- 
 ton. ' I am,' was my only answer. 
 
 " ' Are you the woman whose son disappeared so 
 mysteriously many years ago ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes ; do you knov; aught of iiim ? or how do 
 you know anything about him ? ' I faintly articu- 
 lated. 
 
 " Without replying to my question he continued : 
 
 mKm 
 
 pmrt 
 
 "I f.'t 
 
184 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 " ' Is there a family hereabout named Leahy 3 ' 
 
 "*They are ray next neighbors. But what of 
 them ? ' 
 
 " * There was a son ; where is he ? ' 
 
 " * A soldier in Eome ; gone to defend the rights 
 of Holy Church.' 
 
 ^' ' And the daughter, what of her ? Is she mar- 
 ried ? Is she fair and good ? ' 
 
 " * These are strange questions/ I said, * from a 
 stranger ; but Eleanor Leahy is unmarried ; and a 
 fairer or more virtuous girl is not in our whole 
 Dominion.' " 
 
 " Rather strong expressions, Mrs. Barton," quietly 
 smiled Eleanor. 
 
 "Only the truth, my dear; but let that pass. 
 The strange man paused for a moment, and some 
 strong inward struggle was taking place. A nervous 
 twitching, as of keen pain, convulsed his frame ; he 
 glanced towards heaven, and tlien looking at me 
 began : 
 
 " * Did you suffer much ? Do you yet suffer ? Do 
 you expect to meet your son on earth ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh ! can you ask me that ? God knows what I 
 Buffered, and he knows that I yet hope to meet my 
 boy on earth.' 
 
 " * How little do we think on the pain we inflict on 
 others by gratifying a whim of our own ! If we 
 were only to measure what tlieir affections must 
 suffer by comparing it with what our fancy endures 
 when disappointed, we would be more cautious and 
 thoughtful. But if you think your boy still lives, 
 you must think that some one carried him off. 
 
• 1 
 it 
 
 m 
 
 OLD FBIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 186 
 
 Surely the cnree of a bereaved mother must sit 
 heavily on his soul.* 
 
 *' As he said this his voice appeared to tremble, 
 and his whole person to shake. I answered : 
 
 " * Never has a curse on any one passed my lips ; 
 nor has one ever been formed in my mind. I try 
 to remember the meekness of my Saviour, and I 
 pray for my boy, and for his abductor that God may 
 sotien his heart.* 
 
 " ' Say you so, say you so,' he repeated with evi- 
 dent joy ; * then my days may — but time passes. 
 Mark my words, Mrs. Barton : your son lives, — ^you 
 shall yet see him in life.' 
 
 " I think I fainted ; when next I remember any- 
 thing the stranger was moving away from the door. 
 I tried to shout, but I could only faintly gasp, 
 'Where is my lost Denis? ' 
 
 " ' Where is he doing good. Ask no more, but 
 bless me in your prayers.' 
 
 " Quickly he vanished in the gloom. A moment 
 after I heard the rapid whirling of a carriage in the 
 direction of Montreal, and ere I could recover from 
 my astonishment and joy he was miles away." 
 
 During this recital Eleanor had been keenly watch- 
 ing Mrs. Barton's countenance, as if she feared that 
 lier fancy had conjured up this scene along with her 
 other imaginings. But although there was the least 
 possible trace of excitement in Mrs. Barton's man- 
 ner, quite natural under the circumstances, her 
 iisnal calm and sweetly pensive expression was the 
 same. Eleanor felt convinced that Mrs. Barton had 
 not imagined the scene : but was it only some heart- 
 
 :; f 
 
 If— 
 
 I. > 
 
 . t-is,fc;S 
 
186 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 less hoax of an unthinking wag; or was it the 
 repentant admissions of a guilty conscience ? Mrs. 
 Barton was quite persuaded of the latter. Tlie 
 man's whole conversation, tone of voice, and action 
 were such as could not, in her opinion, be reconciled 
 with any otl^er theory. 
 
 "This accounts, my dear child, for my excited 
 look, and for my questions concerning your feelings 
 towards young Marchbank. God forbid that I should 
 try to lead you against whatever may b(} your duty, 
 but I thought it well to know your sentiments." 
 
 A puzzled look appeared on Eleanor's face ; a 
 look that often shone there when Mrs. Barton used 
 to speak in this strain. The reason of its appear- 
 ance will be gathered from the following remark 
 which she now made : 
 
 " But it seems to me, dear mother, that we assume. 
 or you at least, something for which we have no 
 warrant. You speak as though Denis, even were he 
 to return now, would be desirous of having me for 
 a wife. We do not know that; perhaps he may 
 already be married !" 
 
 " Denis," replied Mrs. Barton, " was very much 
 like me, both in appearance and disposition ; he 
 would be sure to be attracted by the same objects as 
 I ; he would love as a wife the girl T would choose as 
 a daughter. Moreover, it was not at random that 
 the stranger asked if you were married. He has 
 known something of your childish betrothal, and 
 may have wished to ascertain what hopes remain of 
 having it ratified." '■' 
 
 It was agreed between them to keep this strange 
 
IP 
 
 OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 187 
 
 atoiy a secret for the present. Many might set it 
 down as the vision of a diseased mind ; others 
 might be led to make too much talk about it. This 
 being settled, Eleanor returned home and prepared 
 to write to Morgan. ^ 
 
 In the mean time how fares it with our friends in 
 Rome ? It is June, but not the soft, genial June of 
 a Canadian f^ummer. The old Tiber runs as proudly, 
 if not as grandly, as the St. Lawrence. It does not 
 bear down to the Mediterranean as many laden ships 
 and puffing steamers as its Canadian brother ; but it 
 boasts a history more remote, and a classical immor- 
 tality not yet bestowed on the St. Lawrence by 
 gifted poets. It may bear on its yellow waters no 
 wonderful signs of material activity, but its every 
 ripple whispers of aesthetic culture, and its every 
 curling wavelet sings the praises of the humanizing 
 arts and sciences which it salutes on its way through 
 the City of the Popes. The eye may be charmed 
 with the broad expanse of St. Lawrence's swelling 
 waters ; the ear may be placed with the dashing of 
 its miglity current ; but the Tiber overpowers the 
 mind with the vastness of its associations, and stirs 
 tlie heart with the tale of its glory. 
 
 So thought George Marchbank as he wandered 
 along its course. Before settling down to work he 
 had spent some weeks in visiting the chief objects 
 of interest in and around Rome. The museums and 
 art galleries were his favorite places of resort; in 
 these his artist-soul found itself in congenial sur- 
 
 m 
 

 
 11 
 
 188 
 
 AFTER WEABT tTEABS. 
 
 ronndings. Encompassed by the beautifnl he forgot 
 earth and its cares ; he forgot Eleanor, or only re- 
 membered her when his eye detected some slight 
 resemblance between her face and some lovely pic- 
 ture. 
 
 He visited the great churches to feast his eyes on 
 their gorgeous finish, and to inspire his brush by 
 gazing on their exquisite paintings. The grand 
 canvas by Romanelli representing the presentation 
 of the Blessed Virgin in the Temple, preserved in 
 " St. Mary of the Angels," attracted his heart. The 
 lovely childish beauty of the Virgin, at four years, 
 through which the artist caused a gleam of womanly 
 grace and intelligence to sparkle, marked off from 
 among all others her who had never been stained 
 by sin. When in presence of this or other celebra- 
 ted paintings of the Blessed Virgin, he could not, 
 coldly as he might reason, sneer at the devotion of 
 those who came to say their prayers before them. 
 He knew they did not pray to the canvas ; he knew 
 that they came to excite and enliven their piety by 
 contemplating the sweet features of the Mother of 
 God, and to ask her to intercede for them. He 
 knew that external aids are great incentives to in- 
 ternal devotion, by reason of our nature. Just as the 
 photograph of a friend will serve to remind us of 
 our promise to him, so will a picture of Christ, or 
 of the Blessed Virgin, remind us of their love for 
 us and of our promises to be virtuous. He felt how 
 good it was to have such an exemplar of virtues be- 
 fore the mind by which to try to mould its actions. 
 In his visits to the churches one thing struck him 
 
OLD FRIEND8 AND NEW. 
 
 189 
 
 very much ; other thoughtful persons had noted it 
 before. He was in various churches at every hour 
 from early morn till sundown. Whenever he en- 
 tered one he always found some persons praying, 
 two, three, four — ten. This at first sight may not ap- 
 pear worth noticing, but consider a moment : There 
 are over 350 churches in Rome ; in each of these 
 there are, at every moment of the day, some persons 
 praying — at least an average of three. This gives 
 1050 persons constantly praying in church during 
 the day. Now from observation George March- 
 bank soon found out that these people did not re- 
 main very long ; they said a few prayers before the 
 Blessed Sacrament and then an Ave Maria before 
 the altar of the Blessed Virgin. Supposing, he rea- 
 soned, that these people are renewed every quarter 
 of an hour, — that will give 4200 persons per hour 
 who pray in the churches ; and for ten hours 42,000. 
 Thus, without taking into account private chapels 
 and oratories, and on a calculation far below the 
 reality, 42,000 persons come daily into the churches 
 of Rome to pray. With a population of less than 
 200,000, all told, this total of daily devotion was 
 great indeed. Moreover, he found that persons of 
 all classes made these visits of prayer : the beggars, 
 poor hawkers of cigars and matches, artisans, mer- 
 chants, soldiere, policemen, young men, students, 
 monks, priests, nobles, cardinals. Did every visitor 
 to Rome note these things and make a similar cal- 
 culation, we would read less ignorant cant about 
 " popery." 
 The warm glow of the June day had, in part, 
 
 1 kmnmm 
 
 '1 } 
 
 <:% 
 
■li 
 
 f 
 
 'Ik'. 
 
 
 190 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 subsided; the sun had sunk to rest in a sea of livid 
 red, but the flint paving-stones of tlic streets and tlie 
 brick walls of the houses were radiating the heat 
 they had acquired during the day, to the oppression 
 of citizens who sought to enjoy the evening air. 
 •To one returning after sunset from the comparative 
 coolness of Villa Borghese to the hot air of the nar- 
 row streets of Rome on the eve of such a day as 
 this had been, the change is most marked. It is 
 like being suddenly transported from the temperate 
 to the torrid zone. The pavement, sidewalks, 
 lampposts, columns, and houses are all sending 
 forth, like highly heated radiators, their surplus 
 warmth. 
 
 Seated by an open window in the "Via della 
 Trinita dei Monti," his easel pushed aside, George 
 Marchbank was listening to the last dying echoes of 
 the Benediction Hymn, which faintly floated out 
 from the Convent of the Sacred Heart. He loved 
 the music of that church and frequently went thither 
 to refresh his worn spirit. He was aroused by the 
 entrance of Morgan and Lorenzo. Moi'scan was a 
 constant visitor to the studio of George Marchbank ; 
 he came whenever he had a spare hour. Lorenzo, 
 too, had been to visit him sometimes, but there 
 never was much warmth or frank cordialitv be- 
 tween them. Still, each respected the other, and 
 both were naturally frank of disposition. Lorenzo 
 used to say to Morgan: 
 
 " I am not myself in presence of that Marchbank 
 he is to me what a lump of ice is to a glass of cham- 
 pagne ; possibly the wine may be all the more pal- 
 

 OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. 
 
 191 
 
 atable by reason of the ice, biii it is not so brisk 
 and sparkling. I try to like him immensely for 
 your sake ; but our nervous systems must both be 
 charged highly with the same kind of electricity ; 
 hence we repel each other." 
 
 Lorenzo woula say this with a light laugh, but 
 he would often j^onder seriously over it. lie saw 
 nothing to find fault with in tlie manner of George 
 Marchbank, yet he had no sympathy of feeling with 
 him. Who can adequately explain how it is that 
 naturally, and prior to all familiar acquaintance, we 
 are attracted and pleased by some persons and re- 
 pelled by others ? Our will is of course left free to 
 follow or not this attraction or repulsion; still we 
 too often allow our will to be led in these cases by 
 our feelings. 
 
 " Dreaming of fame, George ?" said Morgan, as he 
 entered the studio and approached his friend. 
 
 "Or perhaps," took up Lorenzo, "of the grand 
 ideal for his masterpiece." 
 
 "Both wrong, my friends," answered George; 
 "I was allowing my imagination to follow up to 
 heaven the dying echoes of the music from the 
 convent chapel. After all, what is our life here 
 but a trembling note more or less prolonged? some 
 are low and subdued, some harsh and loud ; some are 
 light and joyful, some are tearfully sad. Together 
 they float for a brief period in the surrounding at- 
 mosphere ; at times two may combine in perfect liar- 
 mony, but of tener a jarring discord is heard. Some 
 will rise and float on alone and serenely calm; others 
 alone but ever troubled. Finally all will die out — 
 
 
 li 
 
 f) 
 
'Ill ■ 
 
 192 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 J 'i 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 "■■ 
 
 
 illl 
 
 I 
 
 but will all go like the convent mupic before God's 
 throne?" 
 
 " Yes, to be judged," said Morgan ; " and happy 
 the one whoso life, whether long or short, may have 
 been such as to obtain a favorable sentence." 
 
 " Would not your fancy," began Lorenzo, " if 
 expressed on canvas, be an ideal for a masterpiece ? 
 You could employ every shade and tint to express 
 the qualities of each life, or musical note ; you could 
 have groups harmoniously blending, and others 
 great by reason of their contrasts. On one side 
 would be softly beaming notes in monochrome, de- 
 noting the virgin souls of happy celibates ; on the 
 other, ones in harsh tints, typical of uncongenial 
 partners. When you paint it, Mr. Marchbank, put 
 Morgan in monochrome." 
 
 " And you, I suppose," said Morgan with a quiet 
 smile, " as one of a harmoniously blended group." 
 
 "Not at all, Morgan ; let me be represented as a 
 cynic looking upon them all with indifference. If 
 Mr. Marchbank could only catch the expression of 
 my face during the first days of my military drill, 
 particularly at the moment of keeping ' eyes front,' 
 its startled vacancy would exhibit indifference enough 
 to represent the prince of cynics." 
 
 " Oh I" said George, " if it is vacancy of look or 
 idiocy of expression you seek, I can direct you to 
 more fruitful sources than the parade-ground. Go 
 into certain photographic saloons ; allow the operator 
 to give you what he imagines to be an artistic posi- 
 tion. Let him, unchecked, twist your head, turn 
 your neck, elevate one shoulder^ bend upwards your 
 
•j^mrm 
 
 OLD FRFENDS AND NET7. 
 
 193 
 
 arms, pull together your fingers, advance one foot, 
 and finally cause your eyes to stare into vacancy by 
 clapping you on the crown of the head with one 
 liand, and squeezing it back into an iron bracket 
 wliich he advances with the other. By the time he 
 lias completed all these, apparently, necessary tor- 
 tures before your features can be successfully trans- 
 ferred to the negative, and has bidden you look first 
 here, then there, believe me your expression wii! l>c 
 quite vacant enough ; its indifference to all subluna ry 
 things will be sublimely perfect. Then, and . ot till 
 then, are some operators satisfied." 
 
 " You have conquered," laughed Lorenzo ; *' i 
 would uuch rather have a tooth extracted on the old 
 jaw-cracker principle, than sit for my photograph 
 in some places : it is the refinement of cruelty they 
 ficcm to study." 
 
 With such airy conversation they passed an hour 
 or two, each one endeavoring to be cheerful and 
 frank ; but Morgan could not help observing that, 
 notwithstanding this, there seemed to be chill gusts 
 of air, from time to time, hovering round them. 
 Wlicn about to depart he said : 
 
 " George, we shall not be able to meet for the fu- 
 ture so frequently ; our company is ordered out to 
 the hills round Albano. Wc will depart immediately 
 after the 29tli June ; we shall thus be present at the 
 eighteenth centenary of St. Peter. But you can 
 come out to see us in our quarters, and we will visit 
 some places of interest. Lorenzo, here, ought to be 
 a safe guide ; he knows every inch of that ground." 
 
 " Yes, Morgan, yes ; depend upon it I shall go 
 
 
 ^1 
 
 iii 
 
194 
 
 AiTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 I 
 
 out to see you. I am really sorry that you have to 
 quit Rome ; that is, I am sorry for my ovn sake. I 
 suppose the change, at this season, is agreeable to 
 you. I shall be very lonely, but my art will help 
 to beguile my time. A family, by name of Drew, 
 has left me an order." 
 
 " I have met them," said Morgan. "Are they still 
 jn Rome ?" 
 
 " Yes, but they leave soon. The younger daugh- 
 ter, I hear, is about to be mn.'ried to some smart 
 cicerone who passes himself off as a reduced noble- 
 man. He is to form one of the family group." 
 
 " I wish you joy of your first order, George ; we 
 will see it before you send it away. Good-bye." 
 
 After the departure of his friends George March- 
 bank turned towards the open window and gave way 
 to graceful fancies. He designed, in his mind, many 
 works which he hoped some day to execute. Chief 
 amongst these was a Madonna in the character she 
 received at the foot of the cross, from her dviii<; 
 Son, of Mother of all mankind. "Woman, behold 
 thy son," did not refer exclusively to St. John ; he 
 was the representative, on that occasion, of our race. 
 George Marchbank loved to think that the Madonna 
 had an interest in all. After a time he became 
 aware of an uncomfortable feeling of uneasiness. 
 Turning round he saw the glitter of two evil eyes 
 fixed intently on him. A malicious face peered in 
 at the partly open door. Startled for a moment, he 
 reached a revolver from a shelf, and covered the 
 eyes. A jerking voice now began : 
 
 " Put down your weapon ; if I had wanted to hurt 
 
Vu 
 
 I )i 
 
 OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 195 
 
 you I could have done so long ago. If you are timid 
 do not leave your door open, and dream at the win- 
 dow." 
 
 Half ashamed of his action, George Marchbank 
 lowered his pistol, and asked who and what he was. 
 " I am Capodiavolo ; a patriot, a citizen of the 
 world. You are a Protestant, and must hate the 
 government of the Pope ; so do I. Soldiers come to 
 visit you. Be one of us, and learn all their secrets." 
 " And then divulge them to you ?" 
 " Yes : well done ! I knew you would do it." 
 " Wretch," said George, greatly excited, " if you 
 do not instantly depart I may be tempted to quench, 
 by a ball from this, the evil light of your eyes. The 
 government of this city which affords me its hospi- 
 tality will find in me a defender, if necessary. I am 
 willing — " But seeing that his intruder had van- 
 ished, George closed the door and window for the 
 night. 
 
 I klanKM 
 
 ir 
 
 ed in 
 nt, lie 
 id the 
 
 T;o hurt 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OVER THE HILLS Oh DONKEYS. 
 
 For a number of years, perhaps for centuries, the 
 donkey has been held to be an expressive type of 
 stupidity, and to possess less imagination, so to speak, 
 than any other animal. Stump orators call their 
 opponents by the opprobrious title of donkey, and 
 fancy that their annihilation is thus completed ; 
 wrangling schoolboys frequently resort to a use of 
 
196 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 this epithet to show their profound contempt for 
 the intellectual capacity of their rivals. Editors 
 hurl it against each other from their indignant pens, 
 as from a hydraulic catapult ; and even grim mathe- 
 maticians have had a dim perception of its appro- 
 priateness, since they have named one of the propo- 
 sitions of Euclid "Pot?-* asinorum^^^ the "Ass's 
 bridge," on account of dull lads finding it difficult 
 of mastery. It would seem from this that mankind 
 had stamped with its approval the conclusion that 
 the donkey is the embodiment of immitigated d ill- 
 ness. 
 
 Now it may appear rash to come forward and im- 
 pugn the soundness of this great verdict ; but the 
 power of truth is mighty, and lessons learned by ex- 
 perience make us very positive in our assertions. 
 The donkey has been cruelly, persistently calumni- 
 ated. Few are aware of the fund of latent humor 
 that lies hidden beneath his long ears; few arc 
 aware of his keen perception of the. ridiculous, or of 
 the artful tricks to which he will resort in order to 
 bring about laughable positions. He may not be 
 possessed of a refined imagination, but he has an 
 undoubted genius for practical jokes. Unlike many 
 human donkeys who laugh loudly at their own 
 witticisms, he ever remains profoundly unmoved by 
 his lively sallies. In order to be known he must ])e 
 studied — studied not in some woe-begone, degen- 
 erate representative that droops and pines in a city, 
 but in the brisk mountain one that brays defiantly 
 in his freedom, or that submits for a time to bit and 
 saddle for a day on the Alban hills. 
 
OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 197 
 
 So thought Morgan after his first experience. 
 His company had been sent out to the newly formed 
 encampment on wliat is popularly known as " Plan- 
 nibal's Plains." These are an extensive stretch of 
 table-lands on the Alban hills ; they command a 
 view of the Roman Campagna, and overlook Lake 
 Albano on the south and Tusculum on the north. 
 Tradition has it, that on this ground Hannibal's 
 army lay encamped in view of that Rome whose 
 power he sought to crush. As a position easy of 
 defence the site was well chosen, but between him 
 and Rome still gaped the broken and cheerless Cam- 
 pagna. As Hannibal stood on tliese plains he could 
 see the glistening of the flint paving-stones which 
 marked the course of the Appian Way, and he could 
 watch the swift chariots which dashed madly on to 
 the proud city ; to-day, a modern Hannibal might 
 gaze upon a winding trail of gleaming steel rails, 
 over which the exulting engine whirls the traveller 
 from Naples to the Eternal City. At the southeast 
 side of this classic spot the hollow cone of Monte 
 Ouvo, formerly ^' Mo7is Latialisy" shoots rapidly 
 upward. Violent volcanic action must have been at 
 work in these parts in some reuix^te period of time. 
 Monte Cavo, though thickly wooded, is only a shell 
 of earth ; dig a few feet, and horror of horrors ! a 
 gloomy, unfathomable ciiasm gapes beneath you. 
 The plains, too, are but a frail bridge of earthy mat- 
 ter suspended over a yawning gulf. If you jump 
 or run violently on them, the ground trembles be- 
 neath you, and a hollow rattle not overpleasing to 
 persons of a nervous temperament is heard. 
 
 Mvmmm 
 
 i f 
 
198 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 The Pontifical Government constructed a military 
 camp on this elevated table-land, thinking that the 
 cool air of the mountains might be beneficial to the 
 soldiers who came from cold climates. It was now 
 the middle of July, and fiercely the sun shed his 
 burning rays on the parched ground. At times a 
 faint breeze, laden with the freshness of the hills, 
 would attempt to sport over the plains, but, met by 
 a column of hot air from the smoking Campagna, it 
 would quickly retreat to its mountain source pur- 
 sued by its rival. 
 
 Morgan and Lorenzo, during thu first days of 
 their stay at this encampment, had visited the home 
 of the latter, but the house was closed. On inquiry 
 they learned that Giovanni Aldini, the father of 
 Lorenzo, had left home late in Mav. He went no 
 one knew whither, but gave out that he would re- 
 turn about the middle of July. Lorenzo was sorely 
 puzzled. Whither had he gone ? and why go with- 
 out informing him ? Peppe had been out to visit 
 old Aldini late in May, and had brought kind greet- 
 ings to Lorenzo, but said nothing about any intended 
 departure. Now Lorenzo felt that, whatever the 
 secret was, Peppe must know it. His father treated 
 him more as a friend than as a servant, and looking 
 back at many half-forgotten scenes of his youth, 
 he fancied he could detect traces of an understand- 
 ing between his father and Peppe on something 
 kept from his own knowledge. What was it ? or 
 was it only fancy ? It would be no use to question 
 Peppe. Much as this latter loved his young master 
 he would not, Lorenzo felt sure, betray any confi- 
 
OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 199 
 
 if 
 
 ;? or 
 
 dence. "Neither ought I, nor will 1 ask him," 
 thought Lorenzo. "They both love me, and if they 
 really have any secret hidden from me, it is not my 
 place to endeavor to pry into it." 
 
 Contenting himself by enjoining on Peppe the 
 duty of ascertaining the moment of his father's re- 
 turn, Lorenzo asked him if he knew aught of the 
 history of the photograph given him by his father. 
 •'Examine it, Peppe, and try to recall the faces 
 which used to surround me in childhood. Have 
 you ever seen the original ? Have I ?" 
 
 Peppe took the locket with an air of affected 
 indifference ; he gazed earnestly on it, then on 
 Lorenzo ; next he scratched his head, then he whis- 
 tled softly ; after that he viewed it through an im- 
 promptu opera-glass formed by bringing his left 
 hand to his right eye and encircling it with his 
 thumb and forefinger; then he slapped his thigh 
 with his right hand, and said : 
 
 " Che bellina ! clie bellina ! what a handsome child ! 
 what a handsome child ! If she should grow up, 
 what a lovely woman !" 
 
 " But do you know the original ? Why did my 
 father tell me to try to win the one who would re- 
 semble it?" 
 
 " Why ? Can you ask ? Look at that picture ; 
 it speaks for itself." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know it is handsome," said Lorenzo, 
 half fretfully ; " but there is some other reason, 
 Peppe, and you know what it is." 
 
 " I, young master ? Per Bacco ! how should I 
 know the motives of Giovanni Aldini ? But of this 
 
200 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 be sure, that if ever I can help you to happiness or 
 fame I shall willingly do it." 
 
 Poor Lorenzo could glean nothing from Peppe ; 
 but he was more than ever convinced that his faith- 
 ful servant knew more about the picture than he 
 cared to tell. " Never mind ; I will learn it yet," 
 was his reflection, as he put by the locket. . . . 
 
 The cool breeze of evening was now sporting un- 
 checked on " Hannibal's Plains" ; its rival luid fol- 
 lowed the sun, which, an hour previously, hud died 
 on a lield crimsoned with its own imperial rays. 
 Timidly the stars had begun to peep forth ; first 
 the larger ones flush out from their gloomy hid' ig- 
 places ; then the smaller ones, as if encouraged by 
 their big brothers, faintly twinkle far olf in the 
 azure depths. There is a solemnity about niglit 
 which speaks to the thoughtful soul, and stirs up 
 noble resolves. It may be true that thieves prowl 
 by night, and flaunting sirens and the witching cup 
 offer their double temptation to the soul ; but niglit 
 is only the occasion, not the cause of this. It is 
 more than probable that the thief luid his plans by 
 day ; the heartless ruffian gloated in the sunlight 
 over his schemes ; but both waited for the cover of 
 darkness before beginning their work. On the 
 other hand, high and noble resolutions are usually 
 made by night; the soul, at such a time, takes 
 counsel more from reason than from the passions. 
 It is lifted more from earth ; the dazzle and splen- 
 dor of day attract and charm it; but the gather- 
 ing gloom of night recalls home the wandering 
 thoughts. By night Judith prepared herself to go 
 
OVEK THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 201 
 
 fi 
 
 
 forth to the camp of the terrible Holofernes; by 
 night Abraham rescued Lot from hid captors ; and 
 by night many other great purposes were formed. 
 
 George Marchbank had arrived from Rome on a 
 visit to the encampment on " Hannibal's Plains" ; 
 ho and Morgan were now conversing. It was their 
 intention to go, together with several others, on the 
 following morning before daybreak, to the top of 
 Monte Cavo to see the rising of the sun. All 
 necessary arrangements had been made, and in a 
 short time they were to lie down for a few hours' 
 sleep. 
 
 "Have you seen anything of the Drew family 
 lately ?" asked Morgan. 
 
 " Oh ! I see some of them every day ; they come 
 to give me 'sittings' for the family picture. The 
 younger daughter and the ' reduced nobleman' are 
 married. Mr. Drew scarcely credits his story, but 
 tlie rest swear by it. The fellow is cunning and 
 good-looking, and will succeed, I dare say, in keep- 
 ins: the truth from them. Once in the United States 
 lie will be equal to a captured Bengal tiger in point 
 of importance." 
 
 "The ^reduced nobleman's' wife must pick up 
 Italian now ; she used to be strong on German, and 
 the elder one on French." 
 
 " Yes, and Washy on cigars," added George ; 
 " but let us seek our quarters for the night." 
 
 A couple of hours before dawn Peppe, who added 
 
 to his many accomplishments the useful one of 
 
 being able to awake at any stated time, went round 
 
 and disturbed, by a gentle shake, the dreams of 
 
 9* 
 
 
202 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Lorenzo, George Marchbank, Morgan, and a few 
 others who were to compose the party. In a camp- 
 kettle Peppe prepared a gallon or two of coflFee, — 
 then he ran off to a neighboring crag on which 
 goats used to sleep, and came back with a foaming 
 can of milk. The party made a hasty breakfast, 
 and set out to walk to the top of Monte Cavo. 
 They were to descend shortly after sunrise, and 
 Peppe was to have a drove of donkeys in waiting, 
 on which they proposed to have a pleasant ride 
 round the lake to Albano ; then back by the main 
 road towards Marino, and up by " Rocca di Papa" 
 to their encampment. The programme was a very 
 easy one to write out, but, like many another one, 
 owing to some of the means for putting it into ex- 
 ecution it became tiresome before night. 
 
 A smart walk of less than an hour brought them to 
 the summit of the mountain. Their way had been 
 along a winding road beautifully shaded, and iu 
 part paved with the broad, flat, dark-gray stones 
 which speak of the Roman Republic. In former 
 times a temple of Jupiter stood on this lofty peak ; 
 a paved road led up to it, but now a monastery of 
 Passionist Fathers stands in its place, and the Cross 
 of Christ gleams hopefully heavenward where for- 
 merly the thunderbolts of an imaginary deity shone 
 dark and terrible. 
 
 All took up their position on the eastern iside of 
 the convent walls ; a few remarks were made in a 
 subdued tone, but soon silence fell over all. A 
 faint glow, like the deathly hue of a fair brow en- 
 circled by a night of hair, and scarcely larger, was 
 
1i 
 
 OVER THE HILL8 ON DONKEYS. 
 
 203 
 
 the first sign of advancing day. It increased in 
 size, and grew warmer in tint ; soon streaks of pale 
 gold, tipped with silver, shot out like rays of glory 
 from the ever-increasing brow. Up the horizon 
 they danced, spreading out on each side as the fore- 
 head of light expanded. A gap between two dis- 
 tant mountain peaks formed a kind of natural tele- 
 scope through which the lovely dawn could be seen 
 in its splendor. Silently, and with bated breath, the 
 party watched the darting upwards of the golden 
 streaks, the expansion of the pale glow, and the 
 purple hue that now came over the verge of the 
 horizon. The beauteous edge of Day gracefully 
 protruded itself over the robe of Night ; the streaks 
 shot up higher and wider; the pale glow rapidly 
 spread over the eastern heavens ; the purple hue rose 
 upwards, and a bright gold came into sight. Now it 
 flushed, and the streaks died out; now its flush 
 deepened, and the pale glow disappeared ; now a 
 dazzling brilliancy came over it, and the purple 
 vanished. The shades of night, the cold gray of 
 dawn, the warm purple of the aurora are all bathed 
 in this sea of brilliant light, out of which slowly 
 and majestically the great Day-king arises. Now 
 the party breathed more freely, but the magnificent 
 sight was not yet complete. Lorenzo motioned 
 them to follow him towards the southern corner of 
 the monastery. The rays of light, intercepted by 
 the chain of hills behind which the sun had risen, 
 had not yet fallen on the Campagna that lay be- 
 tween Monte Cavo and Rome. It was still night 
 beneath them. A thick mist, of a pure white color, 
 
 ;f««l!iS« 
 
 Monmm 
 
 (. J 
 
 r> 
 
204 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 I :^ 
 
 hung heavily over the Campagna and enveloped the 
 city beyond. But soon the flashes of sunlight from 
 behind the hills were reflected on this mist, and 
 warmed its pale coloring. Soon the sun, peeping 
 over the mountain range, shot a beam of his glory 
 straight over the mist, and over the walls of Kome, 
 to kiss the cross on the dome of St. Peter's; it was 
 Day's first act of devotion to its Creator. Other 
 beams soon followed and lit up the dome, which now 
 glowed in the sunlight, while all around and beneath 
 was cold and dark. Higher mounted the sun, and its 
 rays fell on the valley, dissipating the mist, whicli 
 fled towards the west ; higher still mounted the 
 sun, and its rays chased the mist over the Cam- 
 pagna, like a bright golden wave pursuing the 
 scudding foam ; higher still mounted the sun, and 
 the mist was swallowed uj) ; the Campagna was 
 flooded with light ; the turrets, towers, and houses 
 of Home were sparkling in the morning beams, and 
 the glorious spectacle was over. 
 
 Just then the bell of the monastery chapel rang out 
 for early mass ; silently the party moved towards the 
 church. What place so fitting for souls so moved 
 and overpowered as God's House? The heavens 
 had narrated in glowing language His greatness; 
 they would adore Him in the place of the habitation 
 of His glory. The beauties of visible creation, if 
 viewed in a proper spirit, speak eloquently to the 
 human soul of that infinite beauty and glory hidden 
 from our gaze by our fleshly veil. 
 
 After mass they walked round the crest of the 
 mountair., and admired the grandeur of the distant 
 
^9m 
 
 m 
 
 OVEK THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 205 
 
 scenery. Off to the west lay Rome reposing 
 peacefully on its historic hills; far beyond, and 
 more to the north, stood Soracte, not covered with 
 snow as when described by Horace, but shining in 
 the white Italian light of a J^ily sun. Behind it, 
 tliuir usual frown changed to a ^niile in the glad 
 sunlight, rose the towering Alpf., a fitting back- 
 •ijround, in point of grandeur, for the Eternal City. 
 To the northeast the Sabine Mountains sprang up 
 from the valley of the Tiber, and ran east by south 
 to meet the Alban hills, on which the party stood. 
 They did not meet, however; a broken plain 
 stretched out between them. At the base of Monte 
 Cavo, to the south, quietly nestling in their shaded 
 basins, Lake Albano and Lake Nemi glinted and 
 slept. Not a curl, not a ripple on their waters* 
 only the sunbeams Hitting over their surface relieved 
 the calm repose, and lighted up their still waters 
 with smiles as sweet and as bright as those of an 
 infant dreaming of bliss. A belt of wooded land 
 divided these lovely lakes ; here were, in ages past, 
 the sacred groves of Ncmi, and the home of the 
 Sylvan Nymphs. Wherever the eye turned it be- 
 held a pleasing landscape, and places renowned in 
 classic story. 
 
 " Could any painter transfer to canvas the beau- 
 ties of this extended scene, what a fame would be 
 his !" said Morgan. 
 
 "Well it might be," answered George March- 
 bank; "for only an infinite mind could coi.jeive, 
 aud an infinite power execute, this glorious design. 
 To successfully paint the sunrise we witnessed this 
 
 lf«««tfa« 
 
 lanMM 
 
 i } 
 
 C^ 
 
206 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 «!J 
 
 morning, tho artist, apart from otlier requisites, 
 would have to dip his brush in tlie rainbow, and 
 gather into his mortar a sunbeam, tlie ray from a 
 topaz, the azure from the firmament, and an electric 
 spark." 
 
 " You are right, Mr. Marchbank," began Lorenzo ; 
 " but it seems to me that your English artists arc 
 too realistic. I know that many are in ecstasies 
 over the works of this school, and fancy that they 
 have succeeded in fixing a sunbeam to canvas. 
 Their works are neither nature nor art. A copyist 
 is not an artist, and a caricature is not a likeness. 
 One of the realistic school does not require that seal 
 of greatness — originality of genius; he is only a 
 photographer who always fails. It makes a cold 
 chill run through my frame every time I enter an 
 art gallery in London. The design of many of the 
 works is excellent ; the drawing exact ; the per- 
 spective true. But then the filling-up ! The 
 laughable attempts to represent the brick floor, the 
 various tints of the stones composing the house, and 
 other efforts at realism make them appear like 
 boarding-school exercises." 
 
 " Why, Lorenzo, you are severe on the realistic 
 school. Ought we not to love to copy nature?" 
 said Morgan. 
 
 "If you CO aid copy it, well and good. But if I 
 want to view the beauties of nature, I will not shut 
 myself up in your realistic galleries ; I will go forth 
 into the fields and mountains as we have done to- 
 day. There I can see nature in her glory. Do not 
 let a painter make himself ridiculous by attempting 
 
 ^^jA 
 
"•^ 
 
 OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 207 
 
 what Ijo cannot perform, But even if lie could 
 paint true to nature, he would not be an artist, nor 
 a genius." 
 
 " That sounds a little strange, Lorenzo." 
 
 " What ! you to say that, Morgan ! Look at this 
 landscape; it is beautiful, entrancing in its peculiar 
 loveliness, but, like Hyron's Greece, ' soul is wanting 
 there.' The true artist is to take some outlines of 
 nature and to give them aninuition and soul. They 
 arc to be the plastic clay ; but his genius, his ideal- 
 ity, is to mo ' L them into speaking forms. To chip 
 a block of marble into the shape of some model — to 
 paint the outlines of a certain person's face, re- 
 quires only the faculty of imitation, not art. But to 
 design some model which in its general characteristics 
 sliall be true to nature, but which, in the conception 
 and finish of its ideal beauty, shall rise far above it, 
 requires genius — genius such as Raphael, Michel- 
 Angelo, or Guido possessed." 
 
 " Art, then, is superior to nature ?" 
 
 " You know that God did not create things as 
 beautifully as He could have created them. The 
 intelligence of man is a faint reflection of the In- 
 finite. It can conceive beautiful ideas, and it can 
 produce them ; and it can actuate them with a glow 
 such as is not seen on this landscape." 
 
 "I agree in great part with you," said George 
 Marchbank ; " but how is it that the realistic school 
 is growing in favor, in some places at least ?" 
 
 " The question is easily answered," replied Lor- 
 enzo. " Materialism in philosophy begets material- 
 ism in art. The artist may not be a materialist in 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
 208 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 philosophy, but living in a tainted atmosphere his 
 mind loses, or does not develop, its ideality. Ma- 
 terialism has infected not only art, but also litera- 
 ture. A novelist, instead of making his characters 
 exercise a salutary effect on his readers, either by 
 reason of their exalted virtues and well-regulated 
 habits, or by showing the vanity of life without God, 
 too often dips his pen in the slime of human wicked- 
 ness, and portrays unsightly, though perha])s true, 
 scenes. It is not well to teach the innocent these 
 lessons, and the impious already know them too 
 well. The writer, if he be a true artist, will depict 
 persons endowed with noble qualities and virtues 
 which are attainable by God's help. He will show 
 how a soul, aided by grace, can rise superior to the 
 petty bickerings of the world and the base passions 
 which seek to lower us, and that omy the truly good 
 are truly great. His work will be a beautiful, but 
 not an impossible, ideal ; it will cheer on the inno- 
 cent in their path of virtue ; it will abash the shame- 
 less, and it will hold out an inducement to the frail 
 to reform." 
 
 It was easy to see that all the noble enthusiasm of 
 Lorenzo's nature was awakened ; his eyes glowed 
 from their dreamy depths, and his whole person 
 was agitated. Morgan and his companions felt the 
 truth of his renuirks. His assthetic faculties had 
 been developed by his surroundings, and the hideous 
 caricature of realism, whetlier in art or literature, 
 provoked his generous indignation. He did not 
 want vain romance in either, neither did he want 
 fantastic copies ; he wanted an ideal, but at the 
 
^ppip""pi 
 
 OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 209 
 
 same time a possible, beauty. Who can gainsay his 
 iirijuments ? Art is not to tcacli what is : it is to 
 teach, wliether witli pen or brush, what will en- 
 noble men's minds, not that which will please their 
 animal propensities. 
 
 The party of friends now descended the moun- 
 tain, and found Peppe awaiting them with a drove 
 of donkeys. It was nearly eight o'clock. They 
 proposed dining at Albano, and sent forward a mes- 
 tfcnger to have dinner, or lunch, ready at twelve; in 
 the mean time they would have plenty of time to 
 pass round by the site of " Alba Longa," and by the 
 borders of Lake Nemi. Every one was in high 
 spirits, and predicted a day's sport. l*eppc alone, 
 and the old drover who came to look after the don- 
 keys, appealed to have their doul^ts. When all were 
 safely mounted in their huge saddles the word " For- 
 ward " was given by Lorenzo, who was the guide of 
 the party. Now "■ forward " is not a ditlicult word 
 to pronounce, but it is a difficult movement to exe- 
 cute successfully or gracefully when mounted on a 
 donkey of playful })ro|)ensities. 8ome stood stock- 
 still, regardless alike of blows and entreaties; others 
 sidled up against the thick underwood which grew 
 l)y the wayside ; some backed at a furious rate, 
 which led their unhappy bestriders to think that 
 donkeys must be a species of Janus. A few moved 
 forward at a quick trot, as if to render the picture 
 complete. Meanwhile Peppe and the drover, both 
 heartily laughing, ran hither and thither, striking 
 first this one, pulling that one, and pushing a third. 
 By these means, after a good half- hour, all were set 
 
 

 210 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 in motion, and the cavalcade moved merrily on. 
 The late annoyance was forgotten, and peals of 
 laughter were soon resounding on all sides. But 
 they little knew the resources of a donkey. Wliile 
 going at a brisk trot one suddenly stopped, ducked 
 his long ears, and his erst laughing rider lay prone 
 on the road. This appeared to be the signal for a 
 renewal of asinine humor. Two or three turned 
 and galloped back ; four backed up against an over- 
 hanging cliff and nearly broke the legs of those who 
 rode them ; one — the one that carried Peppe — kept 
 straight on ; he seemed to have a power over it un- 
 known to the others. One lay down and rolled in 
 the sand ; the rest stood still. One of the party, 
 whose beast refused to move, gave it, in obedience 
 to Peppe's direction, a stroke on the ear; instantly 
 it gave an unearthly bray and plunged wildly into 
 the brushwood. Crashing it went, leaving the 
 others to speculate on its probable destination, 
 and the fate of their companion. Would he be a 
 second Mazeppa? They had not long to speculate ; 
 bleeding and torn their companion returned, limping 
 to the road, just as the donkey came in sight, trot- 
 ting quietly down the hill at some distance. Peppe 
 mounted the runaway, who seemed quite unmoved 
 by his piece of practical humor, and the wounded 
 Zouave took Peppe's. 
 
 It would be impossible to tell all the tactics of 
 these much vilified animals : sufhce it to say that 
 every one of them, by some means or another, suc- 
 ceeded in throwing his rider. This seemed to be a 
 point of honor with them, a sort of indignant pro- 
 
^mm^Wi 
 
 OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS 
 
 211 
 
 test against their servitude. Once they had effected 
 this object they usually went pretty well. Peppe 
 had advised the party from the start to quietly al- 
 low themselves to be thrown, and that then they 
 would proceed gaily. But he was only laughed at ; 
 his turn to laughj however, came round. 
 
 As Lorenzo and Morgan trotted on side by side 
 the former said : 
 
 '' I think, Morgan, that your modern English 
 poets must ride a great deul on donkeys." 
 
 " Why so ? I do not think that many in England 
 ever ride these stupid, stubborn creatures." 
 
 '" I thought from the nature of their metre that 
 they must have had its rhythm impressed upon 
 them by riding on these animals. In any case, their 
 verses are a good imitation of a donkey's pace : you 
 have a spasmodic start, a smooth flow for a moment, 
 a sudden halt that causes a mental overthrow, a 
 wild plunge through the bushes, a crash against a 
 rock, a backing away ; and finally the reader will see ' 
 the verses running on, but their meaning, if mean- 
 ing they have, will be as far beyond his reach as was 
 poor Marini's donkey when he limped back to the 
 road." 
 
 "I declare, Lorenzo, you are hard on our poets. 
 Have they no merits V 
 
 " Undoubtedly they have some ; but they have 
 destroyed the grand harinonious metre of your 
 classic poets ; they have sought out new forms of 
 verse, new measures, but what are they? An 
 effeminate tinkling or an hysterical muttering takes 
 the place of Byron's and Moore's sweet harmonies, 
 
 ipiiii««t '-i: 
 
i ^t 
 
 if' 
 
 ( ; 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 212 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 or Pope's melodious numbers. Yes, the donkey's 
 pace is well exemplified in many modern poems." 
 
 " You are partly right, Lorenzo : our modern 
 writers have, in a great measure, abandoned the 
 classic style, and I cannot say that they have im- 
 proved on their predecessors." 
 
 '• Another peculiarity, Morgan, that goes well 
 with the idea of the donkey pace is tlie use of 
 eithe)' side for each side, or hoth sides. How can 
 either side mean both sides, except in tlie sup])osi- 
 tion that you are riding a donkey ? for if you wish 
 him to go to one side or the other, he will surely go 
 to both." 
 
 Further conversation was prevented by hearing 
 shouts from behind ; one of the donkeys refused to 
 move, and showed siij-ns of an intention to lie down 
 on the road. Blows were of no avail. Peppe cried 
 " Build a lire under him" ; and, quickly collecting 
 an armful of fagots and dry leaves, he placed them 
 under the animal. Striking a nuitch, a large blaze 
 soon shot up, and red tongues of Hanie licked the 
 donkey's legs. No one who has not seen this simple 
 cxpciriment can Imagine its effect on an obstinate 
 mule. No sooner had the lanibent blaze gently 
 encircled its legs, than tlie donkey sprang forward 
 at a rate which threatened disaster. Peppe wat; 
 hailed as an inventor of a new locomotive incentive, 
 and like a modest genius coolly went on his way, ub 
 \i he had done nothing extraordinary. 
 
 Between all their mishaps and consequent delays, 
 it waa»now twelve o'clock, and they were not half 
 way to Albano. Owing to their light and early 
 
HX'l ' 
 
 OVER THE HILLS ON DONKEYS. 
 
 213 
 
 breakfast, they were hungry ; and the gloomy 
 thought that their dinner would be spoiled ere they 
 reached Albano did not increase their merriment. 
 For a time they made good progress, but wlien 
 mounting a hill one of the donkeys showed positive 
 symptoms of ailment, and would not advance. The 
 drover earnestly entreated them not to let it lie 
 down nor to stand still, otherwise he averred it 
 would certainly die. His evident anxiety moved 
 the excursionists ; four of them by means of two 
 poles, and assisted by the drover, who tugged at the 
 bridle, bore it up the hill.* This was the culminat- 
 ing point of disaster. Lorenzo's laugh was not 
 very merry now ; he gave expression to a comical 
 wish, namely, " that the Society for the Prevention 
 of Cruelty to Animals might be forced to ride in a 
 l)ody over the hills of Albano on donkeys." 
 
 It was four o'clock when they reached Albano, 
 hungry, sore, and dispirited. The drover was told 
 to make the best of his way home with the donkeys ; 
 the members of the party would walk back. After 
 :i good dinner they all regained their usual spirits, 
 but it was several days before they fully recovered 
 from the fatigue. Each one of them made an in- 
 ward promise never to go donkey-riding again ; and 
 some of them began an investigation of the nature 
 
 * The author was one of four who actually did as described 
 ;i])()ve. Not being versed in the pathology of donkeys, we after- 
 wards suspected that the drover was hoaxing us; but quietly 
 stoaling back some time after to the level ground on which 
 we had landed the beast, we found him keeping it in motion 
 while it evinced a disposition to lie down. 
 
 i -SftlKV 
 
 ^mnmm 
 
 L }) 
 
 r"% 
 
 
214 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i 
 
 of this animal's brains. Whether an innate stu- 
 pidity or a canine sagacity was the cause of a 
 donkey's antics remained a moot point. The scien- 
 tific reader may pursue this speculation at his lei- 
 sure. 
 
 liiliit 
 
 ^ V. 
 
 1 
 
 
 't 
 
 I! 
 
 CHAPTER XI IT. 
 
 THE CHOLERA. 
 
 Fiercely glared the August sun on the parched 
 Campagna; hotly its beams fell upon the glittering 
 stones of the Roman streets ; with a burning breath 
 its rays, reflected from tiled roofs and zinc-covered 
 domes, fell upon the faces of the citizens. The 
 verdant hue of nature was changed to a shrivelled 
 redness ; scorching winds, laden with the poison of 
 Africa's deserts, and bearing even some of their 
 sands, came in fitful gusts across the plains, blasting 
 every vestige of verdure. This wind, called in 
 Rome the Sirocco, is the aggravation of a Roman 
 summer. It suffocates the lungs; it parches the 
 skin ; it closes the pores and prevents perspiration. 
 While it continues, the body is saturated with boil- 
 ing water, the steam of which cannot escape, but 
 which scalds and irritates the flesh. Every blast is 
 like a puff from a glowing furnace, and brings a new 
 languor to the already languishing body. The only 
 resource on such a day is to close tightly every 
 window, draw closely every curtain, and sit and 
 
m^m 
 
 ■X^if^ 
 
 THE CHOLERA, 
 
 Bimmer gently in the dark ; in the *»g^y Jc^i^Wotitd''^ 
 boil. With the thermometer at 105|* for a week 
 as it was in the summer of 18G7, and with the addi- 
 tion of this scorching wind, it is not much wonder 
 tliat the weary artist should look in vain for a cool- 
 in ij retreat. 
 
 Fiercely glared the August sun ; the earth was 
 cracked and thirsty ; the sky was of a dismal red. 
 The shrunken Tiber ran spiritlessly along its dusty 
 bed : it showed no pride in winding through the 
 Eternal City to-day ; it was only intent on escaping 
 Hi quickly as possible to the blr.. waters of Mediter- 
 ranean. George Marchbank stood on that part of 
 its broken banks called the Rijpetta. The sapless 
 trunks of the rows of shrivelled elms which grew 
 on that spot only seemed to add to the dreariness 
 of the sunburnt prospect. 
 
 Fiercely glared the mid-day sun on this broken 
 bank, which served as a quay for old-fashioned 
 barges, of the model of those which w^on the 
 AcLJum engagement; listlessly they lay smoking 
 in the intolerable heat. The western horizon was 
 shut out by the bleached top of Monte Mario ; at 
 its foot stretched the plain on which the legions of 
 Constantine, headed by the Cross, won the victory 
 over the pagan tyrant. Defeated, he sought safety 
 in Hi^ht, but, falling into the water of the Tiber, he 
 was quickly borne to the sea, in the wake of Helio- 
 gabaliis. Perched midway up Monte Mario stands 
 the crumbling house in which Rome afforded to the 
 banished Stuarts that hospitality which England 
 denied to its king. Not far off, like a mighty 
 
 
 
;h 
 
 i''' 
 
 216 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 fi. "« 
 
 pyramid enskied, marking tlie tomb 'of the first 
 Pope, stood that triumph of art, St. Peter's dome. 
 Still towering, rose Hadrian's mammotli mauso- 
 leum ; in it he liad fondly hoped that his ashes 
 might find eternal rest, and his name be there 
 revered. But ambition's dream was rudely de- 
 ceived by lapsing years. Around about the an- 
 cient spires, bleached in the mid-day sun, seemed 
 like a withered oaken forest whose gnarled trunks 
 defy alike the rays of light and the effect of eating 
 showers. 
 
 Listlessly did George Marchbank gaze on this 
 varied scene ; were it a cool day in April he would 
 thoroughly enjoy the grand panorama of nature and 
 art, but now he only thought of escaping from the 
 intense heat. lie resolved to leave Rome for a few 
 days, and to seek a cooler abode on the Alban hills. 
 Having taken this resolution, he went at once to 
 catch the mid-day train. 
 
 In the mean time fiercely glared the sun on the 
 gray tiles of the Roman College ; hotly it beat 
 down on the steaming courtyard. In the large 
 exhibition hall of the collesre its jxln^re was felt. 
 though its rays did not strike in directly. A 
 goodly crowd was gathered in that hall, attending 
 a distribution of premiums to the students. Rome 
 knows how to foster a love of literature, and to 
 reward suitably the successful. Science is not 
 degraded by giving a money prize ; the sordid 
 faculties of our nature are never appealed to; an 
 honorable ambition and a generous rivalry are 
 alone excited. A simple medal, of little intrinsic 
 
■^■1 
 
 TIIK CHOLERA. 
 
 217 
 
 value, but richly ]irized by the student, is tlie guer- 
 don for successful talent. But the true fostering 
 of lejiniing in Rome consists in the attendance, at 
 examinations, of learned men of every rank. Car- 
 dinals, prelates, and renowned professors, lay and 
 clerical, will attend even the simplest examination. 
 Now there is nothing, after a strong sense of duty, 
 which will cause a boy to study harder than an 
 assurance that those who, to his youthful imagina- 
 tion, are giants in knowledge, take an interest in 
 his studies, and will be present to witness his tri- 
 uinj)hs. Money has no such power as this over the 
 young mind. 
 
 At this distribution, then, were present such men 
 us Perrone and FraTiceslin, the leading theologians 
 of Rome; Secchi, the world-renowned astronomer; 
 Tortollini, the great mathematician, and other illus- 
 trious persons. Tliere were some cardinals present, 
 and among them one whose name we would fain 
 interweave in this historic sketch. He was a man 
 of modest bearing, but with that air of courteous 
 dignity which bespeaks a great soul. His eye was 
 brown, and had a look of calm repose, in which a 
 careful observer might see the reflection of mighty 
 purposes. Of a brown hue, too, was his well-carved 
 cheek, and his clear forehead was set in a frame of 
 brown hair, delicately streaked with silver. Small 
 in person, he was imposing rather by reason of the 
 flashes from a noble soiil within, which illumined 
 his pensive features with a light half sad, lialf 
 sweet, than from a commanding presence. Such 
 was Louis Altieri, Cardinal Bishop of Albano, 
 10 
 
 ttnmm 
 
 f 
 
 
i\ 
 
 218 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 destined soon to enter the heavenly Jerusalem 
 through the ruby gate of heroic cliarity. 
 
 He was sprung from the noble Roman family of 
 the Prince Altieri. Early educated "a virtue and 
 knowledge, he embraced the ecclesiastical state, and, 
 after having fulfilled various offices of importance, 
 had been raised to the sublime dignity of Cardinal, 
 and subsequently was made Bishop of Albano. 
 This town is about fifteen miles from Kome, on 
 the slope of the Alban hills, and is reached from 
 the latter city by the old Appian Way. It is ii 
 beautiful little town, and a favorite summer resort 
 for tourists. It is well supplied with churches and 
 schools, and is quite prosperous. By a dispensation 
 of the Pope, the Cardinal Bishop resides usually in 
 Rome, his vicars administering the diocese. 
 
 Cardinal Altieri sat quietly at the distribution, 
 rendering many a young lad happy by some pleas- 
 ing word of encouragement as he handed him his 
 hard-earned medal. An unthinking observer might 
 judge him better suited for this, than for the stern 
 duties of the priestly calling. It is hard for those 
 who are not really great of mind to understand how 
 the truly great are so simple and unaffected. A 
 messenger enters in haste and hands a letter to the 
 Cardinal. It is a telegram, and its contents arc 
 startling. The Cardinal reads it quickly, raises Ins 
 eyes to heaven, and softly murmurs, "The good 
 shepherd lays down his life for his sheep." He 
 rises, and, turning J;o the Rector of the college, 
 begs to be excused from further attendance. Soon 
 the scared whisper circulates that the cholera has 
 
^PWiWiP 
 
 TIIK CHOLERA. 
 
 219 
 
 broken out in Albano ; the people are dying ; the 
 living are fleeing to tlie Avoods ; confusion prevails. 
 It was but too true : this was the nature of the 
 telegram. Some crowded round the Cardinal, and 
 represented to him that there were plenty of priests 
 in Albano, and that strictly he was not obliged to 
 go; he might do more by providing for them from 
 a distance. A gleam of calm determination spark 
 led in the depths of his liquid eyes as he answered : 
 
 " My place is with my flock. ' The good shep- 
 herd lays down his life for his sheep.' " 
 
 Noble words, in sooth, and repeated over and 
 over again by the priests of our Holy Church as 
 they brave cold, sickness, and death,- to adminis- 
 ter the consolations of religion to their people. 
 Charity lives in the Church, and continually pro- 
 duces heroes. 
 
 The Cardinal quickly left the Exhibition Hall ; 
 his face was almost angelic now in its glow of lofty 
 charity. The smiling and gracious distributor of 
 premiums of a few moments ago was transformed 
 into the heroic bishop, going forth to brave the 
 dreaded epidemic for love of his flock. The proud 
 defiance of the warrior marching on to battle 
 beneath the eyes of his sovereign is frequently 
 extolled. Far be it from us to try to dim the glory 
 of him who nobly battles in a just cause ; but the 
 path to fame and glory which the martyr of charity 
 has to tread is more difficult. The companionship 
 of kindred spirits, the " pomp and circumstance" of 
 war, its excitement and noise, all conspire to animate 
 the spirit. But the martyr of charity goes out 
 
 
 i 
 
jllf 
 
 III 
 
 
 220 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 alone, in solemn silence, and against a foe who 
 mocks at human l)lo\v8. No wild huzzas and fierce 
 roaring of cannons send the quick blood throbbing 
 through his veins ; alone, with God for his comfort, 
 he marches to battle. 
 
 What wonder that the step of Cardin;d Alticri 
 should be elastic and his face of imposing beauty^ 
 Faith lent wings to his feet ; Hope buoyed up his 
 soul ; Charity set her impress on his brow. The 
 bystanders could only look and wonder; afterwards 
 they could reflect that they had seen a martyr going 
 to receive his crown. In less than half an hour the 
 Cardinal, having procured the services of two medi- 
 cal men, was speeding over the Appian Way to 
 afflicted Albano. 
 
 In the mean time, how fared it in the doomed 
 city? Terror was depicted on every countenance; 
 fear and trembling shook every limb. The merci- 
 less foe was upon them, and they saw no hope of 
 escape. His coming had been strange and sudden. 
 That morning health ran riot through the city. To- 
 wards noon a dark cloud cauie up from the sea; it 
 hung lazily in mid-air, a:i:l at length seemed to burst 
 over Albano. Immediately the cholera broke out. 
 Persons rejoicing in Iiealth felt an acute spasm ; 
 violent retchings supervened, suspended animation, 
 a struggle, a collapse, and the spirit had flown. The 
 awful coming of the disease, its dread name, and the 
 virulence of its nature as soon seen by all, might 
 well stir up every emotion of fear. Houses were 
 abandoned ; the dead in many cases were left un- 
 
^«»"^ 
 
 THE OnOLERA. 
 
 221 
 
 might 
 
 touched ; confusion and fear added to the number 
 of victims. Fear weakens tlie system and renders 
 it more liable to cod! i act any epidemic. 
 
 Hut not all in Albano were smitten with terror; 
 noble hearts and brave souls fronted the foe and 
 tried to f!^rap])le with him. The priests, the Sisters 
 of Charity, the soldiers, and some citizens stood to 
 their posts, and tried to calm the unreasoning and 
 to dispel their wild fears. But in the first moments 
 of terror they could do but little. To fully under- 
 stand the disorganizing effect of such a panic one 
 iimst have witnessed something like it. Even a 
 well-disciplined regiment, inured to danger, may 
 suddenly lose its presence of mind, and acting under 
 Some impulse give way to a wild stampede. 
 
 A few hours of terror had i)a8sed over the city ; 
 many victims had been cut down. Along the prin- 
 cipal street a carriage came thundering in from the 
 gate, and the panting horses were brought to a stand 
 in front of the Cathedral. Quickly its occupants 
 alighted; they were Cardinal Altieri and his atten- 
 dants. The great bell of the Cathedral rang out 
 to announce to the stricken flock that their shei^herd 
 luid come. The sound of the ))cll brought all who 
 remained in the city, and who could move, to the 
 church. Many a careless soul now thought of its 
 God and came to seek pardon. The sight of the 
 Cardinal Bishop cheered the drooping spirits of all ; 
 his holy look of charity gave them confidence. He 
 addressed them in words of love and exhortation ; 
 he besought tliein to be calm and to attend to the 
 directions of the physicians. Above all he conjured 
 
 mm 
 
 HMilll 
 
 5> 
 
222 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 them to truly repent of their sins, and to thus dis- 
 arm death of its terrors. Let them be prepjj^-ed to 
 die and they need not fear the cholera ; it was only 
 one of many ways which lead to death. Lastly, and 
 here his face beamed on them like a reflected light 
 from heaven, he told them that he had come to as- 
 sist them, to attend them, to remain with them till 
 the end, or to die in their service. 
 
 At the conclusion of his noble words few eyes 
 were dry, and no heart was unmoved. But calm 
 resolution took the place of dismay, and courage 
 was born in many a breast. The generous sentiments 
 of our nature are often like grains of seed ; they are 
 sowu in the soil of our affections, but amidst the 
 glare of a thoughtless life they are seared, or remain 
 unfruitful ; when, however, some fearful social 
 storm upheaves men's hearts, as the earthquake 
 shakes the land, the brave words and example of 
 some lofty spirit fall like a vivifying shower on the 
 startled sentiments, making them sprout and blos- 
 som into acls of heroism. Thus it came to pass in 
 Albano : where a short time previously only a few 
 were brave, now only a few, if any, were cowards. 
 "^Teasures were at once concerted for limiting, as 
 much as possible, the ravages of the disease. Medi- 
 cal skill, Christian charity, and bravery did much ; 
 order and quiet prevailed. Every one prepared for 
 death, and then adopted all the prescribed precau- 
 tions. There was one class of persons that we must 
 not forget — the soldiers. From the first these brave 
 men had acted with coolness and resolution ; now, 
 animated by the words of the Cardinal, they became 
 
mm 
 
 THE CttOLEl^\. 
 
 223 
 
 the instruments of doing a vast amount of good, 
 Tliere were gens-d'armes, soldiers of the line, and 
 Zouaves ; all did their duty, and we only wish that 
 we could give their names. But God saw their 
 work, and their reward will be great and certain. 
 
 Among the Zouaves was the company to which 
 Morgan and Lorenzo belonged ; it had been called 
 in a few days previously to relieve another one. 
 Although we will speak particularly of the Zouaves 
 in this sad chapter, we must not be understood to 
 detract from the merits of the other soldiers ; our 
 object is to follow the fortunes of our friends, not to 
 write a full account of the days of Albano's afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 Shortly after the outbreak of the cholera, and be- 
 fore the arrival of the Cardinal, Morgan was speed- 
 ing along on some mission of charity, when he ran 
 np against George Marchbank, who had just arrived 
 by the train from Rome. Morgan was surprised 
 and grieved ; he drew back from his friend, who 
 was advancing smilingly, and with a look of dcop 
 concern said : 
 
 " You here, George ! When or how did you 
 come ? Don't approach me, but go away as quickly 
 as possible." 
 
 " Why, Morgan, how is this? What has happened 
 to make you so much afraid of me ? I left Home 
 two hours since to escape its intolerable heat, and I 
 hoped for a better welcome. What can have hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing to me, George; but for 
 heaven's sake return at once to Rome ; do not pene- 
 
 
 \i' 
 
 
^4: 
 
 AFTER WEAllY YEARS. 
 
 
 trate further into the town. Be advised by me and 
 flee." 
 
 " I have done nothing, Morgan, to make me fear 
 the good people of Albano ; tell me why you ask me 
 to go, and why you stand aloof." 
 
 " The cholera has just broken out ; it is of a most 
 virulent nature ; its ravages are fearful. I have just 
 come from carrying a body to the vault. You know 
 why now ; I must go, but as you love me leave the 
 town at once." 
 
 " And you, Morgan, will you come with me ?" 
 
 " I ? no ; my duty calls me to the assistance of 
 the afflicted. My life is in the hands of God. I 
 will be of service as long as I can, and if the Al- 
 mighty demands the sacrifice of my life, bear to my 
 parents and Eleanor the assurance that I died doing 
 my duty, and that I blessed them for all their love." 
 
 George Marchbank was no coward either physi- 
 cally or morally ; yet he had no wish to expose him- 
 self to unnecessary danger. The words of Morgan 
 might well make a stranger shudder. Morgan was 
 moving off, when George with a sudden movement 
 came up to his side, and seizing his hand exclaimed : 
 
 "Morgan, I will not go; but as I love you I shall 
 stay. Perhaps Providence brought me specially 
 here to-day ; I had no thought of coming yntil two 
 liours ago. If you should take the disease, who 
 rather than I should perform for you the sad offices 
 of a friend ? I know you would say that I may be 
 carried off. I may ; but I hear an inward voice 
 telling me to remain. I will obey it. Let me go 
 with you and be of some service." 
 
 
 I 
 
.^ • " ; ,>3Wn, 
 
 THE CHOLERA. 
 
 225 
 
 What could Morgan do ? Was it for him to en- 
 deavor, by the cold arguments of worldly prudence, 
 to dissuade his friend from doing that to which, 
 perhaps, God was inviting him? The true Chris- 
 tian spirit of Morgan did not require time to decide 
 this point. Telling George to recommend himself 
 sincerely to Heaven, they started off on their mis- 
 sion of love. They went to the cathedral when the 
 bell rang to summon the people to meet the Cardi- 
 nal. George heard with admiration the noble words 
 of* this true pastor of souls, and inwardly compared 
 his action with that of the hireling. He felt that 
 the priesthood which indued men with such moral 
 courage and devotion must be Divine in its origin 
 and wonderful in its graces. He began to under- 
 stand the secret of the love and veneration of Cath- 
 olics for their priests, and to share their reverence. 
 
 For three days the pale Death-king stalked defi- 
 antly through Albano's fair streets, and held high 
 carnival in her by-ways. For three days the invisi- 
 ble scythe mowed ceaselessly fair flowers and with- 
 ered grass. For three days Albano seemed trans- 
 formed into a charnel vault visited by a few friends 
 of the departed. Out from the town a new ceme- 
 tery had been opened in which soldiers were con- 
 stantly at work digging graves; and constantly a 
 stream of conveyances was arriving bearing a sad 
 load of dead. The monotonous rumble of the dead- 
 cart, by night and day, was the only sound that was 
 beard in the streets. So completely was the reign 
 of death established that no rebellious wails arose 
 from the survivors; a smothered groan, a piteous 
 10* 
 
 
 lli» 
 
 H 
 
 
 «(•- •P^ 
 
226 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 i; 
 
 i 
 
 cry to Heaven for mercy was all that escaped from 
 the lips of the people. Here a once happy but 
 now terrified family are gathered ; the idol of tlie 
 domestic hearth is suddenly seized with a spasm; 
 the hapless mother raises her struggling darling, but 
 in the very act is stricken with more alarming symp- 
 toms. The angel of Death flutters tor a moment in 
 the room, strikes down the mother, tips with pass- 
 ing wing the daughter, and breathes the cold breath 
 of the tomb on the brow of the eldest son. Thus 
 within an hour three victims fall ; three links are 
 cut off from the family circle. The surviving mem- 
 bers are stupefied ; each one is expecting the dread 
 summons. What but speechless desolation and 
 grief-dried eyes can express such woe as this? 
 
 Here, again, are friends and relations; the epi- 
 demic enters the room and claims its victim. Ter- 
 rified at the sight of the fearful retchings and 
 spasms of the sufferer, the friends lose presence of 
 mind and, forgetful of their generous resolution, run 
 from the house. The dying person is left in all the 
 horrors of death, uncheered by a friendly voice, un- 
 sustained by a loving look. Alone, — alone with his 
 or her conscience, the tide of life ebbs* quickly 
 away, bearing the freed soul to the Judgment 
 Seat. 
 
 But during all those three days of death and deso- 
 lation, where the Death-king rode the most defiantly, 
 — where the noiseless scythe cut down the most 
 flowers and grass — where the charnel vault was 
 most foetid — where misery and loneliness suffered 
 the most acutely, one figure moved by day and 
 
ym^^^m^ 
 
 THE CHOLERA. 
 
 227 
 
 night. With undaunted step, with beaming counte- 
 nance tlie Christian Bishop moved among his dying 
 flock. He entered the bereaved home and his pres 
 once was like an air from Heaven ; sorrow was 
 transformed into heavenly hope. He entered the 
 room where the abandoned sufferer was struggling 
 with death, alone and unaided, and his angelic face 
 appeared like that of a celestial messenger. He 
 could not stay the victorious march of the pale king, 
 but he could charm his terrors and rob him of his 
 sting. He breathed words of burning zeal and con- 
 fidence into the ears of the dying ; he administered 
 the last rites of religion to hundreds ; he gave sooth- 
 ing draughts to the suffering. God had afflicted 
 sorely the people of Albano, but in his mercy he sent 
 them a treasure of great price. Men rave about 
 the bravery of the warrior ; but who will dare com- 
 pare the man who is sent perhaps to slaughter, or 
 who goes in the mad excitement of roaring cannon, 
 rattling drums, and prancing steeds to battle, with 
 the hero who coolly, deliberately, and with mature 
 reflection faces death, in a most terrible form, every 
 minute for three weary days and nights! The 
 soldier is often a mere machine ; Altieri was a free 
 agent, aware of the danger, but a man who, through 
 a strong sense of duty and Christian charity, tri- 
 umphed over the fears of nature. 
 
 For three days he moved around, and none 
 watched him more keenly than George Marchbank ; 
 he was fascinated by his manner, and revered his 
 character. But now his figure no longer moves 
 through the streets of Albano ; his voice no longer 
 
 I'll i« mm 
 
 
328 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Ml 
 
 
 cheers the dying. No : his earthly course is nearly 
 run ; his eternal recompense is at hand. The Cardi- 
 nal is dying — dying of the dreaded cholera. At 
 length the Death-king has turned to grapple with 
 him who charmed his terrore and robbed him of 
 his sting. Sad are the hearts of those who stand 
 round his couch ; Morgan and George Marchbank 
 are present. But he who sweetened the bitter 
 chnlice for others has it now sweetened for himself 
 by an^ b" ' ids. Calmly he awaits the last strug- 
 gle, so calmly that hopes are entertained that he 
 may, lAzc pome others, survive. It may have been 
 his exhaustion from overwork — it may have heen 
 that God wished to reward his faithful servant — it 
 may have been that the souls of those whom he had 
 helped to enter Heaven besought the Lord to crown 
 his brow with the martyr's wreath. However it 
 was brought about, the hour of his dissolution was 
 come. He knew it, and serenely shook his head 
 while those around him spoke of his chances of re- 
 covering. Like the reaner who has gatliercd his 
 last sheaf and rejoices af, he views his granary teem- 
 ing with the golden corn, so Altieri rejoices that his 
 WQd^y pilgrimage is ended, and that his lofty mission 
 has been nobly fulfilled. One favor he asked of 
 God : it was not life for himself, but that his 
 might be the last death from cholera in grieving 
 Albano. 
 
 He had noticed George Marclibunk's generous 
 efforts in the cause of humanitv .* he had also learned 
 something of his history. Turning now towards 
 iiim, he said: . , , = 
 
^fi^i^mifm 
 
 THF OHOLERA. 
 
 229 
 
 " I stand on the brink of Eternity ; a few mo- 
 ments more and I close my eyes on all the vanities 
 and allurements of life. Viewing life by the pale 
 light of death, I see more clearly than ever the 
 great truth, * What shall it profit a man to gain the 
 whole world, if he lose his own soul ? ' Ah ! my 
 son, keep the words well in mind ; a struggle awaits 
 you ere you reach the truth ; out be true to God's 
 graces. Pray, pray, pray, and let your prayer be 
 for light and grace. If you do, the precious gift of 
 Faith will be given you, and your soul will enjoy 
 peace." 
 
 Asking then to receive the last Sacraments of the 
 Church, all knelt and prayed. When he had thus 
 been fortified by those spiritual aids, he remained a 
 few moments wrapped in silent prayer. Then he said, 
 " I believe in One Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic 
 Church, the only Church of Christ." He ceased ; a 
 smile sweeter and more pure than a sunbeam on 
 Avoca's beauteous waters lit up his countenance, 
 and ere its light and beauty had died out the great 
 soul of Louis Altieri was in the bosom of its God. 
 Calmly fell the sunlight on the still features of the 
 true Bishop ; he had given his life for his sheep. 
 Who hath greater charity than this ? 
 
 Around his bed and over his tomb let no tear of 
 regret be shed ; let not affection's rain defile the 
 ashes of the martyr, nor water the sod that covers 
 his dust. Let only the voice of praise, the " Te 
 Deum" of thanksgiving, be heard round his bier. 
 He knew how to live, and how to die: this is a 
 knowledge worth more than all other sciences, for 
 
 
 llllilJRai' .V) 
 
 mi** 
 
 > 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 ...... ^fi^/"i 
 
230 
 
 AFTEK WEARY YEARS. 
 
 1 
 
 it is the only one which leads to the source of all 
 Wisdom — God our Creator. 
 
 Reverently they bore the body of the martyr to 
 its last resting-place ; it sleeps in the midst of those 
 to whom he ministered. His place is truly with his 
 flock : he made it so in life, and it is now so in 
 death. Like a captain walking proudly at the head 
 of his company when summoned by his sovereign, 
 will Altieri come forth from the sepulchre leading 
 his well-loved flock when the dread notes of tlie 
 Angel's trumpet shall resound through the hollow 
 regions of the tomb. 
 
 The cemetery in which the victims of the cholera 
 were interred has been closed and surrounded by a 
 high wall. It is not • spot of terror, for the story 
 of the Cardinal Bishop's glorious end casts a halo 
 around its precincts. 
 
 The Zouaves only lost one man by the cholera ; 
 the other divisions of the military suffered very 
 slightly also. Peppe was most constant in his min- 
 istrations to the sick ; his natural buoyancy of tem- 
 per helped him wonderfully. Lorenzo and Morgan 
 were present everywhere, but this is a praise which 
 is due to all the military. The Pope had a gold 
 medal struck and presented to the heroes of the 
 cholera days. It was worn more proudly and re- 
 ceived from intelligent men more homage than all 
 the medals ever conferred for bravery on the field 
 of battle. 
 
 The words of the dying Cardinal made a deep im- 
 pression on George Marchbank ; his last smile was 
 ever beaming on him. He had seen a true priest 
 
GATHERING STORMS. 
 
 231 
 
 working and dying ; lie felt that only a Divinely re- 
 vealed religion could have sncli a minister. He 
 ceased to be a Protestant, but as yet he was not a 
 Catholic; the gift of Faith had not been received. 
 The foretold struggle was upon him, and he prayed 
 — prayed for light and grace. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 GATHERING STORMS. 
 
 The glowing month of October had again come 
 ronnd ; the grapes were almost ready to be plucked 
 on the slopes of Lake All)ano ; the rich clusters of 
 figs were being culled, and on every side might be 
 heard the glad voices of vine-dressers as they gar- 
 nered their luscious harvest. From neighboring 
 hill-tops the busy workmen sang alternately the 
 " Ave Maris Stella" or the more solemn strains of 
 the " Kyrie Eleison," and files of laden donkeys 
 slowly wended their way from the fields to the little 
 villages which crowned the higher hills. The hor- 
 ror of the days of cholera was almost forgotten in 
 and around Albano ; sadness has no enduring home 
 in the hearts of the Italians. A glorious sunshine 
 from day to day puts to flight the dark humors 
 which curdle around the heart in colder climes, and 
 a firm faith cheers the spirit v/ith thoughts of future 
 bliss. Only the noble devotion of the dead Cardi- 
 nal, and of the others who had done theii' duty, 
 
 mm 
 
 ,i»«. 
 
 rii 
 
 
232 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 »'ji 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 was spoken of in connection with the cholera. Sad 
 memories were buried in the graves of* the loved 
 dead ; only the bejiuty and heroism of soul exhibited 
 by the brave lived and glowed in the glad sunliglit. 
 This is as it should be ; this is the characteristic of 
 a people in whom Catholic traditions are strong. 
 The mere animal man may bemoan through dreary 
 years his losses; he mourns without hope, conse- 
 quently his grief is unsoftened : but the true Christ- 
 ian never looks upon the dead as lost to him ; they 
 are enshrined in his memory and embalmed in the 
 hope of a happy reunion in a near hereafter. Thus 
 tranquillity reigned around Albano's peaceful lake. 
 But in the North the low growling of a gathering 
 storm was faintly heard. It was not the disturbed 
 forces of nature which were in agitation, but tlie 
 restless minds of impious plotters. The Revolu- 
 tionists had vainly hoped that after the departure 
 of the French troops from Rome the people would 
 rise up in revolt. They little knew the loyalty of 
 the Pope's subjects, or their thankfulness for the 
 blessings of his wise and progressive government. 
 That there were some unquiet spirits among his 
 people whose minds had been poisoned by the spe- 
 cious words of the plotters, and some whose shift- 
 less habits had made them see only one chance of 
 worldly advancement, viz., a social upheaving, and, 
 consequently, who would join in a cry against the 
 government, was true enough ; but they formed oidy 
 an infinitesimal proportion of the people. In every 
 State there are some worthless citizens ; Rome was 
 no exception, but few indeed joined the ranks of the 
 
^^m^^m 
 
 FATHERING STORMS. 
 
 233 
 
 Revolutionists. Disappointed in their hopes of a 
 popular uprising, the plotters were obliged to con- 
 cert measures for invading the States of the Church. 
 The Piedmontese government was bound by treaty 
 with France to respect, and to cause to be respected, 
 the territory of the Pope. . Openly it could not help 
 them, but it could shut its eyes to their movements. 
 Unless France were to demand a faithful observance 
 of the Convention of 1864, bands of armed advent- 
 urers Could be recruited in every part of the Penin- 
 sula ; they could cross the frontiers of the Ponti- 
 Hcal territory at various points, and converge on 
 Rome. The Pope's army was only small ; the sym- 
 pathy of the Radicals throughout Europe was with 
 the plotters, and, to their undying shame be it re- 
 corded, many Protestants of England and America, 
 in their narrow bigotry of mind and hatred of the 
 Church, were ready to applaud such a piratical ex- 
 pedition. 
 
 Not far from the " Pass of Corese," a point of 
 passage between the dominions then actually gov- 
 erned by the Pope and the rest of Italy, there rises 
 a low chain of hills, well-wooded and enclosing ricli 
 valleys. Great herds of cattle feed on the sweet 
 grass in these vales, and droves of swine fatten on th«. 
 acorns and chestnuts on the wood-covered heights. 
 
 In one of those beautiful but silent valleys, on an 
 afternoon in the first days of October, .1867, a man 
 sat, or rather lurked suspiciously. Close by him 
 purled a little brook which ran on, with proud alacrity, 
 to mingle its watere with those of the sources of the 
 Tiber; long-horned oxen grazed placidly near; the 
 
 
 } 
 
 \ 
 
234 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEAR8. 
 
 
 tearing sound they nnade at each bite cliinied witli 
 the babbling of tlie brook and the sawing noise of 
 tlie restless cicada. Dancing beams of sunlijr^'^ 
 peered gleefully down from tlie crest of the 1 
 which the sun was now almost touching ; a subdued 
 and mellow glow filled .the valley, and harmonized 
 with the tranquillity of the scene. But here, as in 
 Eden, the perverse will of man mars the beauty of 
 creation. The solitary individual lurking in this 
 quiet spot is not admiring its loveliness, nor praising 
 the Creator for His works : the soothinsf calm of 
 the place brings no quiet to his soul, nor does the 
 innocence of nature abash his guilty heart. He 
 looks impatiently towards the declining sun, as 
 cursing its tardy course ; he gives a malignant gla 
 at a sleek ox which had come unconsciously near ; 
 the animal quickly retreats, although the man stirs 
 not. A drove of swi^^e had been drinking at the 
 brook, and passed near him on their way up to the 
 hills ; one large, black fellow stood opposite him, as 
 if curious to learn something of his histoiy. It gave 
 a grunt by way of friendly recognition, and advanced 
 a step or two; but the man caught its eye, and 
 transfixed it with a scowl, black as its own quivering 
 bristles. There seemed to be a power of terrifying 
 in the man's eyes ; the brute backed a few paces, 
 and with a loud snort, more of alarm than of tri- 
 umph, darted quickly after its fellows. 
 
 As the sun sank behind the hills a shrill whistle 
 resounded far up among the stately oaks ; the lurk- 
 ing figure arose and answered it with a similar sound. 
 A crash, a tramp, a hurried stamping succeeded 
 
GATHERING STORMS. 
 
 235 
 
 and several persons emerged from the woods ; they 
 were dressed in various costumes, but had one article 
 in common, — a red sliirt. This was the badge of 
 tlie Garibaldians ; the emblem of Revolution. Our 
 more mature female readers may remember that the 
 " Garil)aldi jacket" was, in 1860, a fashionable 
 article of ladies' wear. It is a question if ever " a 
 fashion" had a more disgraceful origin ; an uncouth, 
 impious revolutionist like Garibaldi donned a red 
 shirt, and " fashionable ladies," who, no doubt, 
 tliought themselves respectable and Christians, aped 
 the adventurer. Once that the human mind has 
 been cut adrift from the True Faith, thei e is no end 
 to its development of absurd phases. 
 
 The troop of red-shirted miscreants, the offscour- 
 ings of large cities, were armed witli rifles, and some 
 were dragging a few pieces of artillery. As they ad- 
 vanced the firm military tread of some of the leaders 
 plainly showed that they had been drilled in a regular 
 army. Already the shades of evening were darkening 
 the depths of the valley as the new-comers drew up, 
 Ifi a half-military fashion, around the one whom we 
 have already noticed. Two dancing demons glared 
 from the eyes of this man as he surveyed the rude 
 bands of armed ruffians. They were not, however, 
 Uil ruffians; some had been misled by false state- 
 ments, and some had been too weak to withdraw 
 from a society into which they had been inveigled. 
 But scoundrel was too plainly written on the brow 
 of many of them. Evidently, however, they all felt 
 themselves in the presence of a superior ; even the 
 boldest winced under the scowling glance of the two 
 
 n#iKil 
 
 
236 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 f. 
 
 I 
 
 demon-lighted eyes of Capodiavolo. Yes : he it was 
 who had been lurking in the still valley, frightening 
 oxen, and quelling a fierce liog by the magnetic in- 
 fluence of his evil eyes. There is a pre-eminence of 
 wickedness which subdues less wicked natures, jnst 
 as great moral excellence renders the good docile to 
 its commands. 
 
 The cruel beak of Capodiavolo's hawk nose almost 
 caught his twitching upper lip (this was a symptom 
 of being well pleased), as he eyed the armed bands ; 
 turning to their leader he said : 
 
 '* This is a brave beginning, Mars ! your men look 
 well, and are fairly armed : how many can you 
 muster ?" 
 
 " There are," answered Mars, " three hundred 
 here ; within an hour three hundred more will arrive ; 
 and four hundred are to cross the frontier lower 
 down. I have thus got one thousand men partly 
 drilled, and well provided with rifles and cannon. 
 The bands under Cairoli and Menotti Garibaldi are 
 each stronger than mine ; other bands are in conrse 
 of formation and will be ready in a few days." 
 
 " Well done, well done, my bold Mars ; you liave 
 not been idle ; this looks like work in earnest. In 
 a short time we 11 swoop down on Rome, drive 
 out the Zouave, with the butts of our guns, make 
 the streets of Rome red with the blood of its priests 
 and monks, and proclaim from the Capitol the Uni- 
 versal Republic. I long to see the swords fiasliing, 
 and the foreign rabble flying before our victorious 
 banners. But where is Garibaldi himself ?" 
 
 " For the present he remains quiet ; his son Mc- 
 
GATHERING STORMS. 
 
 237 
 
 notti leads, as I said, a large band ; so soon as we 
 have all crossed the frontier and massed our forces. 
 Garibaldi will arrive and assume the ostensible com- 
 mand. This was, you know, your own Suggestion, 
 and all the lodges have accepted it." 
 
 " I should think they have ! In the name of ten 
 tliousand devils, do you suppose that any of them 
 would dare oppose the suggestion of Capodiavolo ? 
 I cannot drill a squadron, but I can move the secret 
 societies at my pleasure ; they are my chessmen ; 
 Europe is my board ; I place them where I please." 
 
 This was no idle boast ; the members of secret 
 societies are the veriest slaves in existence. By 
 means of a relentless system of terror thousands of 
 men are moved, like puppets, by some master-hand 
 which is invisible. One man of fierce, malignant 
 will like Capodiavolo, or two or three others in 
 some cases, shape the whole policy of the seci'ct so- 
 cieties. And yet the poor human figure-heads, who 
 dance as the wire is pulled, prate about liberty and 
 boast of their freedom ! We have some of these 
 mental slaves in our own Dominion. 
 
 " Well," continued Capodiavolo, " cross the fron- 
 tier as soon as the others arrive ; attack the garrisons 
 in the various villages as you move on towards Monte 
 Rotundo; try to stir up the inhabitants to a revolt. 
 There are only a few Papal soldiers in each place. 
 We will scatter small bands of our men all over the 
 country, and thus draw off the enemy from Rome. 
 We have men and arms there, and while the l*apal 
 troops are pursuing our scattered bands, our main 
 body, which will mass at Moute-Rotoudo, will 
 
 I ucmi 
 
 ^ 
 
 5> 
 
 
 ■ A-J 
 
 
 
 ^::Si 
 
 
 , 
 
 
 ■ Ua 
 
238 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 titi 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
 march on to the capital, and our brothers within 
 will rise in revolt and open the gates to us. Tin's is 
 our plan of operation ; but we must be quick in 
 action. If we do not reach Home soon the French 
 troops may be sent back. That a blighting curse 
 might rest on the heads of those French people who 
 will, I well know, clamor against us! But will 
 reach the goal first, and if the French troops oiiould 
 follow us we will surrender them nothing but tlie 
 cinders of the churches and the ashes of the priests." 
 
 " Do we cross to-night ?" 
 
 " Yes ; two hours hence. We must be in Rome 
 by the 25th.'' 
 
 This conversation between Capodiavolo and his 
 friend Mars gives a fair idea of the origin of the 
 Garibaldian raids of 1867. Men and arms were 
 transported across the borders of the Pope's ter- 
 ritory; they swarmed on all sides, but converged 
 towards Rome. Knowing that the Pontifical army 
 numbered but nine or ten thousand men all told, 
 the Revolutionists hoped to draw the major part of 
 them off from the city in pursuit of scattered bands ; 
 then the main body of marauders w^ould hurry down 
 from the heights of Monte Rotundo, which they ex- 
 pected to capture and make their headquarters, and 
 advance on Rome by the Nomentana and Salara 
 Ways. In the meantime the few soldiers witliin 
 were to be kept busy in quelling outbreaks fomented 
 by the secret societies ; thus the bands hoped to en- 
 counter but little resistance when they should arrive 
 beneath the walls of the Eternal City. 
 
 The plot was well laid ; they could easily bring 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 239 
 
 more men into the field than the Pontifical army 
 numbered ; a few restless spirits, well paid and 
 stimulated by the hope of future promotion, would 
 be found to stir up internal disorder. The govern- 
 ment of Yietor Emanuel would not take any very 
 effective measures to prevent them from passing the 
 frontiers with men and arms ; many an English 
 dupe would supply gold. Hell indeed seemed, 
 humanly speaking, about to triumph. 
 
 Around the Chair of Peter the gathering storms 
 were howling; day by day the dark clouds grew 
 more dense, and soon encircled the City of the Popes. 
 Tlie long-apprehended danger was at hand ; but there 
 were brave hearts and strong arms that unsheathed 
 the sword in defence of religion and justice, and it 
 would go hard with them if they did not conquer. 
 
 :,imi 
 
 ^ 
 
 Uii 
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 " George, I have just called to say good-bye for a 
 few days ; after to-night we shall not have permis- 
 sion to leave our quarters. The war-cloud has burst 
 near Bagnorea ; our men achieved a brilliant suc- 
 cess, but the whole country is swarming with armed 
 bands. It is difficult to capture them, for they seem 
 acquainted with all the defiles and passes of the 
 hills." 
 
 Morgan spoke these words excitedly in George 
 
240 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 b^ifpi' 
 
 
 SJ 
 
 II 
 
 I; 
 
 iK 
 
 Marchbaiik's studio on the morning of October 9, 
 1867. His company was now in Rome. But l)e- 
 fore following any further his fortunes during tlio 
 Garibaldian raids, we must turn back nearly three 
 months, and visit, with Lorenzo, the liouse of Gio- 
 vanni Aldini. On the day after the famous ride 
 over the hills on donkeys, Peppe brought word to 
 Lorenzo that his father had returned. lie at once 
 set out for the quiet villa near Marino. lie found 
 his father busy writing, and noticed his desire to 
 hide carefully the paper. Giovanni Aldini had 
 grown aged since we saw him a year ago gathering 
 grapes on the banks of Lake Albano. He had, 
 however, a more tranquil look, although there were 
 still traces of deep anxiety, or of a conflict between 
 love and duty. His eyes looked as fondly on Lo- 
 renzo as of yore, but he seemed more timid in his 
 manner. " An efEect of age and loneliness," thought 
 Lorenzo. 
 
 On entering, Lorenzo kissed liis father's hand, 
 and looked with unaffected love and reverence into 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Lorenzo, how glad and yet how 
 sorry you make my old heart ; dear boy, a thousand 
 blessings on your manly soul." 
 
 " My father, I need not say that I am overjoyed 
 to see you looking so well and happy ; but how do 
 I make your heart sorry ?" 
 
 " Because you cause me to think of your sainted 
 mother ; I see the gentle light of her dreamy eyes 
 reilected in yours." 
 
 This was the first occasion on which Lorenzo had 
 
•^mm-^'^^mmm 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 241 
 
 ever heard his fatlier refer to his mother ; his silence 
 had been, perhaps, caused bj grief. 
 
 " Am I then Hke my mother ?" said Lorenzo in a 
 wistful tone. 
 
 "The very image, my boy, the very image; she 
 had a noble heart too, and would rejoice to see you 
 drawing your sword in defence of the rights of Holy 
 Church." 
 
 " How old was I when she died ? where is she 
 buried? surely you will tell me these things 
 now ?'' 
 
 " You were between four and five when you last 
 saw her. Ah me ! I have had much joy, but also 
 much pain, since that time. Beware, Lorenzo, of 
 yielding to a wrong impulse; beware of swerving 
 from the right path, even though you may seek to 
 deceive your better judgment, or to still the voice 
 of conscience, by proposing a good end. How much 
 misery, how much misery,'- and here he fairly 
 groaned, " did I not entail on myself and others by 
 one rash act ! But a day of partial reparation will 
 yet come." 
 
 Lorenzo was at a loss to understand this emotion ; 
 he supposed that it arose from awakening the mem- 
 ory of his mother. To change the subject he asked, 
 " You were absent a long time, father ; may I ask 
 where you were, and what you were doing ?" 
 
 "About business which may one day turn to your 
 advantage, my dear Lorenzo. My days are drawing 
 to a close, and I have much reparation to make to 
 you. That is why I was absent." 
 
 " Why do you so often speak, dear father, as if 
 11 
 
 nsxm 
 
 ^ 
 
 }) 
 
! 1 
 
 r 
 
 
 
 
 242 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 you had done me a wrong ? Is it to teach me hu- 
 mility, by giving me an example in severely censur- 
 ing your own conduct for imaginary faults ? It is I 
 who have injured you by many a youthful act of 
 thoughtlessness." 
 
 " God sees the heart ; men judge by appearances ; 
 I have indeed tried to make you happy and virtu- 
 ous ; I have striven to do for you better than your 
 mother could have hoped to do when you lost her ; 
 still I took the wrong way. One day you will kno\v 
 my meaning; do not, then, be too harsh in con- 
 demning." 
 
 " I shall always think of your kindness, and of 
 nothing else in connection with your memory." 
 
 " God bless you for that ; the same gentle mind 
 of his mother," he murmured, and then speaking 
 aloud said : " This paper which you found me writ- 
 ing will tell you all. Believe it, however improba- 
 ble it may appear ; sufficient proof of its truth will 
 be furnished. Peppe can confirm the greater part 
 of it. You shall get it by and by." 
 
 "But, father, will you tell me something about 
 the photograph which you gave me ? Did I ever 
 see the original ? Is she alive ?" 
 
 " Yes, to both questions, dear Lorenzo ; but you 
 were only a child when you saw her. She Is about 
 your own age, or a little younger, and as good and 
 beautiful as the promise of that picture." 
 
 " Have you, then, seen her lately ?" 
 
 " No ; but I have heard of her from good autlior- 
 ity." 
 
 Lorenzo was silent, musing on the strange revela- 
 
 :';t: 
 
 Hi'; 
 
■^"■i 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 243 
 
 tion ; he would fain ask more, but he plainly saw 
 that his father was anxious to change the subject. 
 He had been too well taught in his youth to respect 
 not only the commands, but also the wishes, of his 
 father, to press the matter. After all, what did it 
 signify ? he thought. Still, the fair child-face of the 
 locket would rise up before his mind's eye, and make 
 him anxious to know more of its history. After 
 some further conversation they walked out together. 
 The old man was feebler than in days gone by, still 
 he loved a quiet walk ; he proposed, therefore, to 
 accompany Lorenzo a part of the way to the " Plains 
 of Hannibal." They came along the dusty highway 
 wliich runs over the brow of the slopes from Al ban o, 
 by Marino, to the Tuscnlum hills. A short distance 
 from Marino a by-path strikes off from the main 
 road and runs through a shady ravine. Ages ago a 
 rushing stream dashed wildly along this course; but 
 now only the smooth, worn rocks of the bottom, and 
 the jagged banks, with here and there a deep recess 
 eaten out of the softer parts of the ledge, are the 
 monuments which attest the fact. Wild vines trail 
 along each side of the ravine, and, running out 
 bravely on the branches of the chestnut and elm, 
 often meet and entwine their tendrils over the head 
 of the grateful wayfarer. 
 
 Along this cool path Lorenzo and his father saun- 
 tered, the latter listening with eager delight to liis 
 son's account of barrack life. As Lorenzo fre- 
 quently spoke of his "friend Morgan," the old man 
 asked who he was. 
 
 '' Oh I" answered Lorenzo, " he is a Canadian, the 
 
244 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 * ^ 
 
 ''4111 
 
 t 
 
 
 \^m 
 
 son of Irish parents. His home is on the banks of 
 the great St. Lawrence." 
 
 " His name ?" asked the old man with a half per- 
 ceptible effort to speak calmly. 
 
 " Leahy,'' said Lorenzo : " he is, I assure you, a 
 noble character, and we are most intimate friends: 
 but what ails you ?" 
 
 This question was caused by the old man's leaning 
 back against the rocky side of the ravine, and put- 
 ting his hand to his heart. But quickly recovering, 
 he replied : 
 
 " Nothing, notliiiig, my dear boy ; a sudden pain ; 
 I often have had it," he said, with a wan smile. 
 " So you and he are very intimate ? Bring him 
 with you some day. I suppose you have no secrets 
 from one another ?" This was asked with evident 
 trepidation. 
 
 " None, I think, father. He has told me all 
 about himself and his family, — about his own hopes 
 and aspirations ; I have done likewise. Still, there 
 is one thing I kept back from him; I was half 
 ashamed to speak to him about it." 
 
 " What was that, Lorenzo ?" 
 
 " The locket ; I never showed it to him." 
 
 "It would be as well not to show it for some 
 time yet. When you know more about its history, 
 show it." 
 
 "You will tell me more, dear father?" 
 
 " I will, my boy ; but now I must return. If 
 your friend be as noble as you say he is, let your 
 friendship increase and wax stronger. May every 
 good blessing attend you, my boy." 
 
 H 4 
 
J ■ laii I I" 
 
 BURSTING OF THE OLOtTDS. 
 
 245 
 
 Lorenzo hurried on his way, thinking much of 
 what his father had said ; the thought of the story 
 of the locket liaunted him most. What was it? 
 What connection had it with his own and his father's 
 history ? There was evidently some mystery about 
 his father's life ; Lorenzo felt it now, and many an 
 action of the past, on which he had never reflected 
 at the time, came up to his remembrance and pro- 
 claimed a secret. The days of the cholera, shortly 
 after this visit, left him little time for speculation ; 
 the return to Rome and the excitement of an ap- 
 proaching Garibaldian raid almost banished all 
 thought of this kind from his mind. This was his 
 state on the morning on which Morgan rushed to 
 George Marchbank with the startling announcement 
 of the bursting of the war-cloud. 
 
 " So you are likely to have hot work soon," said 
 George, as Morgan related the news from the Prov- 
 inces. " How do you feel at the prospect of stand- 
 ing as a target for some ruffian's rifle V 
 
 " I shall not be a very steady target, George ; 
 once we come face to face with the enemies of the 
 Holy Father, I will be an ever-advancing one." 
 
 " Seriously, Morgan, this is bad news. Are the 
 people likely to join the raiders ?" 
 
 " So far from it that already they are enrolling 
 themselves in irregular companies, under the direc- 
 tion of the gens-d'armes. They are forming a sort 
 of local militia which will do good service on the 
 hills against the various bands. Here in Rome 
 there is quite a regiment of volunteers already en- 
 
 vtmm 
 
 
I 
 
 1." ■ t 
 > I 
 
 i1 '■ 
 
 
 < 
 
 . I 
 
 
 246 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 rolled to light for tlie rights of Holy Churcli. 
 Prince Lancellotti commands this body ; the Civic 
 Guard has also turned out in force, and will be 
 quite suflBcient to repress any internal uprising. 
 There are many foreign agitators in the city, but 
 the Civic Guard can look after them, and thus leave 
 the regular soldiers at liberty to meet the raiders." 
 
 " Why, it used to be said that the Pope's subjects 
 were tired of his sway ; that they would rather iight 
 against him than for him. This does not look like 
 disaffection." 
 
 "Do you not know, George, that one of the 
 weapons most persistently used against the Holy 
 See is falsehood ? Tell the world the truth about 
 Rome and the grand actions of its Popes, and every 
 right-thinking man must side with the Pope. But 
 the enemies of order and religion lie, lie, lie. Tliey 
 falsify history ; they slander the noblest characters 
 of Christianity ; they spread malicious falsehoods 
 regarding the Pope's government and the feelings 
 of his subjects. At the lodges of the secret societies 
 these infamous lies are retailed by the worst vil- 
 lains; the more innocent "brethren" present are 
 deceived ; they believe the speeches of their chiefs, 
 and return to their families ardent apostles of a sys- 
 tem of lies. Thus from the lodges to the home 
 circle, and thence through the whole community, 
 the same stupid calumny is borne. What wonder 
 that little of the truth is really known about our 
 religion, or that it has many enemies ?" 
 
 " You are right, Morgan ; I have learned to love 
 -Rome in a short time, because I have had experi- 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 247 
 
 ence of it. My own notions concerning it were, T 
 confess, at one time very grotesque. In our fair 
 Dominion how many conceited spouters, wlio im- 
 agine themselves politicians, insanely rave about 
 Rome ! It must make the devils grin with delight 
 as tliey contemplate their ignorant dupes. But why 
 does not the government arrest these . foreign agita- 
 tors who are in the city ?" 
 
 " Because, although known to be plotters, legal 
 proof is not just at hand. In countries of boasted 
 freedom the haheas corpus would be suspended, and 
 the prisons would soon be filled. But Rome, al- 
 though called tyrannical, respects more than any 
 other government the real liberty of man. Of 
 course, if there were imminent danger, martial law 
 would be proclaimed ; in that case the military 
 authorities would soon arrest these revolutionists." 
 
 " Morgan, I will enroll in the volunteers ; in a 
 crisis like this I will do what I can to defend my 
 present home. You are aware that I have been 
 drilled. I suppose I shall be received ?" 
 
 "Oh! if you wish to join I can make that all 
 right." 
 
 " I do wish it ; let us go and see about it at once." 
 
 The two friends sallied forth and sought the 
 headquarters of the volunteers : Artisans, mer- 
 chants, and various members of the middle class of 
 citizens as well as of the aristocracy were inscribed 
 in this regiment, and did good service during the 
 trying days of October 1867. Morgan, who was 
 acquainted with the commander, introduced his 
 friend, and had the satisfaction of seeing his name 
 
 IliKMI 
 
 m 
 
 5> 
 
248 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 I'W 
 
 enrolled on the list of active members. They then 
 separated, to meet in more exciting scenes. 
 
 Dark days succeeded for Rome : the plotters were 
 at work, and Kevolntionists boldlv walked the streets 
 by mid-day. Treason there was, it is true, but it 
 was rare ; still it lurked darkly in the back-streets 
 of the city, and under cover of the night fomcntL'd 
 disturbances. An oppressive fear seemed to have 
 settled over the more timid of the citizens ; it was 
 not of a kind with that which would be excited by 
 the approach of a large invading army ; it was 
 rather the undefinablc dread which takes possession 
 of the nervous when passing a lonely spot by night. 
 The wildest rumors were afloat. It was well known 
 to every one that Rome was filled with emiss.iries of 
 the secret societies ; they had flocked in from vai-ions 
 parts of Italy, and were supposed to have an ample 
 supply of arms. It was felt that a slumbering vol- 
 cano was beneath the feet of the citizens, and that a 
 disastrous eruption might, at any moment take 
 place. The diabolical hatred of religion with which 
 many of the leaders were actuated, the lawlessness 
 of rufBan bands, the paucity of the Pontifical 
 troops, — all conspired to unsettle men's minds. 
 
 As the days of Octobei' passed bands < f aiders 
 were everywhere at work through tl ontifical 
 States. If a force were sent against tli-m at one 
 point, they would disappear, and begin a ra d in 
 another quarter. If too hotly pursued, they would 
 quietly step across the frontier and laugh at the 
 soldiers who could no longer follow them. From 
 this it can easily be seen how difficult was the task 
 
OTHm 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 249 
 
 of tlie defenders of Kome. Few in nnmber, and 
 obliged to protect a large tract of country, it was 
 impossible for them to succeed. Whenever they 
 got an opportunity of lighting, as at Bagnorea, Val- 
 licorsa and Montiparioli, the soldiers of the Pope 
 made short work of their enemies. But as the 
 raiders kept beyond range as much as possible, and 
 tired out the Pontifical troops by ceaseless marches 
 and watches by day and night, there was but little 
 room left for bravery. 
 
 In that region of Kome known as the Ghetto^ the 
 quarter in which the Jews reside, are various tum- 
 ble-down houses nodding backward into the Tiber. 
 They appear to have been asleep for centuries, and 
 may be expected to leap into the yellow stream on 
 awaking. In one of the most suicidal-looking of 
 these ruined habitations a deep plot was being 
 matured on the night of October 21. Bags of bone- 
 dust, heaps of dirty scraps of paper, unshapely 
 piles of rags, are crowded in the dingy front-room. 
 We have a friend who once began, in verse, " The 
 story of a rag." It might seem a strange, or, per- 
 haps, a forbidding theme for the Epic Muse ; yet 
 what adventures might not a rag relate, were it but 
 endowed with intelligence ! However, on this par- 
 ticular night of which our story treats, the lags were 
 all silent : if they had a history of their own they 
 preserved a discreet silence regarding it. Not silent, 
 however, were the rag-pickers, who, seated on the 
 lioor, sorted their wares by the dim liglit of a small 
 lamp. An old, cunning-looking man, with hooked 
 nose, sunken gums, protruding chin, wrinkled brow 
 11* . 
 
 mnm 
 
 nmy 
 
 

 il 8i 
 
 I ■; 
 
 ■1* V 
 
 1 ' ' 
 
 i 1 
 
 ; ! 
 
 '1 
 
 260 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 and small keen eyes, was the proprietor of this den. 
 His grizzly and matted hair hung down beneath a 
 red worsted night-cap ; his other articles of wearing 
 apparel were old and tattered ; his stockings were 
 unmatched, and he wore a shoe on one foot and an 
 ankle- jack on the other. All these indications bore 
 out the truth of the theory that his wardrobe had 
 been picked out of the gutters of Rome. Around 
 him were seated two slovenly girls and three boys 
 whose clothes and countenances were the color of 
 the sewage in which most of their lives had been 
 spent. It is only when contemplating such charac- 
 ters as these that one can realize how degraded a 
 human being may become. A constant chatter was 
 kept up by these occupants of this dreary haunt ; 
 each one related for the common amusement a part 
 of his, or her adventures during the day. Occa- 
 sionally the old man attempted a smile ; it was when 
 any one told how deftly a good handkerchief, or 
 some article of linen, had been snatched from a line. 
 The greedy look which came into his eyes as he sur- 
 veyed the prize plainly told that his mirth was not 
 like that of his younger companions, caused by the 
 dexterity of the trick, but by the love of money. 
 
 From time to time persons had been entering this 
 haunt, and, after slightly nodding to the old man, 
 passed into a back room which hung over the Tiber. 
 It had once been a covered gallery, overlooking the 
 water, but had been since transformed into a room 
 lighted from the roof, and walled off from the front 
 apartment, so as to lead a stranger to suppose that 
 there was nothing beyond. A trap-door in the floor 
 
 ilLi 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 251 
 
 showed, when raised, the swift-flowing Tiber a few 
 feet below. A muffled form entered the front room, 
 and one glance from the evil eyes revealed, notwith- 
 standing his disguise, Capodiavolo. As he passed 
 on, the old man, who might be taken for his father, 
 rose, and bidding his companions continue their 
 work and talk, and assume ignorance of his where- 
 abouts should any one call, followed Capodiavolo. 
 There were in all some ten or twelve collected in 
 the back room ; a small earthen oil-lamp cast faint 
 shadows of light through the mouldy apartment. 
 Green lizards darted quickly around the floor, and 
 slimy reptiles crawled up the walls. A venomous 
 scorpion showed its head, for a moment, in a faint 
 streak of light, and was crushed beneath the heel 
 of Capadiavolo. "Thus will we crush the scor- 
 pion of Italy," hissed the reprobate, meaning the 
 Pope. 
 
 " The work is going forward too slowly," began 
 Capodiavolo ; " we have not, as yet, obtained a victory. 
 True, we have surprised and captured one or two 
 small guards of soldiers, but no place of importance 
 has been taken. Monte Eotondo is not yet besieged, 
 although it must be our base of operations. In a 
 day or two it will be invested by a large force; 
 Garibaldi will be in command ; but it is necessary 
 to terrify the enemy here, so that no troops may be 
 sent out to assist the garrison of that town. We 
 must keep the base soldiers of the Papacy employed 
 in preserving order in the city, while our men 
 attack the outlying towns. Once these are in our 
 hands tlie whole of the force will march to the walls 
 
 ■tsnt 
 
 3» 
 
252 
 
 AFTER ^EARY YEARS. 
 
 <4 
 
 of Rome : we inside will then openly co-operate with 
 our friends without." 
 
 " A good plan, by Dives !" (he always swore by 
 the rich reprobate) grinned the old man ; " you have 
 the head of a devil, my* noble patriot. But why 
 trust to the sword and bullets alone for success < 
 Why not try a little blowing-up?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" queried Capodiavolo. 
 
 "Only this," said the heartless wretch. " Blow 
 up the barracks, the churches, the houses of the 
 aristocracy, the Pope himself." 
 
 A sudden start ran through the crowd. The ball 
 had been thrown ; when, or where would it alight? 
 Capodiavolo worked his upper lip ; it seemed as if 
 the cruel nose would at last succeed in biting it; 
 then, turning to the old man, he said : 
 
 " Is this thing possible on a short notice ? We 
 might send some dozens of the foreign rabble flying 
 in the air, if we could undermine their barracks." 
 
 " The Serristori barracks do not need undermin- 
 ing. A sewer passes under them ; a barrel or two of 
 powder, a well-laid train, a lighted match, and, 2)qf 
 away to the devil go a hundred Zouaves, or more. 
 Thus the old man spoke. 
 
 " It is an excellent device ; a good plan of ridding 
 ourselves of those hirelings of the vampire of Italy," 
 jerked out Capodiavolo, his evil eyes scintillating in 
 the dusk of the room. Our readers must pardon 
 the quotation of such infamous language. To call 
 the noble defenders of the rights of Holy Church 
 "hirelings," and the grand old Pontiff, whose name 
 will stand out^amongst the purest and best of man- 
 
mm 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 263 
 
 kind, the " Yampire of Italy," is enough to make 
 the blood of a true Christian run cold ; yet it may 
 be well to quote such expressions, in order to show 
 the infernal nature of the plot against the Church 
 and Rome. It is the thought of demons clothed in 
 human speech, but it is not invented by us. It is 
 well for Catholics to fully realize that it is hell 
 which has stirred up, and still stirs, that wild revolt 
 against Religion, the rights of man, and God, that 
 is now agitating many parts of the world. 
 
 " What think you, Mars, of this old hell-babe's 
 scheme ?" 
 
 "I do not like it," bluntly spoke this individual ; 
 " I am ready to lead my men openly against those 
 foreign dogs, but his plan is too dastardly an act for 
 a soldier to commit." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Capodiavolo, with a blood- 
 curdling execration, " have you pity on these detest- 
 able scoundrels ? Are we not sworn to overthrow 
 the Pope, and shall we scruple about the means to 
 be employed ? There is a »rim irony in the phrase 
 of taking Rome by 'moral i 3aiis' ; this blowing-up 
 of the barracks will give the lie to the half-hearted 
 knaves who seek to deceive themselves and others. 
 Our motto is ' Rome or Death ' ; Garil)akli has 
 raised it, though I much fear the drivelling old 
 agitator will not choose the alternative of death, but 
 we must. Rome must fall by any means we can 
 devise. Better to stand weeping 'midst the ruins 
 and ashes of a fallen city than to live surrounded by 
 luxury, with the Church still triumphantly launch- 
 ing its anathemas against our societies. The city of 
 
 ^m 
 
 ]\ 
 
 "^ 
 
 1 
 
 Hi 
 
 m 
 
 ■^^ 
 
254 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 the Popes must be blotted out ; its ashes must be 
 saturated with the heart' s-blood of the black-frocked 
 fry wlio feed on its people. Out from the blood- 
 dyed ashes a new Rome will arise — the Rome of 
 Atheism — the mother of the Universal Republic. A 
 marble pillar, with the terse inscription, 
 
 ^Here stood Rome,' 
 
 will proclaim to future ages our victory over the 
 superstition of the Cross." 
 
 At the conclusion of this blasphemous rhapsody 
 Capodiavolo glared round on his companions. The 
 old man leered hideously, and softly clapped his 
 long hands ; then he began clawing the air with his 
 skeleton fingers, which had a cruel and hawk-like 
 look on account of the long nails with which they 
 were armed. If Capodiavolo were not his son he 
 inherited his malice. The others, with the excep- 
 tion of Mars, appeared indifferent. He looked dis- 
 turbed, and turning to Capodiavolo said : 
 
 " I am anxious to take Rome, but I cannot resort 
 to such base means. After we have achieved a vic- 
 tory how can we look the world in the face if our 
 battles have been won by the coward's trick, and not 
 by the brave man's steel ?" 
 
 A derisive snarl broke from the lips of Capodia- 
 volo and the old man ; it was not a laugh, nor yet a 
 snort ; it was like the choking of an evil spirit. 
 
 " Are you such an idiot to suppose that the world 
 will cry shame when we do this deed against Rome 'i 
 Were it to be done against any other government 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 255 
 
 the case would be different, but hell and the world 
 are leagued with us against the Pope." 
 
 Was Capodiavolo right in this assertion ? 
 
 Mars pleaded military business and withdrew, 
 saying that he was ready to lead an attack on the 
 l)arracks, but not to blow them up. The old man 
 after his departure mocked, with horril)le levity, 
 the sentiments of Mars, and conjured the others to 
 stick at nothing in order to compass their designs. 
 Capodiavolo then unfolded his plans. At a given 
 hour the next night the gas was to be cut off, the 
 barracks of Serristori were to be blown up, an at- 
 tack was to be made on the Capitol and on Caste! 
 San Angelo, while small bands were to create a 
 diversion in various quarters of the city. It was 
 hoped that the darkness and confusion thus caused 
 would strike terror into the hearts of all, and that 
 Rome would be theirs before the arrival of their 
 fellow-plotters from without. The signal for com- 
 mencing this dark work of iniquity was to be the 
 ringing of the great bell of the Capitol. A party 
 was detailed to bribe the keeper of the tower, or 
 failing in this, to find some means of ascent to the 
 bell. Monti and Tognetti, two uidiappy workmen 
 who had been ensnared l)y the secret societies, were 
 to blow up the barracks ; the mode of attack, and 
 the leaders, were duly fixed upon by Capodiavolo, 
 and the plot was complete. Fiercely did the old 
 man and Capodiavolo gloat over the anticipated suc- 
 cess of their scheme; it was deeply planned and 
 well wrought thus far; what was to prevent their 
 triumph ? Humanly speaking, nothing ; but against 
 
 llMM 
 
 *4 
 
 ^ 
 
256 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 heaven no counsels shall prevail ; no plot of man, or 
 devils, can defeat the Omnipotent. 
 
 Another day had passed away forever ; anotlier 
 grain of sand had silently fallen from the hour-glass 
 of centuries ; another bubble had burst on the ocean 
 of time. Those who lived in Rome during the 
 eventful period of which this chapter treats well 
 know the sense of danger experienced by all. No 
 soldier was seen without his musket, with bayonet 
 fixed ; the gates of the city were fortified, and the 
 walls were pierced to permit a safe fire from riiies 
 on an advancing enemy. The citizens retired he- 
 times from the streets, and the family circle spoke 
 in hushed tones regarding the villany of the raiders. 
 Many a prayer was wafted to heaven for the succefs 
 of the gallant little army which stood, like an im- 
 movable rock, between the Eternal City and the 
 flood of revolutionary hate. Many a prayer was 
 wafted to heaven for the preservation and triumph of 
 the immortal Pius IX., that God might be pleased 
 to sustain this noble defender of social order and 
 justice. Of all the crowned heads of Europe he 
 stood alone, battling against the dark conspirators 
 against the well-being of nations. Mankind has 
 paid a ready homage to Iloratius Codes, the nohle 
 Roman who defended alone the bridge against a 
 hostile army ; but the moral grandeur of Pius IX., 
 weak and old, standing forth to fight single-handed 
 the battle of justice and truth against the liordes of 
 earth and hell, far eclipses the physical beauty of 
 the resistance made by the brave Codes. 
 
mm 
 
 BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 257 
 
 The company in which were Morgan and Lorenzo 
 was quartered in the Serristori barracks. They 
 were situated on one of the streets which lead from 
 the Castel San Angelo to the Square of St. Peter's. 
 Several companies of Zouaves were, for the present, 
 quartered here. The mantle of night had fallen 
 over the City of the Popes ; the rippling Tiber, 
 humming as it meandered past its historic bride, 
 glinted in the light of a young moon ; the sentinel's 
 tread resounded far in the still night, and gradually 
 died away in the deserted streets with a gentle pat- 
 ter, soft as the footfalls of disentombed spirits. 
 Save for this sound and a few glaring lamps, Rome 
 might have been taken for a city of the dead ; its 
 graceful turrets and symmetrical domes shone white 
 in the moonbeams, like marble memorials of the de- 
 parted. In the heavens and in the air all was calm- 
 ness and peace. 
 
 But now a loud report, a hissing in the air, a crash 
 of falling masonry, smothered cries of pain, and a 
 wild confusion of voices as the erst deserted streets 
 fill with human beings, break harshly upon the tran- 
 quil night. A slight crackling of musketry is heard 
 near the Capitol, and it adds new terror to the situa- 
 tion. The vile deed has been accomplished in part : 
 a portion of the Serristori barracks has been blown 
 up, and has buried a few Zouaves and two civilians 
 who were passing along, beneath its ruins. But the 
 prayers of the good had not been offered in vain. 
 Just before the explosion, contrary to all expecta- 
 tion, an order had come to draw off several compan- 
 ies of the Zouaves to another point of the city. This 
 
 mm 
 
 ■ mm 
 
 if 
 
258 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 11 
 
 ■m 
 
 providential order left tlie part of the barracks which 
 was blown up alnnost empty. Only a few members 
 of the band remained. Thus were the lives of many 
 gallant soldiers saved. 
 
 An assault was made on the guard at the Capitol, 
 but it was easily repelled ; the deep-laid plot was a 
 failure. Capodiavolo gnashed his teeth as he sat 
 some hours later in the same room in which, on the 
 preceding night, he had plotted to so little purpose. 
 The old man was there scowling like an exorcised 
 demon ; Mars, too, was there, wounded and moody. 
 He had led the attack on the Capitol, and had been 
 quickly routed. He looked upon the blowing-up 
 of the barracks as base and injudicious. 
 
 " We shall have martial law proclaimed to-mor- 
 row, owing to that cowardly act, and then we must 
 fly^ the city. We are known, and the moment one 
 of our men appears abroad he will be pounced upon 
 and cast into prison. I sincerely hope Monti and 
 Tognetti may be caught and cut into ten thousand 
 pieces." 
 
 Thus spoke Mars in answer to Capodiavolo's la- 
 ment over the failure of his plot. 
 
 " I would sell my soul to the Prince of Darkness 
 for one hour's triumph over the accursed minions 
 who surround the gangrene of our country." 
 
 These words came from the throat of Capodiavolo 
 as if an evil spirit, having taken possession of him, 
 were striving to use his vocal organs. 
 
 "Yon are sold already, for the matter of that; 
 the devil is ever ready to buy, but he is a poor pay- 
 master, curse him. I am a Jew, but I almost think 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 259 
 
 tlie story about Jndiis true onongli. By Dives! the 
 devil \ms played us a scurvy trick to-night" ; saying 
 this the old man worked his toothless jaws, and 
 clawed the air with his skeleton fingers tipped with 
 long yellow nails. 
 
 " Cease such babbling, you drivelling idiot, and 
 bind up the wounds of Mars. The devil will get 
 his match at scurvy tricks when he piles you on his 
 roasting-heap." 
 
 Having said this, Capodiavolo began pacing the 
 mouldy room, frightening by his angry scowl the 
 playful lizards and the crawling reptiles. The old 
 man brought bandages and salve and dressed the 
 wounds on the shoulder of Mars. When this was 
 done Mars began : 
 
 " Why did not the bell of the Capitol ring out the 
 promised signal ? Its failure marred all our plans. 
 Who is to blame for this ?" 
 
 " St. Peter, if there be such a one. The guardian 
 of the tower accepted our offer to let in a few per- 
 sons at nightfall ; they entered, for I saw them, but 
 they never rang the bell ; neither did they return.'* 
 Capodiavolo looked thoughtful as he said this. 
 
 The apparent mystery of this proceeding is easily 
 explained. The guardian, being a shrewd man, sus- 
 pected that the offer of a large sum for access to the 
 belfry was connected with the plots of the revolu- 
 tionists. If they wished to ring the bell as a sign 
 of rising, it would be well, he thought, to let them 
 imagine that they could give this signal, otherwise 
 they might prepare another one. He therefore 
 promised access to the belfry, pocketed the money, 
 
 
11 
 
 260 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 \¥¥ 
 
 m 
 
 and went straight to the Senator of Eome, the Mar- 
 quis Cavaletti, to whom he made known the whole 
 affair. A few soldiers were quietly stationed in the 
 belfry, and the guardian was told to admit the revo- 
 lutionists at night. They entered, and instead of 
 ringing they were handcuffed and led off to prison. 
 As the bell did not ring out, the conspirators in the 
 various parts of the city did not know what to do; 
 the programme was spoijed by the failure of the 
 opening act. Only Monti and Tognetti and Mars 
 began their parts ; but they, too, fell far short of all 
 expectation. 
 
 " We must leave Eome at once," said Capodiavolo ; 
 " we will hasten to join our friends without, and hurry 
 them on to the assault. Once the news of this blow- 
 ing-up business reaches France the ugly crows (i.e. 
 the clergy) will raise a noise and strive to force a 
 return of French troops. We must act quickly ; 
 we must storm Monte Rotondo to-morrow night ; 
 entrench ourselves there, and then pour down on 
 Rome. We will thus arrive here before any French 
 soldiers can land at Civita Yecchia." 
 
 Capodiavolo was good at planning; he had a 
 quick perception, a powerful mind, and an unfeel- 
 ing heart ; but, like many plotters against the 
 Church, he forgot that she is a Divine institution 
 overshadowed and protected by the Almighty. The 
 action of Providence in favor of the Church did not 
 enter into his calculations ; consequently they were 
 never correct. 
 
 The trap-door in the floor of the room was raised ; 
 a small boat suspended on two hooks was lowered. 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 261 
 
 and Capodiavolo witli the wounded Mars silently 
 dropped aboard. Trusting to the darkness of the 
 night, for the moon had set, and to the confusion 
 consequent on the blowing up of the barracks and 
 tlie assault on the guard at the Capitol, Capodiavolo 
 pushed the boat out into the stream and floated down 
 its current. His object was to quietly make his exit 
 from the city, to land below St. Paul's, and then to 
 strike across the country in a northerly direction to- 
 wards Monte-Rotondo. "Wishing him a prosperous 
 voyage and breathing curses on the defenders of 
 Rome, the old Jew closed the trap, and turning 
 i-Qund found himself confronted by a policeman and 
 two Zouaves. They were the patrol on their round, 
 and having seen traces of blood near the door had 
 entered just as the boat pushed off. The old Jew 
 was staggered, but only for an instant ; quickly re- 
 covering presence of mind he piped out, " Hurrah 
 for the Pope! hurrah for the brave defenders of 
 Rome !" 
 
 " Peace, old hypocrite," sternly began the police- 
 man ; " we know your loyalty. What were you 
 doing just now with the floor ?" 
 
 " Only closing the cellar hatchway, noble offi- 
 
 cer 
 
 V 
 
 " How do you account for the traces of blood on 
 your door-step and in the front room ?" 
 
 " Why, see, noble soldiers," whined the wily old 
 Jew, " I was out buying a goat's liver from Eben 
 Ben Albi the butcher; I do so love goat's liver 
 chopped in my maccaroni ; the blood was dripping 
 from it as I came along." 
 
 atai 
 
 if 
 

 262 
 
 AFTEK WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ,♦' i'j 
 
 - h. 
 r 7^ vi 
 
 " Wliere is the liver now ?" 
 
 " In the cellar, gallant warriors ; I was just re- 
 turning from putting it away." 
 
 The two Zouaves looked convinced ; but the 
 policeman who had good reason to suspect the Jew 
 merely said : 
 
 " Open the hatches ; 1 must see this cellar." 
 
 "Not to-night ; uut in the dark; it is damp and 
 mouldy. Come to-morrow when the bright sun is 
 shining; old Ezra will give you good welcome." 
 
 Without making jvny answer the policeman ad- 
 vanced and raised the trap ; peering down, the 
 truth flashed on him. 
 
 " Why, you dog of a Jew, you have been harbor- 
 ing revolutionists, and have sent them off by the 
 water." 
 
 In vain the old man protested his innocence ; an 
 ill-closed door in the wall was opened, and several 
 Orsini bombs, muskets, and cartridges were found. 
 Denial was useless. 
 
 " To-morrow morning martial law will be pro- 
 claimed," said the policeman, " and it will go hard 
 with you. We have had your name on our list for 
 a long time." 
 
 The old man was taken prisoner. The light of 
 the policeman's lamp flashed on the Zouaves and re- 
 vealed the faces of Morgan and. Lorenzo. At the 
 sight of the latter the old man started, and clutch- 
 ing him by the arm said : 
 
 "Are you Lorenzo Aldini, son of Giovanni?" 
 
 "lam. What of it?" 
 
 "Only this: save my life and I will tell you 
 
BURSTING OF THE CLOUDS. 
 
 263 
 
 something you would give the wealth of Rome to 
 know." 
 
 " What can you tell me ? What do you know of 
 mo?" 
 
 "Much, very much. Giovanni Aldini knows 
 nic ; I helped him once in a matter which concerns 
 you. Get your comrades to set me free, and I will 
 tell all." 
 
 Lorenzo looked troubled. His father's mysteri- 
 ous words about some injury done him came vividly 
 to his remembrance. Was there then any secret 
 connected with his history ? The policeman, who 
 looked upon the old Jew as a most cunning villain, 
 thought his words only tended to some deception, 
 and calmly telling him that " probably he would be 
 shot on the morrow," prepared to depart. The poor 
 wretch clasped his bony lingers and murmured : 
 
 '• Let me go and I will give you money. It was 
 Ciipodiavolo who forced me into this. Spare my 
 life and I will tell you all, and I will tell this 
 young man where to find his mother. I can tell 
 him—" 
 
 A crackling of musketry was heard without ; the 
 three soldiers turned towards the door. Quick as 
 thought the old Jew, who had not been handcuffed, 
 disappeared by the open trap-door. A slight plash- 
 ing in the water first drew the attention of the 
 patrol to the fact of his disappearance. They gazed 
 down into the yellow stream, but all was silent save 
 the subdued purring sound of the water as it gently 
 laved a jutting bank. He was gone ; but whether 
 the Tiber had closed over him forever or had only 
 
 
 V..i 
 
PM.. 
 
 I 
 
 |i! 
 
 264 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 borne him on its bosom to a place of safety, they 
 could not determine. 
 
 " The "Witch of Endor could not have eluded us 
 more cleverly," said the policeman. 
 
 It may here be remarked for the benefit of those 
 who talk about the " ignorance" of the Italiaiis, tliat 
 the facts of Bible history are as familiar to them as 
 houseliold words. 
 
 Fastening the trap and locking the doors they 
 hurried forth. The firing had been heard in tlie 
 direction of one cf the gates of the city ; the guard 
 had fired at come spies who quickly retreated. 
 
 The old Jew's words troubled Lorenzo. Was his 
 mother alive ? Morgan laughed and said it was a 
 trick of the old man's to gain time ; but Lorenzo 
 could not dismiss the subject so lightly. The stir- 
 ring events of the following days left him no time 
 for reflection. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 MENTANA. 
 
 Mounted patrols clatter through the streets of 
 Rome : soldiers with fixed bayonets hurry hither and 
 thither ; -Teat wain loads of bags filled with sand 
 lumber heavily towards the gates of the city. 
 Troops of military unload them, and raise up a for- 
 tification at each side of the entrance. Few civilians 
 are abroad, and those that are pass quickly on their 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 265 
 
 way ; the cloud of dread and apprehension has grown 
 darker and more oppressive. Military law has been 
 proclaimed, and the oendarnies have lessened the 
 crowd of suspicions-looking individuals who wore 
 the peculiarly indented hat, seen on Mars and Cupid 
 in the den on the Aventine. In the house of Ajani, 
 already mentioned in these pages, a short but bloody 
 encounter hi\d taken place. Over fifty revolutionists 
 were assembled to plot against the government ; they 
 had arms and bombs in abundance. The military 
 made a descent on them, when a sharp engagement 
 took place ; the doors were soon forced, the stairs 
 taken by assault, and the Pontifical soldiers were 
 masters of the place. But there was no knowing 
 how many such arsenals might be in the city ; there 
 was no telling what deeds of villany might be per 
 petrated by those who had already blown up ]iart of 
 a barracks. Hence the undefinal)le dread which 
 seemed rather to lurk in the air than to be confined 
 to a particular spot. To retire to bed with the 
 thought that perhaps you may awake hurtling 
 through the air with the fragments of your dwelling, 
 is not, it may be presumed, a sleep-inviting frame of 
 mind ; to rise with the thought that perhaps ere 
 night an unbridled mob may be rioting throngh the 
 city, is not, for a certainty, a refreshing cordial. 
 Yet such was, for many, life in Rome during the 
 last days of October, 18G7. 
 
 Day by day the bands increased in the Province?. 
 
 Monte-Kotondo was besieged on the 23d. It is a 
 
 city built, as ite name denotes, on a round mountain, 
 
 about fifteen miles from Kome, and can be reached 
 
 12 
 
 1^1 
 
 i«ti 
 
 5> 
 

 
 \l 
 
 ft 
 
 
 266 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 from the latter city by the Nomentana and Salara 
 Ways. It had only a small garrison of about one hun- 
 dred and eighty men with one piece of old can- 
 non. It was assaulted by over two thousand Garibal- 
 dians, amongst whom Garibaldi himself appeared. 
 For nearly two days the heroic little band of Pontifical 
 soldiers sustained the unequal combat ; the old can- 
 non was hauled rapidly from point to point, and so 
 cleverly used that the enemy imagined there was a 
 whole park of artillery. Assault after assault was 
 made and repulsed ; the brave sons of France — for 
 many of the defenders belonged to the " Frencli 
 Legion" — performed acts of valor worthy of the de- 
 scend mts of the knights who fought under St. Louis. 
 Their national courage joined to the love of St. 
 Peter's Chair made tiiem heroes to a man. Worn 
 out after thirty-six hours of incessant fighting, their 
 old cannon at length become useless, and the enemy 
 ever increasing in numbers as fresh bands arrived, 
 their- cise indeed seemed desperate. A dense mass 
 is seen moving up the road to the gate ; it is fired 
 upon but without effect ; it steadily advances. By 
 the light of flickering torches they see that it is great 
 car-loads of faggots pushed from behind. It is use- 
 less to waste powder ; they can only await the devel- 
 opment. The cars are pushed up to the gate, piled 
 around it, and set on fire. Now the flames roar and 
 crackle as the dry wood sends up great tongues of 
 lurid red ; now the Garibaldians shout as the great 
 gate swells and cracks ; higher yet, and ever higher, 
 rise the flames, roaring as if in triumph. A demon 
 figure leaps wildly around the cars piling on fresli 
 
ME^TANA. 
 
 267 
 
 faggots ; his evil eyes, lighted as with a glow from 
 hellj reveal Capodiavolo. Fifty muskets are aimed 
 at liim, but with a hoarse shout he still leaps round 
 the glowing flames. Well might a soldier mutter: 
 '' He must be the devil himself," as he saw the savage 
 glare of the dancing demons in his eyes. 
 
 The gate totters on its hinges, and drops in a hun- 
 dred glowing fragments ; a wild yell bursts from the 
 infuriated hordes as Garibaldi cries, '" Rome or 
 I'eu'M On to the assault!" A rush, a loud shout, 
 and the burned gate is reached. Capodiavolo leaps 
 over it, followed by several others. A volley from 
 l!m. Pontifical troops causes several to fall in the 
 li.e and to suffer, by anticipation, some of the pains 
 of hell. But others press on ere the defenders can 
 reload, and soon the place swarms with the Garihal- 
 dians. Step by step the ground is contested ; the sol- 
 diers gradually retiring tb the fort. The town is in 
 the hands of the Garibaldians, but the soldiers hold 
 the fort. Summoned to surrender, they indignantly 
 refuse. Yet what can valor now avail ? They are 
 doomed ; they know it ; but can they lower the Papal 
 flag before this revolutionary horde? Their noble 
 hearts revolt at the thought. They are now reduced 
 in number, spent by fatigue, short of ammunition, 
 and surrounded by bands exasperated by their fear- 
 ful loss — for truly fearful it was. 
 
 From behind, the enemy undermined the castle 
 or fort, and placing powder beneath it, called on 
 them to lay down their arms or they would be blown 
 up. The commanding officer states the case to the 
 men and asks their opinion. " Let them blow it 
 
 irati 
 
 )» 
 
 "H 
 
 
S5! 
 
 268 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Ml 
 
 ,J^ 
 
 up," is the unanimous reply ;' " we will make a sortie 
 and die sword in hand." But now a venerable priest 
 comes into the apartment ; he is the minister of a 
 God of Peace. They have proved themselves heroes ; 
 they have done all mortal man could do ; further 
 resistance is useless ; lives are not to be needlessly 
 thrown away. In all honor they can now lay down 
 their arms and live to fight for the Pope instead of 
 rushing on to a foolish butchery. True courage 
 is a reasonable act not a blind impulse. 
 
 With such words as these the generous souls of 
 that gallant little garrison were moved, and consented 
 to surrender ; but they first broke their swords and 
 rendered useless their rifles. When they defiled out 
 on the square Garibaldi looked puzzled ; he gazed 
 first on them, then turned his eyes toward the castle 
 as if looking for the appearance of others. Seeing 
 no more advancing he said : 
 
 " Where is the rest of the garrison ?" 
 
 Being told that the whole garrison was present, 
 he was astonished. He and his followers could 
 scarcely believe that it was this handful of men, 
 with one old cannon, that had kept his thousands at 
 bay for nearly two days. However, he had sense 
 enough to compliment highly the bravery of the 
 soldiers. Even Capodiavolo felt a faint sensation of 
 respect for the worn and famished prisoners. {Sin- 
 cerely did he wish that his bands were of equal 
 bravery. 
 
 Tliis unlooked-for check in taking Monte-Roton- 
 do frustrated the schemes of the raiders. They 
 should have been under the walls of Rome twenty- 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 269 
 
 four hours previously, to co-operate with their 
 friends inside. Now they were disorganized after 
 tlieir heavy losses, and felt that it would ])e mad- 
 ness to go forward for several days at least. They 
 must recruit more bands, fortify their position, and 
 obtain fresh supplies of ammunition and guns. The 
 heroic resistance of Monte-Iiotondo had taught them 
 what they might expect under the walls of Rome ; 
 the bombastic cry of " E-ome or Death !" was easily 
 uttered ; but it would not conquer Christian heroes. 
 A delay of several days was necessary before they 
 could march ; that delay, under God, saved Rome 
 from many horrors. The revolutionists within the 
 city, disappointed at the non-arrival of their allies 
 without, were disheartened ; and the active measures 
 of the military authorities, after the proclamation of 
 martial law, effectually quelled the turbulent. 
 
 But these things were unknown at the time ; the 
 providence of God was working out the safety of 
 the Capital, but mortals could not comprehend its 
 plans. They only knew that Monto-Rotondo had 
 fallen, that new bands were ])ouring in, and there 
 was a rumor of a threatened invasion of regular 
 troops. In this state of affairs. General Kanzler, 
 Pro-minister of War, advised the Pope to withdraw 
 the soldiers from the Provinces and to concentrate 
 them on Rome. It was a grave measure but a 
 prudent one. Each small garrison could do no more 
 than offer an heroic resistance, and be iinally over- 
 powered. By concentrating all the troops on Rome 
 it could be held against irregular bands. The re- 
 oall was effected on the 27th of October, and served 
 
 % 
 ^ 
 

 270 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 to increase the general feeling of uneasiness. Dur- 
 ing these dreary days of anxiety the conduct of tlie 
 troops was admirable ; they woi-ked incessantly ; 
 they remained out overnight and suffered many 
 privations, but cheerfully bore them all. The Vol- 
 unteers under Prince Lancellotti rendered excellent 
 service; so did the Civic Guard. The citizens were 
 anxious, it is true ; still they had confidence in the 
 heroism of the little army. They were trying days, 
 those last ones of October, and few, if any, failed in 
 duty. 
 
 Meanwhile the outside world was busy with the 
 state of the Eternal City. The news of the sacri- 
 legious invasion of the States of the Church spread 
 over the Peninsula and Europe, exciting every- 
 where the indignation of Catholics. It bounded 
 across the broad Atlantic and moved the generous 
 hearts of Canada's noble sons. The descendants of 
 the sons of France who quit their country before the 
 mad revolution of 1789, were aroused to action in 
 defence of Holy Church. So, too, were Catho- 
 lics in other parts ; but they would arrive too late. 
 One human hope alone remained for Rome; it was 
 France, eldest daughter of the Church ; and then, as 
 ever, France was true to her trust. The heart and 
 pulse of that glorious nation beat, and still beats, in 
 unison with Rome. At times its government has 
 deflected from the course prescribed by Clodoveus, 
 Charlemagne, and St. Louis, but the instincts of the 
 nation pointed aright. A wild upheaving of the 
 social elements startled the world in the last cen- 
 tury ; it was a typhoon engendered in hell and sent 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 271 
 
 forth to blast the fair aspect of France. It passed 
 away, and the heart and pulse of the nation resumed 
 their normal action. Great when following lier 
 Catholic instincts, and humbled only when disre- 
 garding them, her history proves her to be the 
 chosen arm of God's Church. 
 
 The news of the sad state of the Roman Pro- 
 vinces, the knowledge of the cowardly blowing-up of 
 the barracks, roused the French people and clergy to 
 vigorous action. Foremost in the ranks stood the 
 eloquent Bishop of Orleans, Monseigneur Dupan- 
 loup. History will encircle his name with a halo of 
 s^\ory for his defence of Rome. Napoleon at length 
 sent the order to the transport -ships, already pre- 
 pared at Toulon, to set sail. Swiftly they ploughed 
 the blue waters of the Mediterranean, but not swift 
 enough to satisfy the longing desires of the French 
 nation. They disembarked at Civita Yecchia, and 
 under the command of General Count de Failly they 
 arrived in Rome during the last days of October. 
 The well-remembered rat-tat of the French drums, 
 the unforgotten sound of their trumpets fell joy- 
 fully on the ears of the citizens on the morning of 
 October 30. The £rlad sio:ht of their martial ranks 
 arrayed in red trousers, white buskins, and blue 
 jackets, brought a sense of security to every heart, 
 and dispelled the gloomy cloud of undefinable 
 dread. 
 
 
 
 Rat-tat-tat ! Drums are beating, horses prancing, 
 bugles resounding, and columns of troops tramping 
 heavily along the streets. Rat-tat-tat ! How they 
 
mw 
 
 272 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 t^:!!l 
 
 cleave the still air and startle the rooks from many 
 a moss-covered tower. ]>ehiiid them comes a rum- 
 bling, thundering sound wliich shakes the sleepers 
 in their beds ; it is the ])assing of heavy pieces 
 of artillery. Rat-tat-tat ! The air seems filled 
 with tiie endless sound which breaks loudly on the 
 ear just at the moment in which one thinks that 
 it is dying away. It is not yet four o'clock on the 
 morning of November 3d, yet all this noise and bustle 
 is rending the cold atmosphere. It is the prelude 
 to a glorious victory ; it is the ushering in of a day 
 which will crown the Pontifical army with the 
 laurels of a victory bravely won, and which will 
 strike terror into the revolutionists of Europe, and 
 make them curse this day and endeavor in prose 
 and verse, in English, French, and Italian to distort 
 its history ; it is the morning of the battle of Men- 
 tana. 
 
 The brilliancy of a victory is not to be sought for 
 in the numbers engaged, but in the difiiculties over- 
 come; the bravery of a soldier is not to be gauged 
 by the absolute number killed, but by the dangers 
 boldly confronted. There is much greater room 
 for personal bravery in a fight between one hundred 
 on each side than in a battle between hundreds of 
 thousands. The defence of the pass of Thermopy- 
 lae is not celebrated for the number of its defenders, 
 but for their heroic resistance. In this way Men- 
 tana can claim a place with Austerlitz, Waterloo, or 
 Gravelotte. 
 
 Monte-Kotondo had now been nine days under 
 the Garibaldian'raiders ; they had entrenched them- 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 273 
 
 selves in favorable positions on the neighboring hills, 
 especially at Montana, a small village on the slope 
 towards Rome. Their numl)ers, as was subsequently 
 learned from the number of rifles taken, and also 
 from the prisoners, wounded and dead, must have 
 been over ten thousand. Garibaldi himself was 
 there to utter his frenzied cry of " Rome or Death "; 
 so, too, was his son Menotti as well as all the leading 
 spirits of the revolution. Well provided with 
 arms, well encamped, and thoroughly rested and 
 recruited, they had good reason to hope to make a 
 formidable resistance. 
 
 To put an end at once to the disturbance and 
 to restore order in the Provinces, General Kanz- 
 ler resolved to march against the Garibaldians on 
 the 3d of November. General Failly hearing of 
 the design wished to send a column of French 
 troops to support him, if necessary, and to give 
 France a share in the task of freeing the Roman 
 States. Accordingly a column of Pontifical troops 
 numbering 2913 men of various arms, of whom 
 1500 were zouaves, and a column of French of 
 nearly 2000, were got ready. General Count de 
 Courten commanded the former, and Brigadier- 
 General Baron de Polhes the latter.* At four 
 o'clock A.M. they passed out by Porta Pia and 
 wound along the Nomentana Way to the bridge of 
 that name. After crossing the bridge three com- 
 
 * These figures and names, as well as much of the following 
 narrative, are founded on the official report made by General 
 
 Kanzler, Pro-minister of War, who 
 chief of the expedition, to the Pope. 
 12* 
 
 had the command in 
 
 JlH 
 
 I* 
 
 
274 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 panics of zouaves under Major Troussures were 
 sent by the Salara Way to create a diversion on tlie 
 western side of Montana, while the main body 
 would advance on the eastern. 
 
 About niiddav, at a distance of about four miles 
 from Montana, the first Garibaldian entrenchments 
 were met. They were favorably located on a heii^lit 
 which commanded the line of marcli of the Pontili- 
 cal troops. The advance-guard consisted of a squad 
 of cavalry, three companies of zouaves, and a section 
 of artillery. Morgan and Lorenzo were among 
 these zouaves. It was the long-expected moment of 
 encounter ; now was the time to prove devotion to 
 the See of Peter. Every soldier felt it, and without 
 hesitation the zouaves charged right at the entrench- 
 ment. No time for shots ; forward they dashed up 
 the slopes regardless of the flying bullets which 
 whistled around their heads. Morgan seemed to bo 
 scaling again the cliffs by the St. Lawrence in the 
 wild freedom of a college holiday. Even then Lo- 
 renzo as he raced near him proved true to his nature 
 by exclaiming, " This is more exciting than donkey- 
 ridinc: over the hills." The whole reojiment of 
 zouaves was soon engaged in the attack ; investing 
 the place with drawn steel the enemy was soon 
 compelled to retreat higher up the hills towards 
 Montana. Al aost in the first moment of attack 
 death claimed a noble victim : Captain de Yeaux, at 
 the head of his company, was pierced to the heart, 
 and fell a glorious champion of justice. A battalion 
 of the German sharpshooters and two companies of 
 the French Legion took part in this brilliant assault. 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 276 
 
 Every advantage of number and position was on the 
 side of the enemy, but the rapid charge of the zou- 
 aves with the bayonet threw consternation into their 
 ranks. They were quickly driven in disorder from 
 this first entrenchment, Imt tliey re-formed in a more 
 formidable one, in the walled enclosure of the San- 
 tucci vineyard. 
 
 The enemy's situation was now such as might 
 dishearten a brave army : tlie rugged brow of the 
 broken range of hills was difficult of ascent even 
 with no hostile encampment on its summit. Tlie 
 strong walls of Italian masonry which surrounded 
 the vineyard were proof against rifle bullets, and 
 would render comparatively harmless balls from 
 light field cannon. The buildings within the enclo- 
 sure were likewise of solid masonry, and were equal 
 to covered forts. Add to this that three quarters of 
 a mile distant the Castle of Montana was occupied 
 by the foe and provided with cannon which could 
 sweep the rugged ascent to the Villa Santucci. 
 Higher up still stood Monte-Rotondo, the enemy's 
 headquarters, from which every movement of the 
 Pontifical troops could be seen, and from which re- 
 serves could be speedily sent down to any required 
 point. If this formidable position of the enemy be 
 borne in mind, and also the fact that not until long 
 after did the French troops fire a shot, it will easily 
 be seen that the assault on Villa Santucci was as 
 daring and as brilliant an attack as that of the 
 Guards at Waterloo, or of the French on the Mala- 
 koff. 
 
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 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
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 selves in their favorable locality when they were 
 called upon to defend it. The gallant soldiers who 
 fought for St. Peter's Chair did not stop to compute 
 numbers nor to weigh the difficulties of the situa- 
 tion. They were face to face with the impious rev- 
 olution which had striven to overthrow the Pontifi- 
 cal tlirone, and they were resolved to crush it. This 
 was their thought. They knew there was danger ; 
 iliey knew that many a life-tide would ebb away 
 into the ocean of eternity on that hillside. But 
 what reek they of this ? He of them who falls will 
 fall a glorious champion in the cause of Right and 
 will receive the martyr's crown at the hands of wel- 
 coming angels; he who lives will, in some respects, 
 be more unfortunate than he who dies ; but he will 
 be the chosen avenger of outraged justice. They, 
 too, can cry, " Rome or Death !" but in a different 
 sense from that in which it is shouted by their ene- 
 mies — they will fight to the death for the liberty 
 of Rome. 
 
 These are the thoughts which animate every heart 
 and nerve every arm to the deeds of heroes. As the 
 lines of attack on Yilla Santucci are quickly form- 
 ing, an officer gallops to the front. His noble 
 bearing, his fine military figure and his flashing eye 
 proclaim him the worthy descendant of the great 
 Vandean chief. It -is Colonel de Charette. The 
 loyal blood of his grandfather courses pure and un- 
 degenerate through his veins, the faith of liis sires 
 burns undimmed in his soul and lights up his 
 countenance with a glow of splendor. Turning to 
 his well-loved zouaves, who recognize in him a leader 
 
■■■ 
 
 ■t 
 
 MENTANA. 
 
 277 
 
 worthy of their valor, he says, unsheathing his 
 sword : 
 " I need not encourage 
 
 you; 
 
 the 
 
 enemy 
 
 of 
 
 Holy Church is before you. Your lines are ready ? 
 Yes. Suivez moi, nres enfants. En avant ! Dieu 
 et Pie IX. !" (" Follow me, my children. Forward ! 
 God and Pius IX. !") 
 
 " En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" shouted the noble 
 Vandean. " En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" re-echoed 
 the impatient line of zouaves. Off they dash 
 quickly, almost wildly, but in perfect order. Ahead 
 of them all rides Charette, a conspicuous mark for 
 the enemy's rifles. He told his men to follow him, 
 and he is resolved to set them an example wortliy 
 of imitation. On they rush over the broken level 
 and then up the rugged slope. It was a grand sight 
 to see the prancing steed of Charette glorying, as 
 it would appear, in the din and turmoil, bearing 
 proudly onward his dauntless master; to see the 
 noble figure and flashing sword of the leader 
 rushing upward and onward ; to see the sym- 
 metrical lines of the zouaves racing hotly in the 
 steps of their Colonel. If there be one moment 
 of glory more proud than another in the life of a 
 gallant warrior, it must surely be such a one as this, 
 when a worthy leader in a just cause is followed by 
 worthy soldiers. Posted on a hill of observation 
 the French troops witnessed with admiration this 
 charge. Veterans of the Crimea, Algiers, and Ma- 
 genta looked on ir silent awe. The enemy, too, 
 appeared paralyzed by the grand rush that was be- 
 ing made towards their entrenchment, but only for 
 
 
t J 
 
 278 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 a moment. Upward and onward press the Christ- 
 ian knights ; their guns firmly clasped in the position 
 of a charge, their bayonets glinting in the subdued 
 light of a November sun. How they leap from 
 mound to hillock ; how they clear the low brush- 
 wood ; how they bound up the craggy ridge. " En 
 avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" There must be a secret 
 power in those words, for each time that they are 
 uttered by the gallant Charette and re-echoed by Ir's 
 ardent followers, their leap is longer, their step 
 more elastic, their bound more swift. 
 
 Upward and onward ! How the fiery steed cur- 
 vets and fiercely champs the bit ; how the soldiers 
 spring up the rocky height ! God grant that the 
 noble Yandean may one day, if force will have to 
 be employed, lead a similar assault with more fol- 
 lowers, against the usurpers of Rome; and may 
 God grant that, if that day has to come, we may be 
 worthy to render some assistance. If we may not 
 unsheath the sword of the flesh, we may at least en- 
 courage the living and comfort the dying. 
 
 Upward and onward ! They have issued from 
 the shelter of their artillery, and are now exposed 
 to the rifles in Villa Santucci, the guns in the Castle 
 of Montana, and the cannon on the neighboring 
 heights. As yet no sound save the soul-stirring cry 
 of " Dieu et Pie IX. !" and the rushing tramp of the 
 columns has been heard. But now the hoarse roar 
 of the cannon, the sharp crackling of the rifles, and 
 the whizzing of flying shells, proclaim that the en- 
 emy have awakened from their trance of admiration 
 to a sense of danger. Crash and roar ^nd sharp 
 
^f^pil 
 
 MENTANA. 
 
 279 
 
 report succeed with deafening monotony. J^ow, 
 indeed, the zouaves have need to nerve themselves 
 with the cry "Dieu et Pie IX.," for the bullets 
 tear the agitated air, shells burst on every side, and 
 huge leaden balls strike the ground and ricochet 
 wildly among their ranks. No wavering however ; 
 upward and onward they fly ! The French soldiers 
 in the distance frantically shout with admiration, 
 and seem, for a moment, to forget military disci- 
 pline. 
 
 Volley after volley is poured right into the teeth 
 of the advancing columns; Charette's horse makes 
 one mad plunge, and horse and rider roll in the dust. 
 A. shout of triumph goes up from the enemy in 
 Villa Santucci; an expression of horror from the 
 Pontitical reserves. As their leader goes down, the 
 zouaves quicken their pace to help him rise or to 
 more quickly avenge his death. But ere they reach 
 the spot the gallant Charette, covered with dust, is 
 on his feet, and waving on high his sword, shouts, 
 " En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" Then he dashes 
 forward on foot, still leading his loved zouaves. 
 "En avant! Dieu et Pie IX. !" is the glad response 
 of the men, as they And liim unhurt. Three balls 
 had entered the body of his favorite war-horse but 
 he himself was untouched. 
 
 Upward and onward ! Now they have reached 
 the Villa ; the shots of the enemy cease as they are 
 obliged to defend themselves at the point of the 
 bayonet. Hand to hand now the battle rages ; the 
 artillery on both sides is silent, for each is afraid of 
 injuring its own men. Swords clash, bayonets rattle, 
 
 :W" 
 
 «li 
 
 imii 
 
 
280 
 
 AFTER WBABY YEARS. 
 
 guns resound as they meet in tierce parrying strokes. 
 The vine-trails are broken and stained, not with the 
 rich juice of their own grapes, but with the purple 
 gore of the combatants. The wounded and dying 
 groan in their agony ; but high above every sound 
 rises the cry, " En avnnt ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" It is 
 heard where the fight is thickest, and the secret 
 power of the words bring a speedy victory. 
 
 Long odds are against the zouaves, but naught 
 can delay their onward course. Back from hillock 
 to hillock, from olive grove to vine-covered walk, 
 the enemy is driven. " En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" 
 resounds near the strong old building, and with a 
 mad rush the zouaves break in its doors and van- 
 quish its defenders. The fight was short but fierce ; 
 in a little time the height of the Villa was gained, 
 and the enemy seeking new positions. That bril- 
 liant charge was successfully over, but the field was 
 not yet won. 
 
 Some noble victims fell in that terrible onslaught ; 
 eternal rest to their souls; enduring reverence to 
 their memory. More powerful pens will chronicle 
 their deeds. But Canada's sons deserve a passing 
 notice. We will speak of Morgan Leahy further 
 on. Alfred Laroque was in the grand charge ; he 
 received a severe wound, and watered with the 
 blood of a noble son of our Dominion the plains of 
 Mentana. Should those lines ever meet his eye, we 
 ask him to pardon our little notice of his deeds ; we 
 wish to follow merely the general outline of these 
 events and the adventures of our heroes. We bow 
 to him who has shed his blood in so holy a cause. 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 281 
 
 and pray that when the time for a Catholic Crusade 
 shall come, which come it will if we mean to defend 
 onr sacred rights, our young Dominion may furnish 
 many such as he. Another name embalmed in the 
 fond remembrance of Canadians occurs — it is that 
 of Captain Murray. During the stormy period of 
 which we write, and later on, he did his duty like a 
 man, and gave great promise of fighting the coming 
 battle for Catholic rights. But on the ramparts of 
 a Spanish town, warring for Don Carlos whom he 
 believed to be in the right, his life went out in a 
 noontide light of military glory. 
 
 The heights of Villa Santucci having been con- 
 quered, some artillery was planted so as to bear on 
 the Castle of Mentana. Charette, mounted on a horse 
 which some of his men had captured, still gave forth 
 his cry of " En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" The Pon- 
 tifical troops of every description pressed on from 
 the heights of Villa Santucci towards Mentana. 
 They had numbered scarcely three thousand at 
 first ; some had been killed, many disabled ; more- 
 over they had to disperse over a wide tract of coun- 
 try to cut off, if possible, communication between 
 Mentana and Monte-Rotondo. Hence the columns 
 which advanced on the enemy's new position were 
 numerically weak. Two strong columns of the 
 Garibaldian reserves were now hurried forward to 
 attack both flanks of the Pontifical army. A bat- 
 talion of German sharpshooters which had pushed 
 itself close to Mentana was caught between two 
 fires, and suffered heavily; but they courageously 
 maintained their posts. 
 
 
 i^i 
 
 :S/:*J 
 
282 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 It was now three o'clock; the short November 
 day would soon come to an end. Both sides felt 
 the importance of making one final effort. All the 
 Pontifical reserves, with the exception of a few, had 
 been ordered up ; the enemy had still plenty. Two 
 dark columns moved out from Montana and spread 
 out like the wings of a huge vulture on each side 
 of the Pope's soldiers. General Kanzler did not 
 doubt the courage of his men ; he knew that they 
 would rush against all odds to the cry of " Dieu et 
 Pie IX."; but they had left Rome at 4 o'clock a.m., 
 had marched fifteen miles, and had fought for 
 hours. Moreover night would soon be on, and it 
 would be well to put an end to the battle at once. 
 The Pontifical troops had done enough to wreathe 
 their banner with undying fame ; there was no 
 policy in exposing them to unnecessary danger or 
 in excluding their French allies from a share in the 
 active duties of the day. 
 
 Moved by these considerations. General Kanzler 
 invited General de Polhes to support both wings of 
 his little army. The French soldiers, who had 
 chafed and fretted under their orders not to stir 
 until invited, were quickly formed in line. With 
 all their historic ardor they threw themselves on the 
 advancing columns of the enemy's reserves, and 
 when within good range opened such a terrific fire 
 as never before had been heard on Italian plains. 
 It was not the usual volley, first of one line, then 
 of another ; it was a continuous crackling, as if ten 
 thousand men were advancing instead of a thousand. 
 It was the murderous fire of the Chassepot rifie, the 
 
MENTANA. 
 
 283 
 
 first time it was ever employed in battle. Colonel 
 Fremont on one wing quickly beat back the Gari- 
 baldian column, entered Mentana, and would have 
 reached Monte-Rotondo before the retreating enemy, 
 had lie not thought himself too isolated from the 
 rest of the force. Lieutenant-Colonel Saussier ef- 
 fected a similar movement on the other wing, and 
 gallantly opened on 1500 of the enemy who were 
 on the heights of Monte-Rotondo. Just then the 
 three companies of zouaves, which had been sent 
 along the SalaraWay under Major Troussures, came 
 up ; desirous of doing their share, they deployed 
 with such agility and charged so bravely that they 
 paralyzed the movements of the Garibaldians of the 
 right wing. These three companies even entered 
 Mentana, took some prisoners, and crossing the 
 whole line of the enemy encamped on the extreme 
 right. Cavalry, infantry, and artillery, all with 
 equal courage advanced, and by nightfall, Mentana 
 was girded by a circle of iron. From all the sur- 
 rounding vineyards the enemy had been driven ; 
 behind their fortifications they could repose for the 
 night with the unpleasant reflection that on the 
 morrow they must surrender at discretion. Thus 
 ended a day of which the Pope's soldiers may well 
 be proud. There have been battles more widely 
 celebrated ; there have been more men engaged on 
 one field ; but in no battle was a holier cause upheld 
 or greater courage displayed than by the Pontifical 
 army at Mentana. 
 
 But where, during all this time was the arch- 
 revolutionist Garibaldi? His impious cry of 
 
 1 
 
 
284 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 il 
 
 " Rome or Death" was never nttered by him in 
 the front ranks. He did not, like Charette, lead 
 his men to battle, but remained in safety. It has 
 even been asserted that he sought refuge in a con- 
 fessional! In any case, he never appeared in front, 
 and when his followers were driven back on Men- 
 tana, he sought a place of safety in Monte-Rotondo. 
 Thence in the first hours of the night, like a 
 whipped cur, he sneaked away towards the frontier. 
 He did not tight at the head of his men ; he did not 
 stay to share their fate. To save his worthless life 
 he added another member to his war-cry: from 
 " Rome or Death," it became " Rome or death, or 
 flighty He chose the latter alternative and igno- 
 miniously fled. The Pontifical soldiers were not 
 monks or nuns ; hence his courage oozed out at his 
 finger ends, and made him grasp in haste the reins 
 of his horse's bridle. In his merited ignominy, and 
 in the derision his flight excited, let the old revolu- 
 tionist live on. In his case, life is a punishment ; 
 he may excite the sympathy of ignorant bigots, 
 but he can only provoke the contempt of the en- 
 lightened. 
 
 Morgan Leahy and his friend Lorenzo had been, 
 as we saw, in the first attack ; they, too, rushed up 
 the ascent to the Santucci vineyard to the cry of 
 " Dieu et Pie IX. !" In an olive walk they, together 
 with two others, were engaged against a knot of 
 Garibaldians who held the place with determina- 
 tion. But the zouaves had to come to conquer, 
 and conquer they must. " 'Tis for Holy Church, 
 Lorenzo ; strike quick and strong." These were 
 
MBNTANA. 
 
 286 
 
 Morgan's words, and Lorenzo answered with a 
 "Viva Pio IX.," wliich roused the echoes in the 
 olive grove. They sprang forward closely followed 
 by their companions, and two of the enemy bit the 
 dust. Onward they press, slashing right and left, 
 not displaying much science but dealing death most 
 effectually. They carried the position, and hurried 
 forward to keep abreast of the main line. The 
 popular idea of a battle is that long unbroken lines 
 of men rush against similar lines ; but this is not 
 the case. Knots and groups, scattered here and 
 there, defend or attack commanding sites; in a 
 bayonet charge a dozen, ten, or four men may bo 
 separated from their comrades, and encounter like 
 knots of the enemy. 
 
 After the lirst positions of the enemy in the 
 Villa Santucci had been carried, a dreadful carnage 
 ensued around the buildings. The Garibaldians 
 felt that this was their strong point ; if it were lost 
 they must quickly retreat ; hence they defended it 
 bravely. Towards this point Morgan and Lorenzo 
 converged ; as they broke through a grape-covered 
 bower, they came upon a zouave who, with his back 
 to the hedge, was defending himself against three 
 Garibaldians, one of whom he had succeeded in 
 wounding. Lorenzo recognized the zouave ; it was 
 Peppe. With one bound and a cry of " Bravo ! 
 Peppe," he reach the spot and sent his bayonet 
 through one of the enemy. The other two seeing 
 the turn of affairs beat a quick retreat. Poor Peppe 
 was well-nigh exhausted, but culling a few grapes, 
 he refreshed himself as he trotted forward. 
 
 > 
 
 '1^: 
 
 % 
 
 .:L:i^M% 
 
286 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS/ 
 
 They now arrived in front of the building; the 
 clashing of swords was deafening ; tlie groans of the 
 wounded lieartrending. Blood dyed the sward; it 
 bespattered the blocks of stone which formed rude 
 seats; it gave a murky tint to the waters in the 
 basin of the fountain. The cry of " Dieu et 
 Pie IX." was answered by a clioking sound of " 
 Roma o Morte," " Rome or Death " from an in- 
 furiated Garibaldian who was dealing plentiful 
 wounds to many a zouave. His cruel liawk nose 
 and demon-lighted eyes revealed him : it was Cnpo- 
 diavolo. He was everywhere ; he vomited ftarful 
 imprecations on the Pope and his army ; he called 
 to his companions to pave their passage to hell with 
 the souls of the zouaves. Many a thrust was made 
 at liim, but he could wriggle like an eel, and 
 avoided or parried every stroke. When he saw 
 his men yielding at one point he would rush across 
 with a wild oath and endeavor to regain the lost 
 ground. 
 
 Peppe knew him, and hurriedly told Morgan 
 and Lorenzo who he was, as they came upon the 
 scene. 
 
 " I'll slay the demon then," said Lorenzo, and 
 dashed on to meet him. His men were retreating, 
 hotly pursued by the zouaves ; he stood almost alone 
 on a gentle slope. Straight against him Lorenzo 
 ran, and soon they were thrusting at each other's 
 heart. It was an exciting spectacle; both were 
 strong and lithe ; both could spring elastically and 
 parry adroitly; but Capodiavolo was the heavier. 
 As the zouaves came rushing onward the demon- 
 
'', l\ 
 
 MENTANA. 
 
 287 
 
 H 
 
 lighted eyes of Capodiavolo shot forth an ugly light, 
 and with a quick lunge he felled Lorenzo to the 
 earth. Seeing himself almost isolated, he scowled in 
 impotent rage, and followed his retreating ranks. 
 Morgan had not witnessed the fall of his friend, 
 being too busily engaged in another direction ; he 
 pressed forward to the last point defended by the 
 Garibaldians in this historic vineyard. Here the 
 fight was fierce but short ; the enemy had lost 
 heart after their former defeat Capodiavolo, 
 liowever, was the same ; he still ( mi sed and forght ; 
 lie still ran from point to j>oint and inliicted 
 vounds with an unsparing iiand. 3^organ came in 
 contact v/ith him near the edge ' f ^he Yilla ; Capo- 
 diavolo knew him, and jerked out : 
 
 "Vile hireling! I'll send you, as I hcive just 
 sent your infamous companion, to sup with the 
 devil." . . 
 
 The words almost stunned Morgan. Was Lorenzo 
 dead ? He had not seen him lately ; perhaps the 
 ruffian spoke aright. But Morgan had no time for 
 reflection ; he must defend himself against the one 
 whom he had seen stretching on the ground many 
 of his companions. As Capodiavolo thrust his 
 bayonet right for his heart, Morgan almost imag- 
 ined that he felt a hot breath, like a blast from an 
 oven, scorching his face. It seemed to come from 
 the demon-lighted eyes of his advancing enemy. 
 With a dexterous movement he turned aside the 
 glittering blade. Just then he heard the voice of 
 Charette shouting "En avant ! Dieu et Pie IX. !" 
 The words sent an unwonted strength through his 
 
li 
 
 l!',1 
 
 lefl^P^^W 
 
 '288 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 frame. " Dieu et Pie IX.," he shouted in response, 
 and drove his bayonet through the body of Capo- 
 diavolo. A gurgling imprecation was all he heard 
 as he was borne onward with the victorious columns 
 that were now pursuing the enemy towards the vil- 
 lage of Montana. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 There is a mad excitement in war which throws, 
 to the eyes of many, a veil of glory over the oppos- 
 ing hosts, and lights up the plain with dazzling 
 splendor. All the horrors of the situation ; all the 
 blood and tears that are caused to rain down on 
 the toiii field are disregarded; only the brilliant 
 charge, the awful daring of bravery, or the stub- 
 born stand of men despairing of victory, yet willing 
 to face danger, is thought of. But when the din 
 and strife have ceased; when the storm has been 
 exhausted by its own fury, and the silence of night 
 has fallen over the gory field, then thj mind can 
 measure the evils of war. The blood-red torch 
 which lent a fictitious glitter to the scene of car- 
 nage no longer dazzles the eye, and the desire of 
 fame is quenched by the dark pools of human blood 
 which slowly congeal in the evening breeze. 
 
 Night had cast its dreamy influence over the hills 
 of Montana; the stars twinkled merrily in their 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 289 
 
 serene firmament as if rejoicing in their security. 
 The rays of tlie moon fell aslant over the rugged 
 heights of Monte-Rotondo, and cautiously peered 
 into the ravines and hollows which lay between that 
 town and Mentana. Over the slope of the Santucci 
 vineyard the mellow light, partly intercepted by 
 the vine trails and olive trees, fell in tremulous 
 shimmerings as if startled by the traces of fury on 
 which it shone. A cool breeze swept over the 
 northern hills, and came in uneasy gusts, like the 
 rushing of troubled spirits. 
 
 Many a camp-fire glovved in the vicinity, sending 
 forth showers of sparks which leaped upward exult- 
 higly for a moment, and then, like the gay 'mid the 
 pleasures of life, went out cold and dark into the un- 
 explored regions of air. Groups of wearied soldiers 
 sit round the various fires, eating, smoking, and some- 
 times chatting. They had slept but little the pre- 
 vious night ; they had been on foot by three o'clock 
 in the morning; they had marched several miles, 
 and fought during four houra. Now, that the 
 excitement of battle is over, they feel the ejffects of 
 this day of labor, and tired nature demands a rest. 
 Around the camp-fires, then, they squat ; the heroes 
 of two hours ago are lost in the jaded mortals who 
 recline on the grass, eating brown bread and drink- 
 ing black coffee from tin cans. Their deeds of 
 bravery which excited admiration are forgotten ; 
 their erst elastic limbs are stiff and swollen ; but 
 their hearts still burn w.Ji love for Pius IX., and 
 their pulse still throbs with affection for the cause 
 of Holy Church, 
 
 13 
 
 ^ 
 "H 
 
 
290 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 The field presents a desolate spectacle. Here the 
 splinters of a gun-carriage, there a shattered am])u- 
 lance ; here a sword-hilt, a broken rifle, a knapsack, 
 there a dead horse, a soldier's hej>% a piece of ord- 
 nance. This is the aspect of the field everywhere 
 repeated. And then the leaden balls, the fragments 
 of shell, and everything stained and smeared with 
 gore. Turn where you will the same aspect, the 
 same traces of a furious battle present themselves. 
 
 But crowning horror of all these horrors: tlie 
 dead bodies with eyes staring blankly upward — with 
 gaping wounds encrusted on the edges with con- 
 gealed blood — with looks of horror, grief, remorse, 
 or quiet calm. And then the low moan of the 
 dying ; the restless complaining of some ; the sharp 
 cries of anguish ; the prayer for pardon softly 
 breathed, and the horrible blasphemy of despairing 
 reprobates. These are the after-scenes of the bat- 
 tle, and may well rob war of its fancied glory. 
 
 Flaming torcles slowly moving over the broken 
 ground told that ministers of mercy were at work 
 binding up the wounds of the flesh and pouring 
 oil and wine over bruised souls. Kude litters, 
 borne with tender care, passed into the flare of 
 these torches ; they were carried by the noble sol- 
 diers, who forgot their own wearisomeness in their 
 care for the wounded; they contained, in many 
 cases, not their own companions, but the Garibal- 
 dian raiders against whom they had fought so 
 recently. But now all thought of battle was over ; 
 they strove to assuage the pain of the suffering, and 
 to console the afllicted. The night was chill, and 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 291 
 
 the soldiers required their overcoats after the heat 
 of the day, but oflScers and men cheerfully took off 
 their cloaks and coats, and threw them over the 
 wounded enemy. One nobleman, a duke of France, 
 paid with his life for this act of charity. He 
 contracted a severe cold which, developing into 
 pleurisy, carried him off in a few days. The 
 Christian soldier is a I'.ero when fighting in a just 
 cause ; he can be equally a hero of charity in the 
 after-scenes. 
 
 Morgan Leahy was not the last in his care of the 
 wounded ; naturally of a sensitive disposition and 
 unused to scenes of violence, his generous heart 
 melted with compassion at the sight of so much 
 suffering. He had fought bravely — most bravely. 
 Charette commended him in the presence of several 
 French and Pontifical officers ; he had witnessed his 
 gallantry during the first charge, as, also, his action 
 in Villa Santucci, particularly his overthrow of 
 Capodiavolo. In the last charge of all he had dis- 
 tinguished himself amongst a company of Zouaves 
 who helped a section of artillery, commanded by 
 Captain Daudier, to maintain for a time a most 
 dangerous position within three hundred yards of 
 the walls of Montana. But Morgan thought little 
 of this military glory or of the promotion it was 
 sure to h/ng him. He was proud to have nobly 
 discharged a noble duty, but he thought more of 
 assuaging the pain of the wounded, and of means to 
 move to hearty sorrow the dying, than of his own 
 fame. He longed to be instrumental in saving the 
 souls of those who were about to meet their Maker. 
 
 II 
 
 ik 
 ^ 
 
 "St 
 
292 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 'II 
 
 He had lost all trace of Lorenzo ; was he dead, or 
 dying? Sadly he and Peppe retraced the ground 
 over which they had gallantly charged. There were 
 so many out on the mission of charity that most of 
 the wounded had been carried to a place of shelter. 
 Many were in a little church near by. As they came 
 through the Saritucci vineyard their torch flared a 
 moment and was extinguished. Ere they could pro- 
 cure another, they heard a groan, half stifled, as if 
 the sufferer was endeavoring to suppress every sound. 
 Guided by the moans they drew near, and found a 
 body half caught in a hedge-row, through which he 
 had attempted to crawl. By the dim light they 
 could perceive that it was a Garibaldian. Quickly 
 and tenderly they bore him to the little chapel. It 
 was crowded with the wounded of both sides. Lay- 
 ing him down in the light, the sufferer opened his 
 eyes ; they were the blurred eyes of a dying man, 
 yet such an evil light broke through the film of 
 coming death that there could be no mistaking the 
 individual. Peppe started back and said : 
 
 " Per Bacco ! it is Capodiavolo ; but he is booked 
 for a speedy passage." 
 
 \: Yes, it was he. Wounded by Morgan, he had 
 crawled away to escape notice, and to die unseen by 
 his enemies. A doctor quietly dressed his wound, 
 and gave him a refreshing draught, but shook his 
 head and shrugged his shoulders, plainly saying " no 
 hope," in answer to Morgan's inquiring look. 
 
 What could Morgan now do? He was anxious 
 to learn something about Lorenzo ; but here was a 
 hardened sinner about to die. He could not leave 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 293 
 
 him without striving first to awaken him to a sense 
 of his miserable situation, and procuring for him tlie 
 assistance of a priest. Telling Peppe to look round 
 among the wounded there present, and then to return 
 to him, he approached Capodiavolo who had now 
 rallied a little. In tones gentle as those of a Sister 
 of Charity he asked him how he felt. 
 
 " Vile minion of the Vampire of the Vatican, 
 away from my sight. 1 hate and curse you all." 
 
 " Even if you do you might allow me to help you 
 in your present suffering state. I might ease a little 
 your pain." 
 
 " Who caused mc this pain, base hireling ? 'Twas 
 such as you. What !" shrieked the dying i-eprobate 
 as he glared full on Morgan, "it was yourself. May 
 
 " But his horrible blasphemy may not be 
 
 written by a Christian pen. 
 
 " In any case," quietly began Morgan, " I wounded 
 you on the open field and by no dishonorable means. 
 Surely you cannot blame me for my conduct. You 
 would have done the same to me ; you did it to some 
 of my friends. Moreover, it was I and another zou- 
 ave who carried you to this place. We bear no 
 malice to those against whom we fought. A true 
 soldier may not wish to be conquered, but he will 
 never blame his vanquisher if he has used no un- 
 worthy acts." 
 
 During this speech Capodiavolo was tossing rest- 
 lessly on his bed; he felt the truth of Morgan's 
 words, and eaid more mildly, 
 
 " You are partly right ; but why fight against our 
 glorious project of a Universal Republic ? We are 
 
 'iK^t 
 
294 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ti 
 
 I'' 
 
 the regenerators of Italy and of the world ; we are 
 the aurora which ushers in the day of Liberty, Equal- 
 ity, Fraternity ; we are the crowning of the edifice 
 begun by Luther and partly finished by Voltaire. 
 After us no authority of Church or State will exist 
 against which to rebel." 
 
 Instead of attempting to argue with him, Mor- 
 gan, seeing him more composed than at first, re- 
 plied : 
 
 " There is one thing which respects neither State 
 nor age ; it levels with impartial hand all alike ; it 
 is present at ^reat battles and in quiet rooms, but it 
 never is bought off nor softened- -it is Death. It 
 awaits us all ; to some its aspect is terrible, but to 
 others it is seen disarmed of its horrors. God is 
 good my friend, invoke His holy name ; repent 
 truly of your sins, and death will only be the portal 
 which will lead you to true happiness." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! You talk like a frate. Death ! Who 
 is going to die? God! Who is He? A vaunt! 
 such superstition ! Hurrah for the devil and our 
 secret societies. We kill God in them. We fight 
 against Him ; we defy His power. We are spread 
 all over Europe ; great statesmen, yes, princes belong 
 to us, and Satan is our head. Viva it diavolo /" 
 
 As the wretch thus wildly blasphemed, his appear- 
 ance was fearful to contemplate. His lemon-lighted 
 eyes shone with the concentrated fury of a thousand 
 basilisks ; his cruel hawk nose pecked savagely at his 
 twitching upper lip ; the white foam spurted forth 
 from his blackening lips. A priest just then came 
 up ; Morgan hurriedly gave him an account of Capo- 
 
.■ K IP 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 296 
 
 diavolo. The priest approached his bed, and bying 
 his hand on his arm, said : 
 
 "My son, death is fast coming on you ; do not he 
 deceived, but prepare to meet your Judge." 
 
 " Away ! let no priest come near me; let the devil 
 be my ministering angel. Ha! ha! — " Here a 
 look of horror came to his face, and he continued : 
 " Would you, you false old cheat, after all my yeare 
 of service, would you at last drag me down to 
 your infernal prison ? You told me there was no 
 hell, that it was all a superstition ; and now you sur- 
 round my bed to bear me off." 
 
 " My son, hope in God and repent ; He will par- 
 don you if you do." 
 
 " Hope !" shrieked the lost soul, " there is no 
 hope for me ; I don't want to hope ; I hate God, 
 His Church, civil governments, and priests." 
 
 As Capodiavolo made this dying profession of the 
 creed of the secret societies, he raised himself up in 
 bed. Trembling he remained in this posture for a 
 moment, and then jerked out : 
 
 " Away ye mocking devils ; you will not get me 
 yet. Yes, I am damned — damned forever — lost — 
 lost— lost. Oh-h-h !" 
 
 ^ Giving expression to this dismal wail, which he 
 will make forever resound through the place of 
 everlasting horror, Capodiavolo fell backward a life- 
 less mass. His forcing-pump voice would jerk no 
 more its evil words ; liis cruel nose no longer 
 pecked at the lip which no longer twitched ; but the 
 dancing demons seemed yet to sport in his evil eyes, 
 which stared at the ceiling. If they had in reality 
 
 i« 
 
 > 
 % 
 
 
296 
 
 AFTER >rBABT TEARS. 
 
 departed, they had left an impression of themselves 
 in the home in which for years they had danced. 
 The seal of reprobation was legibly stamped on the 
 repulsive features of Capodiavolo. 
 
 Half terrified by this awful scene Morgan turned 
 away, and came to another dying Garibaldian. It 
 was Cecco, who had been initiated in the den, amid 
 the ruins on the Aventine. Too weak to follow the 
 example of young Marini, he had joined, but in a 
 half-hearted way, the raiders. Wounded mortally, 
 he had thought over the sins of his life, and had 
 recollected the good inatructions received in youth. 
 He formed his lips to repeat the sweet prayers of 
 his days of innocence, and hope sprang up in his 
 soul. He had weakly given way to temptations, 
 but he had never been hardened in malice. The 
 ^race of repentance was vouchsafed him ; he called 
 for a priest, and publicly retracted his adhesion to 
 the secret societies, asked pardon for his bad exam- 
 ple, and was reconciled with the Church. He was 
 now praying fervently, and in a few minutes 
 breathed his last. This death, after the awful one 
 of Capodiavolo, partly soothed Morgan's troubled 
 soul. 
 
 Passing along the rows of wounded, saying a 
 cheering word to each one, Morgan at length came 
 to the couch of a zouave who was fast dying. He 
 was a young man with that i^igh stamp of intel- 
 lectuality which generally distinguishes the true 
 Italian. His features, beautified by the mellow 
 twilight of a life nobly ended, or etherealized ])y 
 the aurora of immortality, were so fascinating as to 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 297 
 
 mg a 
 
 came 
 
 He 
 
 intel- 
 
 true 
 ellow 
 ed by 
 
 as to 
 
 make the gazer forgetful of the rapid approach of 
 death. It was yonng Marini ; he who had been 
 rescued in the den by Morgan and Lorenzo, and 
 who had ever since been tlieir devoted friend. He 
 was fast dying, and he knew it ; he was fast dying, 
 but what recked he ? For him death was gain ; it 
 was the messenger which will summon us all to the 
 presence of our Maker — the messenger so grim and 
 terrible to the wicked, so full of hope to the just. 
 The strong tide of his yonng life had ebbed ; the 
 remaining streamlet was fast rippling away into the 
 still, mysterious ocean of eternity. The bright sun 
 of youthful promise had set; the golden edge of 
 his day was fast sinking behind the blank horizon — 
 Death. 
 
 Smiling as Morgan approached, he said : 
 
 "How glad I am to see you, my dear friend. 
 You have passed through this glorious day un- 
 scathed, although you were always in the thickest 
 of the fight. I am, as you see, fast dying." 
 
 " It is then you, Marini ; I scarcely recognized 
 you in this light ; but you are not so near your 
 last." 
 
 " Yes, Morgan, I am. Do not think that you 
 will make me sad by talking of death ; it is a 
 glorious thing to die for the rights of the Holy See. 
 Seen by the clear light of a death-bed, how vain do 
 the pleasures of the world appear! How paltry 
 the things for which men strive through weary days 
 and sleepless nights! How base the motives which 
 too often incite to action ! Ah, Morgan, only God 
 is great; only His love is worth striving for; how 
 13* - 
 
 
298 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEAR8. 
 
 p ' 
 
 foolish to ever forget the end for which we have 
 been created, or to swerve from the patli of virtue !" 
 
 "Yon are right, my dear Marin i ; but you have 
 reason to cahiily die when death lias been met in 
 such a cause." 
 
 *' I know it, I know it ; but I once, for a short 
 time, fell away from the strict path of duty ; I for- 
 got the teachings of my youth and grew careless, 
 and finally fell." 
 
 "But you rose quickly and manfully by God's 
 grace ; you strove to atone for your fault." 
 
 The heavenly calm which had hitherto settled on 
 the noble countenance of Marini began to be dis- 
 turbed. At first it was as if specks of clouds were 
 passing over the disk of a summer sun, so slight 
 and fleeting were the signs of disquiet; but they 
 grew larger and denser, until it seemed as if a 
 thunder cloud had obscured the sun. The devil 
 had " descended, having great wrath, knowing that 
 his time was short," and was making one last fear- 
 ful effort to make the faithful soul renounce the 
 glorious crown which angel hands were wreathing 
 for its approaching coronation. 
 
 " After all, Morgan, it is an awful thing to offend 
 God ; His justice is dreadful — dreadful — dreadful," 
 fairly groaned poor Marini, as he struggled with his 
 invisible tormentor. 
 
 " But His mercy is over all His works ; it is in- 
 finite — infinite — my poor friend ; His justice is 
 only exercised against the obdurate; His mercy 
 is ever extended to the contrite and humble of 
 heart. Give no heed to the enemy who seeks to 
 
AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 299 
 
 disturb your last moments," said Morgan, who saw 
 the change, and knew its cause. 
 
 The fight was short but keen ; fearful spasms 
 convulsed the features of the dying zouave, and 
 heartrending groans escaped his lips. Morgan 
 trembled and prayed ; then taking from around 
 Marini's neck a crn.^itix — the same one on which 
 he had refused to tiample — he put it to his pale 
 lips, saying : 
 
 " The Cross and Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ 
 be your shield and refuge in this hour of danger." 
 
 The thunder cloud burst ; streaks of golden light 
 shot out through its rifts. Marini opened his eyes, 
 and seizing the sacred emblem of hope and Divine 
 love pressed it to his heart and lips. Every trace 
 of the fierce struggle was blotted out ; the heavenly 
 calm returned ; the mellow twilight of a nobly- 
 ended life blended with the rich aurora of immor- 
 tality as he murmured : 
 
 " 1 Cross of my Saviour, bad as I was, I would 
 not trample on Thee to save my life !" 
 
 He was thinking of the scene in the den on the 
 Aventine, when Capodiavolo wanted him to trample 
 on the crucifix. Turning to Morgan, he said : 
 
 " Thanks for your act ; the victory is won ; the 
 cross of Christ has conquered the devil who sought 
 to ensnare me. I fain would repeat aloud our 
 battle-cry, 'Dieu et Pie IX.,* but my voice is 
 weak." 
 
 The last words came slowly yet distinctly. Ani- 
 mation was suspended, the iieavenly calm deep- 
 ened. A faint sigh was heard as the respiration 
 
 
800 
 
 AFTER WEABY TEARS. 
 
 B ' 
 
 ! 
 
 again began. "With both hands pressing the crucifix 
 to his heart, young Marini whispered : 
 
 "Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my 
 spirit." Gently the last ripple of his life's stream 
 broke on the echoless shores of eternity ; imper 
 ceptihly the golden edge of his day sank behind the 
 blank horizon — Death. The flush of life, and the 
 forebeaming of immortality vanished from his brow, 
 but left impressed on his features a spiritualized 
 beauty, fairer to the Christian eye than an Italian 
 sunset. Reverently Morgan composed the limbs of 
 his dead friend ; piously he clasped the stiffening fin- 
 gers over the sacred emblem of Christian hope, the 
 cross — that same cross which Marini had refused to 
 profane even when offered his life as the reward. 
 His noble profession of Christ on that occasion was 
 more than recompensed by the victory which the 
 cross procured for him at the point of death. And 
 thus it has ever been, and ever will be ; the " cup 
 of cold water given in Christ's name" will have a 
 reward exceeding great. Breathing a prayer for 
 the departed soul Morgan turned away, saying : 
 
 " Eternal rest give unto him, O Lord ! and let 
 perpetual light shine upon him." 
 
 Peppe now approached Morgan with a blank 
 look ; he had visited every couch, but Lorenzo was 
 not amongst those present. Perhaps he was unin- 
 jured and looking for them on the battlefield; 
 perhaps he had been taken prisoner by some retreat- 
 ing band ; perhaps he was dead, or dying an the 
 cold night-air, alone and unassisted. It is true that 
 parties had been over all the scene of that day's 
 
AFTER THB BATTLE. 
 
 801 
 
 fight, collecting the wounded of both sides; still, 
 he might have crawled for shelter under a hedge- 
 row, and remained unnoticed. Poor Morgan was 
 almost distracted ; Peppe was in great dejection of 
 spirits, and could not make any attempt at mer- 
 riment. Worn out as they both were by the 
 fatigues of the day, and almost famishing — for they 
 had not eaten anything since early in the morning 
 — it is easy to imagine their dejection. But Mor- 
 gan had schooled himself to patient endurance, and, 
 r-'oreover, was buoyed up with the ever-present 
 t ought of what our Divine Saviour had suffered 
 for man. Hence he resolved to retrace the ground 
 in the Santucci vineyard, from the point at which 
 he had last seen Lorenzo. Peppe, in whom love 
 for his young master put to flight all selfish 
 thoughts, prepared to accompany him. 
 
 When about to go forth with a supply of torches 
 they met the captain of their company ; learning 
 their errand he told them it was unnecessary, as 
 Lorenzo, along with some others, had been sent on 
 to Rome. He was not fatally wounded, but would 
 be on the sick-list for a long time. Somewhat 
 comforted by this intelligence Morgan and Peppe 
 sought that nourishment and rest which they so 
 much required. 
 
 Next morning the Garibaldians in Montana sur- 
 rendered at discretion ; those who had been in 
 Monte-Rotondo had made good their escape during 
 the night. Monte-llotondo presented a sad sight 
 to the eyes of the allied troops: its churches de- 
 spoiled and profaned, its citizens crushed by the 
 
 Ik 
 
302 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 extortions and troubles endured. With shouts of 
 unaffected joy they hailed the French troops, which 
 were the first to enter in the morning. The joy of 
 deliverance almost made them forget the ten days of 
 terror through which they had passed. 
 
 The return of th.e troops to Rome was made the 
 occasion of a grand demonstration of loyalty on the 
 part of the Romans. The Via Nomeiitana, by 
 which the soldiers returned, was lined with citizens 
 of every rank, for miles out from the Gate of 
 Porta Pia. Refreshments of the choicest quality 
 w^ere served out to the victorious soldiers as they 
 passed along, and bouquets of rare flowers were 
 cast under their feet. Cheers for the soldiers were 
 blended with shouts of " Viva il Papa-re'^ v!" Long 
 live the Pope-king"^ " and, " Hurrah for France," as 
 the brave sons of that chivalrous nation defiled past. 
 It was a Roman holiday, not such as used to cause 
 the tears of pitying angels to flow when Pagan 
 Rome ran wild in its cruel sport, but one of such 
 loyal and innocent recreation, that the happy souls 
 of the Pontifical soldiers who had received the 
 summons to bliss on the hills of Montana, might 
 have mingled with the rejoicing throng and found 
 no reason to blush. It was not a manufactured 
 demonstration such as sometimes takes place in some 
 cities ; it was a spontaneous outburst of faithful 
 subjects and good Christians, who thanked the 
 brave soldiers who had upheld the rights of their 
 Sovereign, and crushed the impious revohition. 
 
 Loud and long were the acclamations, hearty the 
 greeting, and royal the entertainment accorded the 
 
Lorenzo's anxiety. 
 
 303 
 
 garrison of Monte-Rotondo on its return from 
 imprisonment a few days later. The best nobles 
 of Home deemed it an honor to serve them at 
 table. They wished to show by this act their re- 
 spect for the devoted bravery of these men, and 
 their genuine love for the Pope, for whose cause 
 they had so courageously battled. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Pagan 
 
 LORENZO S ANXIETY. ^ 
 
 "Ah, Morgan, it is you at last!" faintly ex- 
 claimed a weak voice. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, dear Lorenzo, and I could not come 
 any sooner. I should have been here the night of 
 the battle could I have followed my inclinations." 
 
 " I know it, I know it, Morgan. I did not mean 
 to chide you for not coming sooner; but it has been 
 so long, so long," and the wan features of the once 
 l)ric:ht Lorenzo were suffused with tears. 
 
 Morgan, too, was deeply affecicr ; he saw at a 
 glance all his friend had suffered in mind and body. 
 
 Novelists often picture to us the soul-absorbing 
 grief of a young girl beside the sick bed of her 
 friend or her betrothed ; but the grief of woman is 
 generally emotional and violent ; its life-springs are 
 in the affections, not in the intelligence. It is like 
 a squall in a midsummer sky — wild in its short- 
 ived fury, but quickly giving place to the laughing 
 
 IM 
 
 H 
 
804 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i5C> 
 
 IL 
 
 beams of the sun. But the grief of a man like 
 Morgan is the enduring autumn gloom whicli sliows 
 no rifts in its jet-black clouds ; it is too intense for 
 words, too overpowering for sighs, too desolate for 
 tears. Few can understand such grief, for few are 
 endowed with a brave and sensitive soul. 
 
 " Well, well, dear Lorenzo," at length continued 
 Morgan, " here I am at last and here I shall be for 
 several hours every day. How do your wounds 
 progress? You may be proud of them, my dear 
 fellow ; you received them in a noble cause." 
 
 " But not from a noble hand," said Lorenzo, with 
 a faint reflection of his old smile. 
 
 " Do you know the hand that inflicted them ?" 
 
 *' Yes ; Capodiavolo's." 
 
 "Ka! he told the truth for once." 
 
 " What do you mean, Morgan ?" 
 
 " Simply that Capodiavolo told me he had 
 stretched you on the ground, a few moments be- 
 fore I dealt him his death blow." 
 
 "Did you, then, conquer the monster? I tried 
 my best, and I prided myself on being quick and 
 sure at a thrust ; but he cut me down in a fair en- 
 counter. He fought that day like a very fury; 
 had all the Garil)aldians been like him we should 
 have suffered more severely. But is he dead, or 
 only wounded ?" 
 
 " Dead ; Peppe and I bore him to the temporary 
 hospital, and I stood by him as he died." 
 
 " I almost dread to ask how he died." 
 
 This conversation took place in the hospital of 
 " Santo Spirito" in Home. BuiU, and^endowed by 
 
LOBENZO'S ANXIETY. 
 
 306 
 
 Pontifical and Catholic munificence, this splen- 
 did hospital does not close its doors against Turk, 
 Jew, or Infidel. The only qualification for recep- 
 tion is bodily disease ; the only entrance -fee a re- 
 quest for admission. Within its charitable walls 
 the sufferer has all the benefit of the best medical 
 skill of Rome, and the tender nursing of those 
 matchless ministers of the sick-room — the Sisters of 
 Charity. True religion is the mother of heroic 
 actions, the prompter of sublime deeds, the fosterer 
 of lofty aspirations. It provides for the wants of 
 man in every stage of existence, and satisfies his in- 
 tellect in every grade of its development. Without 
 it the care of the poor and the infirm, the instruc- 
 tion of the ignorant, and the last services to the 
 dead, lose the lustre of charity and become mere 
 objects of hire. Were any proof required to show 
 that the religion of Rome is the Eternal Truth of 
 God, divinely revealed and divinely guarded, it 
 could easily be supplied by investigating the work- 
 ings of its various orders and confraternities. There 
 are religious orders of both sexes devoted to the in- 
 struction of youth, to the care of the insane, the 
 blind, and the mute, to the nursing of the sick, and 
 the burying of the dead. There are others given to 
 contemplation, in which the mind of man is ele- 
 vated to a closer union with God, and the human 
 intelligence is expanded by meditation on the In- 
 finite. It is no love of worldly gain which moves 
 the hearts of the members of these orders. Many 
 of them leave pleasant homes and loving friend 
 to serve God, unknown to the eyes of man, in the 
 
 
 
 iiti 
 
306 
 
 AFTEK WEARY TEARS. 
 
 coarse garb of a Sister of Charity ; all tlie sensitive 
 feelings of a refined soul are nerved, by love of 
 God, to endure the sight and touch of loathsome 
 sores. The world cannot understand such heroism — 
 it could not understand the actions of our Saviour. 
 It traduced the latter, it traduces the religions 
 orders; it persecuted the Man-God, it persecutes 
 those orders which imitate His divine perfections 
 more nearly than the rest of mankind. But the 
 day of final adjustment will come, and the despised 
 garb of a true monk, or nun, will shine like clotli- 
 of-gold studded with diamonds, whilst the rich dress 
 of the worldling will be faded and dim. 
 
 Long rows of beds, covered with snow-white 
 linen, in which the wounded Garibaldians as well 
 as the Pontifical soldiers lie, occupy one wing of 
 this hospital. The ceiling is lofty, and ventilation 
 is rendered complete. All arrangements for the 
 comfort and convenience of patients are provided, 
 and by their handsome finish and artistic bestowal 
 add to the beauty of the general appearance. 
 The Italian is ever alive to the beautiful, and en- 
 deavors to combine it with the useful. He knows 
 its humanizing effect on the healthy, and its cheer- 
 ing influence on the invalid. 
 
 Silent figures flitted about from bed to bed, giv- 
 ing a cooling drink to this one, whispering a cheer- 
 ing word to that one ; now washing a festering 
 wound, now changing the bandages on a broken 
 arm. Every movement was so noiseless, every touch 
 so gentle, every word so soothing, that the wounded 
 soldier might well fancy that death had claimed him 
 
LORENZO S ANXIETY. 
 
 307 
 
 on the battlefield, and that now he was in the land 
 of spirits. 
 
 Learned men — men who walk the higher paths of 
 science side by side with England's best scholars — 
 might be seen in this hospital, washing the face and 
 combing the hair of some poor invalid. They 
 came to perform this act of ciiarity, and thert& re- 
 turned to their books with souls ennobled and 
 minds expanded by God's love. What wonder 
 that they grasp sublime ideas and unearth recondite 
 truths ? 
 
 The nobility of Rome are not strangers in the 
 hospitals ; many of them are regular in their visits, 
 and perform various acts of Christian charity to- 
 wards the sufferers. Just now, in order to testify 
 their love for the cause for which the soldiers 
 gallantly fought, they come in numbers to visit 
 the wounded, and to bring them an unlimited sup- 
 ply of delicacies. The Queen of Naples was a 
 constant attendant, and ol)tained the name of " Sis- 
 ter of Charity" from Pius IX. 
 
 Lorenzo had been three days in this hospital ; his 
 wound was severe but not mortal. Spent and worn 
 he was, but the worst was over, and the sight of 
 Morgan helped to hasten his recovery. 
 
 "I am anxious, Morgan, to be up and able to go 
 about ; it is not the pain of my wound which trou- 
 bles me most." 
 
 " Dear Lorenzo, I am anxious to see you well ; 
 still we must have patience. Be as much of a hero 
 now in endurance as you were on the hills of Men- 
 tana. In a little time you will be all right ; you 
 
 I'll 
 
 '% 
 
^ ■%!;:■ 
 
 
 i'-? 51 
 
 l«» 
 
 II 
 
 308 
 
 AFTER WKART TEARS. 
 
 want for nothing here which the most tender love 
 can procure." 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me, Morgan. It is not 
 
 an impatience of suffering wliich makes me speak 
 
 so ; I would suffer with resignation anything in tlie 
 
 shape of bodily pain. My anxiety is in regard to 
 
 \ something else." 
 
 "May I ask what?" 
 
 Another faint reflection of Lorenzo's old whim- 
 sical smile gave a momentary glow to his features 
 as he replied : 
 
 " Do you remember the clever escape of the old 
 Jew on the night of the blowing-up of the Serristori 
 barracks ? If not drowned in the Tiber he must have 
 chuckled most complacently. I wonder if he took 
 the liver with him ? It is his words which have set 
 me thinking." 
 
 " Surely, Lorenzo, you do not attach any weight 
 to his words." 
 
 " Taken by themselves I would not ; but, Morgan, 
 I have other reasons, slight perhaps, for not forget- 
 ting them." 
 
 "But you always believed your mother was 
 dead." 
 
 " Certainly ; but only because I never knew her. 
 My father never spoke of her but once to me ; that 
 was on the occasion of my first visit to him after 
 his absence. While lying liere I have been recalling 
 that conversation, and his words and manner seemed 
 to point to some mystery. He did not even say 
 that my mother was dead ; and now I see how he 
 evaded answering my question regarding the place 
 
LORENZO 8 ANXIETY. 
 
 309 
 
 of her burial. All this, and frequent hints of some 
 wrong done me, lend a color of truth to the old 
 Jew's words." 
 
 " Your father will be here probably to-day ; I 
 wrote him about you. From him you can learn the 
 truth." 
 
 " Ah, Morgan, I must not question too closely my 
 father; it is not for a son to probe the hidden grief 
 of his parents. I suppose my mother and he must 
 liave lived unhappily, and separated. Yet my fath- 
 er is kind and of a most mild disposition. I cannot 
 fathom the mystery " 
 
 " Better cease trying for the present ; you will re- 
 tard your recovery by being too anxious. When 
 you are quite well we will talk the matter over to- 
 gether. We will employ the quick wits of Peppe ; 
 he will solve the riddle." 
 
 I hope so, but I am inclined to think that Peppe 
 knows more than he wishes to tell. He is very fond 
 of me, and faithful ; yet he keeps back something, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " I can answer for his being devoted to you," said 
 Morgan ; " on the night of the battle he was almost 
 beside himself, until he heard of your being taken 
 to Rome. He will doubtless disclose all." 
 
 After some more conversation Morgan departed 
 for a short time. Lorenzo felt easier now ; it was a 
 relief to have made known his anxiety to so true a 
 friend ; it was like action, too, and made him feel 
 that he was at work. But here he was puzzled ; the 
 liuman mind often becomes the sport of every idle 
 fancy and contradictory speculation. The self-suf- 
 
 % 
 
 % 
 
310 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 
 W-^, 
 
 ■HfPllt 
 -IS' 
 
 ficient may boast their imaginary power of intellect, 
 and claim an exemption from delusions ; but their 
 boast is as vain as their claim is unfounded. Even 
 as the needle of the compass is restless until it is al- 
 lowed to settle at its friendly pole, so the human 
 mind is unquiet until it rests in God. The more 
 thoroughly resigned we are to God's will, the great- 
 er our tranquillity ; the chafing currents of every- 
 day life may, indeed, excite a passing emotion, but 
 it will be only a faint ripple on a peaceful lake. 
 
 Lorenzo was virtuous and of a noble disposition, 
 but he was sensitive likewise ; hence the thought 
 that perhaps his mother was alive and desirous of 
 seeing him filled his soul with anxious longings. 
 He had not the strong, calm virtue of Morgan, nor 
 his tranquillity of disposition. But the almost cer- 
 tainty of a few moments ago regarding the existence 
 of his mother was turned into improbability by the 
 remembrance of his father's good qualities. It 
 might indeed be that powerful and unscrupulous 
 relatives had torn them asunder. Lorenzo's mind 
 was like a ship tossed hither and thither in the 
 trough of an agitated sea ; intersecting waves pre- 
 clude the possibility of any certain course ; aimlessly 
 and unprofitably it floats on the foaming waters. 
 Worn out at last, he sank into a quiet sleep. 
 
 On awaking he perceived an unusual stir, and soon 
 learned its cause. Up the long row of beds a noble 
 figure moved with majestic step ; his countenance 
 was sweet and full of a calm dignity which begot 
 reverence and love, not fear. A smile of indescrib- 
 able sweetness played over his features, except when 
 
THE CANADIAN OIROLB. 
 
 311 
 
 transformed for an instant into a glance of pity as 
 his watchful eyes fell upon one more badly wounded 
 than the others. To each he said a word of encour- 
 agement or whispered a message of hope. When 
 shown the couch of a blaspheming Garibaldian he 
 stopped and spoke a few words so full of heavenly 
 unction that the hardened heart was softened, and 
 tlie dried-up fountains of his soul poured forth again 
 their waters of compunction. No need to ask who 
 he was ; it could be only one — one who combined 
 the power of a king with the dignity of the High- 
 Priesthood. It was Pius IX. He had come to con- 
 sole the suffering ; to thank those who had fought 
 for him, and to bear pardon to those who had striven 
 against )nm. This, then, was the man so much 
 abused and misrepresented; this the kind father 
 against whom they had impiously raised their hand. 
 Full many a heart was smitten with true sorrow as 
 the noble Pontiff passed on, and many a repentant 
 Garibaldian heartily joined the chorus of " Viva Pio 
 Nono," which followed the prolonged visit of the 
 Pope. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 George Marchbank was at work in his studio ; the 
 sweet music of the Benediction hymn was wafted on 
 the crisp winter air from the convent of the " Trinita 
 dei Monti." Its soft devotional strains fell sooth- 
 
«» 
 
 312 
 
 AFTBR WEARY TEARS. 
 
 ingly on his ear ; every time he heard it an unaccus- 
 tomed tenderness occupied his heart and raised his 
 thoughts to God. It in some way became mingled 
 witli the memory of Cardinal Altieri, and seemed 
 to pathetically whisper tne dying Bishop's words: 
 " Pray, pray for light and grace." And he did pray. 
 The burden of his prayer was ever the same : " Teacli 
 me, O Lord, to do Thy will ; show me the way in 
 which I should walk." The look of heavenly rap- 
 ture which beamed on the dying face of Cardinal 
 Altieri was over present to his mental vision. His 
 fancy pictured it floating heavenward, borne on the 
 waves of the sacred music, and beckoning him to 
 follow. Be saw it in the glinting of the star-studded 
 vault and in the pale glory of the moonbeams ; it 
 shone on dim from flowere dight with the sparkling 
 dew, and pleadingly looked down on him from the 
 golden-tipped summit of the scudding morning mist. 
 But everywhere and always it seemed to point to 
 heaven, and to whisper to his soul, "Pray, pray for 
 light and grace." 
 
 Was the spirit of the dead Cardinal hovering 
 around him, praying God for his convereion and 
 drawing his thoughts to the ways of truth ? And 
 was the Benediction hymn but another of those silken 
 threads of grace by which a free will is gently drawn 
 to freeily co-operate in the work of its own salvation ? 
 There was darkness yet, and sore afliiction, and cruel 
 doubt in the mind of George Marchbank. lie 
 wished to do right, to save his immortal soul, but 
 the end of his troubled road was not yet reached. He 
 had not yet come into the full glory of Catholic 
 
THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 313 
 
 Truth; his spirit had not yet felt the tranqniHty 
 conferred by Divine Faitli ; liis imagination could 
 not yet conceive the light of intellect, the security 
 of repose enjoyed by Catholics. He saw their faith 
 and almost envied them ; he would wish to be like 
 them, but his time had not yet come. The smile 
 of the dying Cardinal and the soft accents of the 
 Benediction hymn must yet often repeat their plain- 
 tive adjuration, " Pray, pray for light and grace ;" 
 and he must often yet sob in the desolation of his 
 longing heart, " Teach me, O Lord, to do Thy will ; 
 show me the way in which I slwukl walk ;" and then, 
 perchance, his night of gloom shall be dispelled, his 
 canker-worm of doubt destroyed, and his long strug- 
 gle swallowed up in victory. 
 
 It was near the close of a bright day in January ; 
 George Marchbank was giving the last touch to a 
 Madonna, a copy of the " Madonna di San Sisto." 
 The heavenly calm and innocence of the wondering 
 cherubs were well depicted ; so, too, were the features 
 and pose of St. Sisto and St. Barbara ; but he had 
 not caught that characteristic of the Madonna — that 
 undefinable expression in which the dignity and pride 
 of a mother are divinely blended with the retiring 
 modesty of a virgin. It is this expression, and not 
 shade nor pose nor drawing, which stamps with the 
 seal of immortality the Madonna of a great master, 
 and consecrates it in the eyes of posterity. 
 
 "At work, George? May I come in?" And 
 Morgan, for it was he who spoke, came in without 
 waiting for permission. 
 
 " You are just in time, Morgan ; I want your can- 
 14 
 
 I 
 
 > 
 
 ittal 
 
314 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 v:|h: 
 
 i^ 1 
 
 \0^ 
 
 did opinion on this canvas before laying it aside ; I 
 will tell you my own afterwards." 
 
 "Drawing perfect, shading very good, tints sub- 
 dued and devotional. All the accessories arc admir- 
 able, but — hum — but — " 
 
 " The principal figure is not, you would say, a suc- 
 cess," said poor George, who feared that his own 
 opinion was about to be confirmed by Morgan. 
 
 " In many ways it is a success, but there is a want 
 in the expression. It is like a beautiful corpse ; it 
 does not speak eloquently to the Catholic heart." 
 
 " Just as I feared, -Morgan ; yet I tried hard to 
 catch the proper expression. How have I failed ?" 
 
 " There is a kind of inspiration in all great works 
 of genius, more particularly so in sacred subjects. 
 Murillo painted his Madonna on his knees ; Raphael 
 liad a lofty idea of the Virgin such only as, excuse 
 my freedom, a true Catholic can have. If the mind 
 be not impressed with a noble ideal, and the brush 
 guided by a loving hand, it is impossible to succeed 
 in delineating a Madonna. Mere natural genius 
 could never produce the glorious creations of Raph- 
 ael, Murillo, Carlo Dolci, or those of other masters." 
 
 " You muss be right, Morgan ; and yet," said 
 George, jruibingly, and half wistfully, "I thought 
 my soul was in the work ; I thought I felt what a 
 type of womanhood the Virgin was." 
 
 " Yes, that may be ; but you have not felt a child- 
 like love for her ; you have not thoroughly grasped 
 the idea that, on account of her glorious perfections, 
 as the masterpiece of the right hand of the Most 
 High in the order of creation,'^there is a divine over- 
 
THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 315 
 
 shadowing around her whicli marks her off, and 
 raises her immensely above every created being." 
 
 "I respect her certainly," said George; "but 
 ought I to love her and to ])ray to her?" 
 
 " Can you ask if you ought to love her who was 
 truly the Mother of the Incarnate God ? Remem- 
 ber, George, that the Incarnation is not a myth, nor 
 merely a speculative truth ; it is a fact. The Divine 
 person of the Son assumed really and truly a human 
 body and soul ; there was no confusion of natures. 
 He did not cease to be God, nor did the human na- 
 ture cease to be human nature. But the same Divine 
 person who had eternally existed co-C(]ual to the Fa- 
 ther assumed a new relation without change or loss 
 of His Divine nature, and united in Himself humanity 
 to the divinity. In this way, just as parents are 
 really and truly said to be the fathers or the mothers of 
 their offspring, although they do not beget the soul, 
 even so the Blessed Virgin is really and truly called 
 Mother of God, although she did not beget the Divine 
 nature. The blood which flowed in the sacred veins 
 of the Man-God, and which redeemed us on Calvary, 
 had previously flowed in the veins of the Virgin. 
 'Wisdom built for itself a house' when creating our 
 Ulessed Lady ; shall we not, then, love and reverence 
 it? Did not Christ love and obey her? Is it not 
 lawful for us to do what He did ? Would not your 
 blood boil if you heard an insult offered to your 
 mother? We may be certain that our Divine Sa- 
 viour is more jealous of the honor of His Mother 
 than we are of that of ours." 
 
 "I did uot consider the matter in this light; 
 
 I 
 

 ■'■:-m: 
 
 316 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 your words appear, as they always do, most reason- 
 able. The Divine maternitj is tlien the grand 
 measure of the perfections of the Virgin, whicli 
 claim your reverence." 
 
 "It is; and it also gives us confidence in her 
 power of intercession with her beloved Son. It is 
 very reasonable to suppose that our Saviour will 
 grant a grace more readily when requested by 
 His Mother, than when asked only by sinners. 
 The dearer the person, the greater the love ; the 
 greater the lo^"e, the more prompt and ample the 
 favor." 
 
 " Very true ; I see plainly that the holy ones 
 who most nearly imitated the Saviour on earth, will 
 obtain a request in heaven much more easily than 
 the sinful. I feel a profound conviction that the 
 soul of Cardinal Altieri would obtain a grace from 
 God which might be denied at the request of one 
 who shrank from facing the cholera, although in 
 duty bound to face it. But perhaps the souls of 
 the blessed know naught about us." 
 
 "Why, George, what are you talking about? 
 Can you imagine that souls lose their memory ? It 
 is one of the grand faculties of the sonl. Apart 
 from every other possible way of understanding our 
 wants, this one, at least, remains." 
 
 " I will think well over what you have said ; it 
 opens up a new field of thought to my intellect." 
 
 "Very good; we shall talk again on tlie subject. 
 In the mean time I may as well tell my business? 
 before we begin another theme. I want you to 
 attend this evening at the Canadian Circle." 
 
THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 317 
 
 "The Cianadiari Circle! What do you mean, 
 Morgan ?" 
 
 "Simph this: you are aware that nearly three 
 hundred of on;; fellow-citizens have come to join 
 the zouaves since the battle of Montana. The 
 generous hearts of the Canadian Catliolics have 
 prompted those who could not come in person, 
 to supply funds to provide for the amusement and 
 improvement of those who came to fight. A circle 
 or club, has been estal)lishcd, where we can meet 
 and spend a pleasant evening with our friends. 
 We have a library and a recreation-room in connec- 
 tion witli it." 
 
 " I am pleased beyond measure to hear this. Nol^le 
 Canada, a great future must surely be in store for 
 thee, who, in thy youth, dost emulate the chivalry 
 and generosity of the oldest nations. The brave 
 spirits of Montcalm and Wolfe did not go forth 
 in vain on the torn plains of Abi'iiham. They 
 gave a lesson which Canada's sons have learned. 
 Yes, I rejoice to hear of this Circle, but can I at- 
 tend ?" 
 
 "Of course; you are a Canadian, and may well 
 claim to be admitted as a soldier, for you did good 
 service among the Yolunteers. In any case I can 
 bring you to-night." 
 
 "Will your friend Lorenzo Aldini be there?" 
 
 "No; he is scarcely strong enough yet to endure 
 nnich fatigue. I am sorry that we shall be deprived 
 of his lively conversation and whimsical sallies of 
 caustic humor. I suppose you are too ?" 
 
 " Of course I am sorry that ill-health should pre- 
 
 ^!ll 
 
li? 
 
 A 
 
 */ 
 
 318 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 / 
 
 vent his attendance ; but apart from that I cannot 
 really say that I am sorry." 
 
 "Why, George, do you not admire his gener- 
 ous nature, and courageous disposition ?" 
 
 " Certainly, for I saw proofs of them, both dur- 
 ing the cholera and the late period of trouble; 
 yet, somehow, we are not sympathetic. I know 
 him to be good, brave, and generous; hence I 
 sincerely respect him ; but our sympathies never 
 meet." 
 
 . Poor Morgan felt sad ; here was George March- 
 bank talking just as did Lorenzo; each respected 
 the other, but they could not become intimate 
 friends. How was it ? Are there, then, some mys- 
 terious fluid currents circulating through the human 
 organization analogous in their action to those of 
 electricity, attracting opposite, repelling similar 
 ones? Or can the soul act whilst yet in life, on 
 another soul, in some slight way at least, and fail 
 at times to awaken a responsive chord ?" 
 
 After a little time, George was ready to accom- 
 pany his friend to the Circle. They went out into 
 the windy streets, and slowly threaded their way 
 through some narrow windings. Rome, like all old 
 cities, tells of the days of citizen liberties, ere yet 
 fussy officials or ])ompous aldermen had been in- 
 flicted on suffering humanity ; of the days when 
 each individual stuck his tent-poles on any unoccu- 
 pied plot without regard to symmetry of outline 
 or geometrical proportions. Personal convenience, 
 not general effect, was what decided the choice of 
 site. With the advent of corporations the former 
 
THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 319 
 
 was made to become, in part, subservient to the 
 latter. 
 
 A playful gust of the keen tramontana, or north 
 wind, lay concealed for an instant in some dark 
 recess, and then treacherously leaped out on the 
 passer-by as he turned a sharp corner. For a 
 moment it would screech with savage delight as it 
 tweaked the nose of the unfortunate pedestrian ; 
 then, as if repentant, it would sadly moan as it 
 scampered along the deserted street; but, at the 
 next corner, forgetting its softened mood, it would 
 again play the savage. Thus it continued to rush 
 round corners, to gambol along the alleys, to tor- 
 ment the people abroad, and only sighed in the 
 deserted streets. 
 
 Morgan and George soon reached their destina- 
 tion : mounting a broad and massive stairway, they 
 entered a lofty room. It was well lighted, and 
 hung round with banners gracefully depending 
 from crossed bayonets. Wreaths of maple leaves, 
 almost rivalling nature in their verdant softness, 
 were depicted on the walls, and formed a romantic 
 setting for the crouching beaver. The truly Chris- 
 tian motto, " Aime Dieu, et va ton chemin" (" Love 
 God, and go on thy way"), was tastefully woven 
 with choice flowers over the Canadian flag ; whilst 
 around a bust of Pius IX. was the battle-cry '* Dieu 
 et Pie IX." (" God and Pius IX."). On every side 
 the eye encountered some floral decoration which 
 breathed a spirit of patriotism and religion. 
 
 The brave Laroque, who had bathed the slopes 
 of Montana with his blood, was already there ; so, 
 
 I 
 
 '111 
 
320 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 -■«? 
 
 ;i 
 
 too, was the gallant Murray. The tall, soldierly 
 form of Taillefer moved amongst a group, in wliicli 
 might be seen Frechette and Forgette, and other 
 names honored in the roll of Canada's Pontifical 
 Zouaves. They were all fine, able-looking men — 
 men who could hold their own in the midst of war's 
 cruel raging, or amid the more peaceful scenes of 
 civic life. Some of them had quit for a time the 
 honorable profession of the law or medicine; 
 others had left lucrative business pursuits; and 
 others had thrown aside the student's cloak to don 
 the jacket of a soldier. These were the men whom 
 Canada, the Benjamin of nations, had sent to guard 
 the throne of the loved Pontiff: they were the 
 representatives of transatlantic faith, and a living 
 proof that the Catholic citizens of the freest and 
 best-governed nation, except Rome as it then was, 
 are fired by the same spirit of loyalty towards the 
 Church as animated the Crusaders. 
 
 George Marchbank was surprised and pleased. 
 The large and brilliant gathering of his countrymen 
 kindled a glow of patriotic ardor in his generous 
 heart. He was proud of his country, and with 
 good reason. Even those who do not believe in 
 matters of faith, as did these Zouaves, must at least 
 recognize their devotedness and bravery. It ought 
 to be a subject of congratulation to every Canadian 
 to think that so many fellow-citizens had braved 
 the dangers of three thousand miles of water and 
 land to fight for what they believed to be the right. 
 Men who will do this will not be wanting when 
 danger threatens their own country. A practical 
 
THE CANADIAN CIRCLE. 
 
 321 
 
 proof of this was given during the civil war in the 
 United States. "When an invasion of Federal troops 
 was talked of on account of the " Trent affair," the 
 Catholic University of Laval was the first educational 
 institution to form its students into a volunteer corps 
 and to ask for rifles. And later still, during the 
 " Fenian scare," the Catholics of Canada were not 
 one whit behind other citizens in coming to the 
 assistance of the threatened fatherland. It will be 
 long ere the whining cant of some fossil bigot, or 
 the vagrant utterances of a discarded politician, 
 even though he be dubbed a knight, shall suffice to 
 make Canada forget tliese historic facts. 
 
 Morgan and George were received with hearty 
 salutations; the former was now a lieutenant. 
 George was acquainted with many of tliose present, 
 and felt himself quite at home. 
 
 At nine o'clock a trumpet sounded without ; it 
 was the signal of the arrival of the guest of the 
 evening. The guard at the door presented arms, 
 the band outside struck up "Vive la Canadienne," 
 and four pianos in the reception-room pealed forth 
 a lively welcome. An elderly man, tall, slim, and 
 of noble carriage, entered. His look of intelli- 
 gence gleamed from eyes whose lustre age had not 
 dimmed; his brow was massive, and his whole 
 appearance denoted a man of suj)erior intellect. 
 Yet he had not that supercilious cast of counte- 
 nance too often observable on men who are a trifle 
 more learned than their fellows. This arrogant 
 appearance is at once a mark of a defective educa- 
 tion : its possessor may know more than some per- 
 14* 
 
 
822 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 fl 
 
 ^ 
 
 <i 
 
 sons do, but his knowledge is far below his own 
 estimate of it, and his conceit takes the place of 
 science. The truly learned is ever humble; he 
 never seeks to impress others with an awe of his 
 attainments ; he never parades his knowledge. A 
 child may talk to him of its pastimes and its 
 studies, and he will listen as attentively and an- 
 swer as kindly as if addressed by the most learned. 
 He will show a sympathy with its childish sports, and 
 quietly endeavor to instruct while he answers. In 
 company, unless some argument be brought around 
 by others and he be forced into it, you will never 
 h .. .i him talking on subjects beyond the compre- 
 hension of every one present. The one thing which 
 moves him most to indignation is to hear the pre- 
 tentious chatter of persons who imagine themselves 
 clever. 
 
 Louis Veuillot — for he it was who now entered 
 the reception-room — wields one of the ablest pens 
 in France. He lias made a name for himself in the 
 literature of his country which will live as long as 
 the language in which he writes. Foremost in the 
 journalistic arena, he is ever ready to uphold a just 
 cause or to boldly denounce an impiety. He had 
 come to visit the Canadian Circle, partly because it 
 was a representative of New France, partly because 
 its object was so noble. 
 
 A pleasant evening was passed by all present; 
 the distinguished guest, on parting, presented to 
 the library of the Circle Kohrbach's " History of 
 the Church." " it was," he said, " the most beauti- 
 ful he could give, for it contained history, philoso- 
 
AN UNFINISHED ONE. 
 
 323 
 
 pliy, etliics, and tlieology." Those who have read 
 it can bear him out in his estimate of tliis remark- 
 able work. 
 
 George was deh'glited at wliat he saw und heard ; 
 he went away more proud of his fair Canada than 
 ever. " Surely," he thought, "surely a great future 
 awaits our country. It lias territory, mineral wealth, 
 and vast natural resources ; but, above all, it has 
 noble sons. Surely its future will be glorious.'^ 
 
 Surely it will, say we, if its political institutions 
 be founded on justice and religion. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN UNFINISHED ONE. 
 
 Again the rich clusters of grapes are being gath- 
 ered on the sunny slopes of Albano's quiet lake ; 
 again the rustic choirs answer each other from 
 neighboring hill-tops as they chant an evening 
 hymn to the Madonna. The mules laden with 
 heaped panniers slowly ascend the rough path 
 towards the main road, thence to turn towards 
 Albano or Marino, where their juicy load will be 
 put into the rude wine-press, and trod^^en by foot. 
 Long files of donkeys wind up the craggy brow 
 of the hill, each stepping into the footprints of the 
 one immediately in front. One man 0/ even one 
 well-trained old donkey can lead the whole line : in 
 
824 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ;Mi 
 
 fi'. 
 
 this particular they bear a marked resemblance to 
 political parties. The individuality, so to speak, of 
 each donkey is swallowed up by the file, just as 
 party absorbs the individuality of the professional 
 politician. A Darwinian might be tempted to say 
 that parliamentary institutions exist in embryo 
 amongst these animals, and that the modern " wliip" 
 of the Commons is but an evolution of the bell- 
 donkey. 
 
 On the broken hills of Montana the vines hud 
 produced an abundant yield ; two years have flown 
 since the storm of war passed over these regions, 
 and all is now quiet. It is the October of 18G9. 
 The Santucci vineyard shows but few traces of the 
 fierce battle fought within its walls. The "red 
 rain" lit made, it would seem, the vines flourisli, 
 and caused the grapes to glow in the bright sunlight. 
 The light-hearted vine-dressers sing their simple 
 ditties as they work, much after the fashion of their 
 remote ancestors. Political changes in the groat 
 outer world affect them not ; under the shadows of 
 their own vine they have been brought up in peace 
 and in the fear of God ; under their own vine tliey 
 seek to bring up their children in a like manner. 
 Enjoying in a rational way what they have got, not 
 desiring aught else in life, and serving God with 
 simple faith, they are the true philosophers of this 
 world. 
 
 Two yearsiiave passed since the impious attempt 
 was mad 6 on Rome by the Garibaldian hordes. 
 Peace and plenty have smiled on the Roman 
 States, and the people are prosperous and happy. 
 
AN UNFINISHED ONE. 
 
 325 
 
 A great event — the most important of modern times 
 — is soon to take place : an Ecumenical Council has 
 been convoked by the Pope, and is to meet on 8th 
 December next. It is hailed with delight by the 
 good, feared by the unsound, and cursed by the 
 impious. 
 
 On a bright day towards the close of October, 
 1869, Lorenzo Aldini was wending his way through 
 the shady grove of ilexes between Lake Albano and 
 Marino, lie passed by the waters of the Ferentine 
 League, a spot renowned in early Roman history, 
 and quietly smiled at the vanity of human greatness 
 as he watched the washerwomen cleansing soiled 
 linen in the historic waters. It was no amateur 
 dabbling which engaged the attention of these ma- 
 trons: with a resounding plunge they would bury 
 the soiled article in the stone basin of tlie fountain, 
 whisk it sharply round a few times, jerk it dex- 
 terously up in a puffed heap on the marble slab, 
 give it a few heavy blows with a pestle, wring it 
 once, shake it twice, and by way of variety, and 
 as a playful exhibition of good-fellowship, slap their 
 neighbor's back with it, and finally s])read it on a 
 boxwood hedge. 
 
 Lorenzo did not stay long watching this operation : 
 he hurried towards Marino, lie wore the dress of 
 a Zouave ; looked more manly than of yore, but not 
 so bright and cheerful. An anxious expression had 
 set its seal on his features : it was easy to see that 
 some trouble was preying on his young soul. 
 
 "What can it all mean?" he muttered; "my 
 father dying, and sending for that old Jew who es- 
 
326 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 m 
 
 capcd us that niglit in the Glietto. I hiinteu every- 
 where for that cunning Shylock, and could not dis- 
 cover any traces of him ; and now Peppe tells mc 
 that he is near my father at liis request. There 
 mu6;t be some mystery. I cannot distrust my father, 
 yet how explain liis connection with that disreputa- 
 ble Jew? lias he got into pecuniary difficulties, 
 and fallen into the hands of money-lenders? Better 
 that than be connected in any business matter of a 
 questionable nature. I can work my way in life, 
 even if he can leave me nothing. But my mother 
 — shall I ever see her ? Am I sure that she lives ? 
 Often have I questioned my father, as much as I a 
 son should ; but he has always managed to evade my 
 questions without seeming to do so. Now he will 
 tell me all." 
 
 With a nervous step Lorenzo mounted the steep, 
 craggy ascent from the valley of the Ferentiue 
 waters to the town of Marino ; it is shorter than the 
 commodious way cut by order of Pius IX. On 
 reaching his father's house he met Peppe at the 
 door, and was informed by that faithful servant 
 that his father was ill — was dying. He had asked 
 for a priest, and had on his arrival called Peppe and 
 two other servants into the room, and in their pres- 
 ence told the priest that he had done a grievous wrong 
 to some persons — not for love of money nor through 
 hatred, and that before beginning his confession he 
 wished to prove the sincerity of his sorrow. Hold- 
 ing up a document in his own handwriting, he said 
 that it would right the wrong as far as it was now 
 possible to right it. It would be given to his 
 
AN UNFINISHED ONE. 
 
 327 
 
 son on liis arrival, and then liis reparation would 
 begin. Having said this ho dismissed the servants, 
 and remained for a long time witli the priest. He 
 had received all the sacraments of the Church ; 
 "hence I suppose," said Peppe, "the priest must 
 have thought the document as reparatory as it was 
 possible for it to be." 
 
 Peppe poured forth all this with the rapidity of 
 a true Italian, helping himself with gestures of 
 hands, shoulders, and face. It was told whilst Lo- 
 renzo was walking from the door to his father's 
 sick-room. On entering this latter apartment Lo- 
 renzo started as his eye caught sight of the ghastly 
 countenance of his parent. Propped up with pil- 
 lows, the old man half sat, half reclined ; the chill 
 damp of death was already on his brow ; its mean- 
 ingless stare was already in his glassy orbs. Great 
 tears welled up to the eyes of Lorenzo as he cast 
 his arms around the dying old man, and kissed his 
 chilly forehead. In that moment the remembrance 
 of all his father's care and love for himself started 
 up, as it were, in one focal point, and appealed to 
 all his finer sensibilities. 
 
 *' Father, dear father, I am almost too late, but I 
 came as soon as I could. Do you know me ? Speak 
 to me one word! I am thy son Loreiii><v ' 
 
 A light, faint as a moonbeam seen athwart a fleecy 
 cloud on an autumn night, gleamed in the old man's 
 glassy eyes at the mention of tiie word " Lorenzo ;" 
 he shuddered visibly, and then the momentary 
 shimmering went out, leaving only the meaningless 
 stare. 
 
 If 
 
 ilh 
 
 am 
 
328 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 " My father, speak one word only : say you bless 
 mo — say you pardon me." 
 
 Again the light appeared, but somewhat brighter ; 
 the lips moved, and as Lorenzo bent his ear ho 
 caught the smothered nmttering, "Pa i — yes — 
 God has par — d — me." 
 
 " But pardon me, your son Lorenzo." 
 
 " Lorenzo — where ? Who — took — ^him ?" 
 
 " I am here, dear father : I hold your hands ; 1 
 kiss your brow ; I thank you for all your kindness." 
 
 With a wild start the dying man raised himself 
 up in bed ; his glassy eyes sparkled for an instant, 
 and then the old half-remorseful, half -wistful look 
 of greedy love came over his features as he recog- 
 nized Lorenzo. 
 
 "Ah! Lorenzo, forgive me — say yo "give nic 
 — she has said so already." 
 
 " Dear father, I forgive anything, everything, that 
 I have to f-^rgive; only love and kindness have I 
 experienced at your hands." 
 
 " I am dying, Lorenzo ; I have made reparation 
 as far as I could; the paper is yonder; believe it; 
 I loved you too well — too well to stand before you 
 and tell the tale, and hear your curse on my 
 wretched head. But you forgive; even after death 
 you will not curse me ?" he cried wildly, as he grasped 
 Lorenzo's arm. 
 
 The unusual light was fast dying out of his eyes; 
 the rigidity of death was fast coming over his 
 features as he muttered : 
 
 " Read — it — be — lieve — it — seek her." 
 
 " Seek whom ? seek where ?" questioned Lorenzo. 
 
 / 
 
AN UNFINISHED ONE. 
 
 329 
 
 "Your — motli — er — pardon — O God! pardon." 
 
 The liglit went out; tlie glassy eyes are meaning- 
 less enough now in their fixed stare; the rigidity of 
 death has set its cold seal on every feature. The 
 earthly tahernaele of Giovanni Aldini's trouhled 
 spirit is an inert mass; the spirit itself has passed 
 before its Judge. 
 
 So intent had been Lorenzo on the state of his 
 dying father that he liad not noticed who was in the 
 room. lie did not see the long, matted, grayish-white 
 hair and pinched countenance of the old Jew Ezra, 
 whom he had been seeking many a day. Busied 
 about the couch of the dead, he did not observe the 
 old scoundrel quietly openiii'^ a writing-desk on the 
 table, taking from it a document, and stealthily 
 gliding from the room. Peppe only saw the de- 
 parture, and felt glad that he was gone, little dream- 
 ing how much Lorenzo would have given to detain 
 him. 
 
 When the first duties to the dead had been per- 
 formed Lorenzo went to the writing-desk and over- 
 looked its contents. Accounts, receipts, business 
 memoranda, all were there in order; also a will 
 leaving all his property and money, with the excep- 
 tion of some charitable bequests, and legacies to his 
 servants, and a life portion to Peppe, to " him who 
 has been known for many years as my son, Lorenzo 
 Aldini." 
 
 This perplexed Lorenzo, and the absence of any 
 explanation or revelation, as his father's words had 
 led him to expect, puzzled him still more. 
 
 When the funeral was over, he made, with the as- 
 
 II 
 
330 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 sistance of Peppe, a thorough search, but could find 
 nothing of the kind. 
 
 Perhaps the old Jew Ezra, as he chuckled over 
 his bundle of rags in the Ghetto,* could have told him 
 of its whereabouts. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A DISCOVERY. 
 
 The filthy alleys of the Ghetto are slippery with 
 mud, and thickly bestrewn with rags of various 
 hue and in every stage of mouldy decomposition. 
 In some the bright tints are just a trifle subdued ; 
 in others all former colors are blended in a dull 
 gray ; whilst in others again, texture and shade are 
 alike resolved into a spongy mildew. 
 
 Strips of decaying felt are rotting side by side 
 with what was once the spruce hat of a Roman 
 count ; so shapeless and dilapidated is it now, that 
 it is as difficult to classify in the genus human ap- 
 parel as are troglodytes in the scale of civilization. 
 Its 't shining nap has, like the down on the 
 cri ' 3d wing of a butterfly, been turned to murky 
 dust. 
 
 Tufts of rabbit-fur, chips of horn, patches of 
 goat-skin, and bits of broken umbrella-frames lie 
 hopelessly inert in the sticky mud ; whilst vagrant 
 horse-hairs, surreptitiously escaped from some old 
 cushion, are apparently intent on making a series 
 
A DISCOVERY. 
 
 331 
 
 of " calls" on the firbt-named objects. The sluggish 
 breeze, which is laden with the noxious air of this 
 quarter of the city, drives them on from one to the 
 other. 
 
 A troop of ill-clad urchins, bow-legged, dirty, and 
 cadaverous, are in keeplr.g with the dismal lethargy 
 of the place, as they squat quietly down on broken 
 doorsteps, as if oppressed by the glaring of rudely 
 sculptured Gorgons on the arch of the doorway. 
 
 Desolation and ruin are the characteristics of the 
 Ghetto when seen at its best — that is, by the soften- 
 ing light of an October moon ; squalor and grime 
 are its leading features on a cheerless November 
 morning. It is these which make it an exceptional 
 locality, and sharply mark it off from tlie rest of 
 Rome. 
 
 Yet this uninviting quarter has its charms : its 
 narrow alleys and blind lanes breathe a pristine sim- 
 plicity of manner, and bear witness to the recent 
 birth of city architects, whilst its winding streets 
 and crazy tenements are the embodiment of poetic 
 fancy. If there be one feature more disagreeable 
 than another in a " modern" city, it is the monotony 
 of long, wide, unbroken streets gaping idiotically, 
 like Medusan heads from a palace front. Under 
 the glare and flare of a midsummer sun the luckless 
 footpad must crawl, half melting, along these inter- 
 minable streets, confused by the wild rush of cabs, 
 busses, and cars ; stifled with the odor of blistering 
 paint, and blinded with dust, until sunstroke or a 
 butcher's cart mercifully puts an end to his earthly 
 sufferings. Hard utilitarianism has destroyed the 
 
 Hi; 
 
832 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 poetry of our towns, and put to flight the spirit of 
 romance which erst lurked in shady corners and 
 winding lanes. But the wild freedom of the Ghetto, 
 its picturesqueness and its old-time look, redeem its 
 disadvantages, and almost beautify its dirt. 
 
 It is a dreary November morning, damp and chill. 
 The rag-shops of the Glietto are open, and each cold 
 gust of wind, as it hurries alon. whirls a cloud of 
 dust from every open door. Whence comes this 
 dust? The ripping, tearing, and assorting of old 
 clothes within till the pent-up atmosphere of the 
 dingy shops with mouldy dust, and the heartless 
 breeze hurtles it away. On it speeds to other scenes 
 of action, to descend, perhaps, in a gentle shower on 
 a bed of young cavoli, and to be sucked up and as- 
 similated by these plants. Thus it may come to puss 
 that the ragpicker who now impatiently curses the 
 dust which his work produces, may three months 
 hence gladly eat it under another form. Others 
 than ragpickers might take a hint from this. 
 
 Old Ezra is seated in the centre of the room in 
 which we first made his acquaintance. Though 
 well known to the police as an accomplice of the 
 members of the secret societies, he was allowed to 
 return to his shop after the rout of the Garibaldiaiis. 
 His expression is more hideous than of yore, his 
 eyes more sunken, his chin more protruding, his 
 nose more hooked and pointed. The gleam of ava- 
 rice is even keener than formerly in his cunning 
 eye, and his every movement more full of distrust. 
 
 As he sits surrounded by rags and dirt, with every 
 quality which can ennoble a man destroyed, or sub- 
 
A DISCOVERY. 
 
 333 
 
 jected to the sway of senseless greed, he might be 
 taken for a grotesque figure made to represent a 
 demon miser. Looking upon him, it would be im- 
 possible for Darwin himself to ever after talk about 
 a law of " progressive development." 
 
 He sits in the dim twiliglit of the filthy room, in 
 the damp morning air, ever and anon blowing his 
 bony fingers to keep them warm, and muttering 
 complacently to himself. His dirty-gray locks are 
 matted with two more years of dust and sweat, and 
 his talon-shaped nails are perfectly hideous with 
 dirt. His greasy nightcap is one mass of rotten 
 shreds and rude stitches ; no darning, how deft so- 
 ever it might be, could bind together the decom- 
 posing threads. Rents and patches and dangling 
 ends of cloth are the only perceptible features of 
 his attire . it would be hard to say wh'^re the coat 
 ends, harder to guess where the vest begins. A 
 broken boot and a heelless shoe are the protectors of 
 his stockingless feet. 
 
 Yet this wretch has money, and he longs for 
 more ; the demon of avarice has possession of his 
 soul, and he toils, plots, and hungers after money — 
 money that he will never use, money that he will 
 never employ to assuage a human ill or to dry an 
 orphan's tear. 
 
 In less degraded forms, it may be, but still with 
 hearts as flinty as old Ezra's, and with souls as gro- 
 velling, do wo meet with his fellow-misers every 
 day. Hopes of heaven are bartered for riches 
 which are hoarded till death ; tlien an unthankful 
 heir seizes the rich possession, and only uses it to 
 
334 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 BIS 
 
 hurry himself more swiftly to join the dead miser 
 in the gloomy regions of everlasting wail. 
 
 A clattering sound arrests the attention of old 
 Ezra ; and ere he has had time to speculate on its 
 cause, a bent figure, enveloped in a thick cloak, witli 
 feet encased in wooden shoes, and head roofed in 
 with a stiff brown felt hat, enters by the open door, 
 and deposits on a rickety table a basket of lettuce and 
 cichoria, which lie had been carrying swung from 
 the neck. 
 
 Ezra started up and looked suspiciously towards 
 the intruder. The latter made a deprecatory motion 
 with his hands in token of his pacific intentions, and 
 in the chopped language of the lower classes said : 
 
 " Sor Ezra, can I sell you some fresh lettuce ?" 
 
 " No, you can't," snapped Ezra. 
 
 "Just look at this bunch," persisted the vender; 
 " or perhaps you love cichoria / here we are with 
 an article which Julius Caesar himself might have 
 eaten for his supper. "What do you say to this, Sor 
 Ezra ?" 
 
 " I say begone," again snapped Ezra. 
 
 " Corpo di Trajano ! but you are cross this morn- 
 ing. Have the rags fallen in price, or have the police 
 been molesting you ? But you are safe now, my dear 
 fellow ; your past complicity with Capodiavolo will 
 be overlooked provided you keep quiet in future." 
 
 " Who the devil are you, and why do you rave 
 about Capodiavolo?" snarled Ezra. 
 
 " Easy now, easy, caro mio ; none but friends are 
 within hearing : I know all about it. That was a 
 clever trick you played the patrol by jumping down 
 
A DISCOVERY. 
 
 335 
 
 the hatchway into the river. It was neatly done, 
 per Bacco !" 
 
 " How did you learn my name, and how did you 
 learn anything about me?" questioned Ezra. 
 
 " How did I learn ! This is fine ! How did I 
 learn ! Oh, I know all — I know all." 
 
 It would be impossible to adequately describe the 
 various gestures of the herb-vender as he said this. 
 Open-eyed astonishment shone from every feature, 
 and leaped from the upturned palms of his hands as 
 he said " How did I learn I" Incredulous sarcasm 
 gleamed on his countenance, and was wrung out 
 from his clasped hands as he exclaimed, "This is 
 fine !" But the mingled look of perfect frankness, 
 wary caution, and half-rising indignation which his 
 face expressed, and his shrugging shoulders and trem- 
 bling hands emphasized when he repeated " I know 
 all — I know all," was a masterpiece of pantomimic 
 art. Seeing, as he concluded, the changed look in 
 Ezra's eyes, he grasped his unresisting hand and 
 shook it heartily. 
 
 " No need of these herbs now," said the pretended 
 vender ; " we can talk without them. What news 
 from the societies ?" 
 
 "We are organizing as quickly as possible," an- 
 swered Ezra, " but I fear nothinjr can be done this 
 winter. The Council, it seems, will surely meet 
 next month." 
 
 " Well, well," added the vender, " something may 
 be made out of the crowd of strangers who will be 
 sure to come to Rome during the winter. Is not 
 that the case r 
 
 'Jl» 
 
336 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 :»«l 
 
 itL 
 
 " Certainly," assented Ezra. 
 
 For a time the herb-vender was silent, but soon 
 began to speak. 
 
 "Perhaps you wonder who I am and whence I 
 come ? Quite natural," he continued, in answer to 
 the nod of Ezra. " I am from Marino, and used to 
 work frequently for Signer Aldini. But he is now 
 dead, poor fellow." 
 
 "Yes, I know he is," said Ezra. 
 
 "What! Were you acquainted with Giovanni 
 Aldini ?" 
 
 " For many a long year, and helped him in some 
 delicate affairs." 
 
 " Well, well !" mused the vender with an appear- 
 ance of indifference, but with a keen eye on Ezra. 
 " We move in a circle, and do not know with wliom 
 we may meet. Give me your hand again, my brave 
 Ezra. So you knew Signer Aldini, and of course 
 his son Lorenzo?" 
 
 " His son ? Oil, yes, I knew the boy Lorenzo," 
 said Ezra, and shrugged his shrunken shoulders. 
 
 " I hear that Lorenzo is very anxious about a 
 paper which has disappeared most mysteriously ; lie 
 would give a large sum to procure it." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "Qui mi casca I'asino'' ("H'^re my donkey fails 
 me"), said the vender. By this humorous expression 
 lie intended to convey the intelligence that he did 
 not know. 
 
 " Find out," said Ezra, " and if he promises a 
 good sum, offer to find it for him." 
 
 " Easy to offer, my dear fellow, but how can I find 
 
MYSTERIOUS POWER. 
 
 337 
 
 Tiovanni 
 
 in some 
 
 it ? Moreover, he will not pay without having first 
 received the document." 
 
 "Trust to me," said Ezra, with a wicked leer; 
 " extract a promise for a thousand scudi, and come 
 to me." 
 
 Here the old scoundrel blinked and leered, and 
 clawed the air with his bony fingers, as if already 
 clutching the coveted gold. 
 
 " You don't mean to say that you have it ! I am 
 in luck this morning. Well, well I I will see about 
 this at once, and return to you as soon as possible. 
 Good-by — till we meet," said the smiling vender 
 as he grasped his basket and waved his fingers (not 
 his hand) to the old Jew. 
 
 When he reached a corner he left the basket at a 
 stall, cast off his wooden shoes, threw aside his hat 
 and cloak, and stepped gayly along in the dress of a 
 Zouave, and to all mortal seeming was Peppe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MYSTERIOUS POWER. 
 
 It may be a trite remark to say that we know but 
 little ; still it is a most unusual thing for any one to , 
 be fully convinced of the truth of the observation. 
 Many doubtless will admit it, with one notable ex- 
 ception, to be applicable to all mankind — themselves 
 constitute the exception. The human mind natu* 
 
 16 
 
 ■..4 
 
S38 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 rally desires to know ; the desire is often thought to 
 hold the place of knowledge. 
 
 Few, on reflection, will deny that there are many 
 truths which lie outside the limits of the human 
 understanding ; truths which fall not within the 
 range of the most powerfully created intellectual 
 telescope ; truths which, so to speak, are shrouded in 
 an impenetrable night. Even in the natural order we 
 are not unlike persons engaged in a game of blind- 
 man's-bujff when we come to investigate the laws 
 of animal and vegetable life. The first object whicli 
 falls under the senses, viz., Matter, is a stumbling- 
 block. What is it ? "A compound substance," 
 complacently replies a philosopher whose scientiiic 
 down is giving evidence of a sickly sprouting in the 
 near future. If it be " compound," its components 
 must exist, and hence it would follow that there 
 must be simple substances. Now composition can- 
 not affect the essence of the substance : it would be 
 just as correct to call a brick wall a compound brick, 
 as to call a mass of matter a compound substance ; 
 strictly, therefore, there is no such thing as com- 
 pound substance. It is a conventional term, em- 
 ployed to cloak the ignorance of self-styled philoso- 
 phers. 
 
 Again, the term extension is hurled at our de- 
 voted heads in text-books and in philosophic treat 
 ises. It is explained as meaning that all bodies 
 occupy space. If you ask what is space, you will 
 be told that it is the capacity of containing bodies. 
 This is the circle in whicli the reasoning whirls 
 round. Men build themselves what they call a sci- 
 
''flj 
 
 MYSTERIOUS POWER. 
 
 339 
 
 entific system, and ask us to believe it the work of 
 tlie Most Higli. 
 
 God is the infinite living truth and power : " in 
 Him we live and move and have our being';'' not 
 confused with Him, nor with one another, but dis- 
 tinct and diverse realities, dependent on the great 
 reality — God. By reason of our finite nature we 
 can grasp, understand, or be cognizant of only a 
 limited number of truths or realities. The relation 
 which visible objects have to us causes us to form 
 to ourselves a ratio of distances which is purely 
 imaginary. Thus the idea of extension is begotten 
 of our limitation in the order of being. God being 
 infinite, is in immediate relation Avith every finite 
 reality ; hence before Him there is no extension. 
 But things are before Him in their truth ; conse- 
 quently space or extension there is none, except in 
 the idea of man. One scarcely knows whether to 
 bemoan the loss of the fancied billions of miles 
 about which astronomers reason, or to rejoice at the 
 fact that since space is only imaginary, the ideal 
 power of man by which he can build up vastly 
 extended planetary orbits must be potent indeed. 
 In any case, whilst sound philosophy proves the 
 reality of visible creation, it likewise proves that 
 the dearly hugged notion of real extension is only a 
 fallacy. 
 
 If, then, the human intellect when left to its owm 
 investig-ations is liable to err in reasonino; about what 
 may be called primary principles, how much more 
 readily may we not concede it to be at fault when 
 striving to explain recondite conclusions ? We are 
 
 I 
 
340 
 
 AF'TEIt WtiARlr ttlAftS. 
 
 no advocates of scepticism : this is the absurdity of 
 weak minds. Reason, properly applied, can know 
 many things with certainty, and Divine Faith 
 teaches many truths. But in the vast field of hu- 
 man speculation the unknown and the inexplicable 
 far outnumber the subjects known with certainty. 
 
 To persons little given to habits of thought it 
 may sound strange, nay, impious perhaps and ab- 
 surd, to hear it advanced that there is some mysteri- 
 ous power by which one soul may act in life on 
 another. Yet material forces undoubtedly exercise 
 a reciprocal action : why may not spiritual ones do 
 as much? Attraction and repulsion are verified 
 in the world of matter: why may not the same 
 hold good between spirits? How often have we 
 met persons who won our sympathy instantane- 
 ously ? Our judgment and reason had no hand in 
 the act, because it was prior to all reflection, j^ut 
 some cause must be assigned for the effect; may 
 we not say that soul acted on soul and found a sym- 
 pathetic chord ? 
 
 Lorenzo Aldini was not speculating on such ques- 
 tions as these as he travelled by railway on the 1st 
 of December, 1869, from Naples to Rome. His 
 thoughts were personal, and as such thoughts often 
 are, gloomy. He was sorely troubled at what he 
 had heard from his father's dying lips — troubled 
 because he was at a loss how to act. " Seek her," 
 continually rung in his ears; but where or how? 
 The document which alone could throw light on 
 the affair was lost or stolen. True, Peppe had dis- 
 covered that the old Jew Ezra either had it or 
 
MYSTERIOUS POWER. 
 
 341 
 
 knew where it was. But this unconscionable wretch, 
 owing to his being wanted by tlie police, had left 
 his quarters in the Ghetto and could not be found. 
 What could he do? He knew his mother lived, 
 but this rather added to his o^rief. Were she with 
 the saints in heaven, he could raise up his heart to 
 her and feel himself bound to her more sweetly 
 and closely. But to know that she was on earth, 
 grieving, doubtless, for his loss, and vainly looking 
 for his return, was misery indeed. 
 
 A thousand times he asked himself the question, 
 " Why did they part ?" but could find no satisfac- 
 tory answer. At times a fretful motion of anger 
 against his father would rise in his heart, but was 
 repressed as soon as noticed. '• No : come what 
 may, my father meant well, and was kind to me ; I 
 will not be unkind to his memory." This was his 
 reflection whenever he found hard feelings being 
 enofendered a£»-ainst Giovanni Aklini. The remeni- 
 brance of the lavish love experienced from the dead 
 parent and his yearning for the living one would 
 often come in conflict in his soul, and seem to rend 
 him in twain. His was indeed a desolate state, in 
 which- two strong, yet tender passions, viz., grati- 
 tude to a father and love for a mother, were pitted 
 against each other, but ever held apart by a deep 
 religious motive. "I must love both, and condemn 
 neither," was his oft-i-'^peated cry. 
 
 To divert his painful thoughts into another chan- 
 nel, he took out the photograph given him by his 
 father, and gazv.d wistfully at the childish face. It 
 was covered by a glass set in an old-fashioned frame. 
 
 n|BM|||jn| 
 
 I 
 
842 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Finding tlie glass loose, he took it out in an absent 
 way, and removed the picture. On its reverse were 
 faintly traceable a scrawl with pen and ink, as if the 
 fair child had striven to write her name, and some 
 printed letters. Of the latter he could only deci- 
 pher R. E. A. L. Perhaps these might yet serve 
 as a clew to the mystery ; he would show them tu 
 Pc])pe on his arrival in Kome. 
 
 Having replaced the picture and glass, he was 
 about to close the locket, when he became aware 
 of being observed by two ladies who sat near him. 
 One was elderly, with a half-sad, half-pensive ex- 
 pression, and a sweet, calm trust in her dreamy eyes. 
 The other Avas young, and of charming appearance 
 in her pure womanly beauty. Lorenzo's glance fell 
 for an instant on the two, and an undelina]>le sen- 
 sation was excited in his soul. What was it? lie 
 seemed to know both, and yet their faces were 
 strange. He seemed to love both, and yet how dif- 
 ferently ! Deep sympathetic love with the pensive 
 motherly lady filled his heart ; respectful admini- 
 tion, and a feeling which he could not define nor ana- 
 lyze, but which awoke an unknown thrill of pleas- 
 ure, was what he experienced in regard to her youth- 
 ful companion. For the first time in -"'ly months 
 the thought of his own tron .as banished from 
 his mind. But only for aioment. he open 
 locket still in his hand brougi. it back to his memory. 
 He gazed again on the sweet clii ]-face and trem- 
 bled with emotion. What resemblance did he no^' 
 detect to one whom he had seen ? Oh, where had 
 he seen these features, enlarged it is true, but still 
 
MYSTERIOUS POWKK. 
 
 348 
 
 wearing that quiet smile of heavenly peace and 
 trusting love? He was in a tumult of emotion. 
 He felt that he was on the point of making a dis- 
 covery, but as yet he knew not what. The studious 
 youth who endeavors to solve a difficult problem 
 feels, as he approaclies a solution, that he is uner- 
 ringly nearing the goal of his ambition, although 
 the answer be still unknown. This was Lorenzo's 
 state, as with throbbing temples, short-coming 
 breath, and a wild excitement of feeling he viewed 
 the oft-gazed-on picture. An exclamation from 
 one of the passengers caused him to look up ; un- 
 consciously his glance fell upon the young lady 
 already mentioned. A Hash of light was let in 
 on his soul ; his tumultuous emotions were checked ; 
 the problem was solved. There could be no mis- 
 taking the identity. He held in his hand the pic- 
 ture, taken years ago, of that fair girl who sat 
 beside the half-sad, half-pensive matron. His 
 father's words rang in his ears — " If ever you meet, 
 either in this country or elsewhere, the original of 
 this picture, try to win her for your wife ; my bless- 
 ing on such a union." 
 
 He had now met the original, and it needed not 
 the remembrance of Giovanni Aldini's advice to 
 make him resolve to win her if he could for his wife. 
 Already every sympathy of his soul had gone out 
 towards her ; already a mysterious power swept 
 over the chords of his emotions and attuned them 
 into harmony with hers. As for one swift instant 
 his eyes, as she turned to gaze oui at the distant 
 spires of Rome, looked into hers, his soul seemed to 
 
344 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 f M 
 
 • Mi 
 
 reach her gentle spirit, and to have found its good 
 angel on earth. 
 
 For this is what woman ought to be — man's 
 "helper like unto himself;" "his helper" in the 
 things of earth, and on the road to heaven ; " his 
 helper" in the care and burden of life, not by bear- 
 ing herself the load, but by cheering him with her 
 kindly sympathy ; by removing the little causes of 
 irritation, often harder to be endured by man than 
 real afflictions ; by shedding joy and peace around 
 his home. Ilightly or wrongly, man looks to her 
 to preserve her self-respect and to cause him to 
 hold it sacred; he expects to find her pure and 
 devoted. He may be quite unwilling to be driven by 
 her, but if she be virtuous and possessed of any tact, 
 she can easily lead him aright. Would that young 
 girls would think of this, and consider what a re- 
 sponsibility devolves upon them. Let them never, 
 in a moment of thoughtless vanity, wound, even in 
 the slightest degree, tlieir sense of maidenly deli- 
 cacy and decorum because some foppish nonentity 
 may seem to be pleased thereby ; but let them ever 
 jealously guard these bright jewels if they wish to 
 be loved by God and revered by man. Let them 
 understand the dignity of their mission in life, and 
 the magnetic power of purity. Strong by reason 
 of this power, the Sister of Charity walks securely 
 in the filthy alleys of London, and draws murmurs 
 of applause and blessings from the lips of the most 
 abandoned rabble. She passes unharmed and re- 
 spected through places which might well serve as a 
 vestibule for hell, quelling and transforming, for the 
 
MYSTERIOUS POWER. 
 
 345 
 
 time at least, every heart by the magnetism of her 
 purity. 
 
 Out upon the brainless and vicious young men 
 " of the day," who seek to bring woman dowri to 
 their own loathsome level. Out upon those who 
 endeavor to familiarize her ears with the vuli!:arisms 
 of street rowdies, or to sap her feelings of delicacy 
 by urging her on to take part in what has been 
 well called " the dance of death," viz., " fast dances." 
 Out upon the loose notions of womanly modesty, 
 plainly taught or covertly insinuated in trashy 
 novels, — some, alas! written by women. 
 
 The rushing train was nearing Rome, and still 
 Lorenzo sat dividing his glances between the pic- 
 ture and its original. What could he do? How 
 was he to learn who she was ? How could he ob- 
 tain an introduction to her 'i These thoughts filled 
 his mind, and set their impress on his face. 
 
 The elderly lady addressed her companion in a 
 sweetly subdued voice, but only fragments of sen- 
 tences reached Lorenzo's ear. He heard "son,'' 
 and " thinking of him," and " it must be soon ;'' 
 but that was all. 
 
 There are times when the soul is too full of 
 thought to think : it would fain reason out some 
 point. It would fain lay down premises and draw 
 conclusions, but it is so overcharged, so to speak, 
 with thought that it can only idly wonder, like a 
 boor gazing on the treasures of art Poor Lorenzo 
 was in that condition : he could not think, although 
 he was longing to do so. 
 
 The train thundered into the station ; hastily 
 15* 
 
 I 
 
i:-: 
 
 346 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 11 
 
 ^ 
 
 ■M 
 
 putting aside the locket, he prepared to alight. His 
 travelling companions were tumbling out, as people 
 always will do from a train, just as though their 
 lives depended on being first out. He was the last 
 to descend and to his amazement caught sight of 
 Morgan shaking hands first with one then with the 
 other of the two ladies who had attracted his atten- 
 tion. Morgan, seeing Lorenzo, drew him in an ex- 
 cited way into the ])resence of his late com])anions, 
 and introduced them as " my sister Eleanor, and 
 Mrs. Barton." 
 
 "Howextraordinarv !" lanii-hed Moro-an : " travel- 
 ling together, and yet not to know each other after 
 my description of Eleanor to you. Never mind, 
 you will soon be acrpiainted." 
 
 In good sooth, if human countenances ever ex- 
 pressed the instincts of the soul, it required no 
 prophet to foretell that. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 TUE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 George Makciibank sat listenins; to the sweet 
 strains of the Benediction hymn, Avhicli floated 
 gently on the evening air from the Convent of 
 " La Trinitii dei Monti." This music was, as we 
 saw before, most dear to his heart. It had always 
 led his mind heav«Miward, and filled him with senti- 
 ments of devotion. It had always been strangely 
 
THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 347 
 
 )anions. 
 
 blended witli the dying smile of Cardinal Altieri, 
 and seemed to call him into a brighter land. His 
 noble soul yearned for the high and holy devotional 
 practices of the Catholic Church : he felt that in the 
 bosom of that Church alone could he be safe — that 
 in it alone could be found the loftiest ideal of 
 Christian perfection, and the most sublime devotion 
 to duty. He had long since seen the fallacy of the 
 claims of every Protestant sect. The^f might each 
 retain some fragments of the truth, but they had 
 made shipwreck of the Faith, and were now like 
 persons washed ashore from a broken vessel, vainly 
 clutchino: at the shreds and tatters of their once 
 beautiful garments. They could only be true in 
 the impious supposition that Christ had failed in 
 His promise to His Church : if they were true, the 
 Almightv must have blundered in His work, and 
 left it to be perfected by libertines like Luther and 
 Henry YIII. He deplored the blindness of well- 
 meaning people who refused to lend an ear to his- 
 toric truth, but who gladly welcomed the most 
 arrant scoui .^'els whom the Catholic Church cut 
 off from her comnmnion because of their crimes. 
 He saw that only the Roman Catholic Church 
 could show an unbroken succession of pastors from 
 the Apostles; that only it had unity of Faith, with 
 universality of diffusion. For fifteen centuries it 
 alone had been the civiiizer of mankind, the guar- 
 dian of the Scriptures, and the dispenser of the 
 Mysteries of God. Then a licentious monk re- 
 belled : he who publicly was known to have broken 
 his solemn vows undertook to teach the a[)[)oiuted 
 
 I 
 
 :■;■;' t 
 
348 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 . ■ 4? ■ 
 
 m 
 
 mi 
 
 teacher of nations. A wife-slaying King threw off 
 his allegiance to the successor of St. Peter, and pro- 
 claimed himself the head of the Anglican Church. 
 Monsters of iniquity, admitted to have been such 
 by every educated person, are the much-talked-of 
 " Reformers" of the sixteenth century. George 
 Marchbank felt that Christianity must be a fable 
 if such instruments as these were to be recognized 
 as divinely commissioned. Yet how few outside 
 the pale of the true Church will look calmly at 
 this fact. How many, should these lines ever meet 
 their eyes, will gi'ow indignant at the writer, and 
 rage against him, and refuse perhaps to read more. 
 Still he has not painted the character of the so- 
 called " reformers" in colors as black as authentic 
 history presents them. An eternity of happiness 
 may depend on the manner in which these words 
 are read and pondered upon. There can be but one 
 true Faith ; there can be but one road pointed out 
 bv Christ ; there can be but one trne Church — the 
 bride and witness of Christ. It was divinely gifted 
 with an immunity from doctrinal ^error, because it 
 was to continue till the end of time the work begun 
 by the Saviour. It must then have always taught, 
 must now .teach, and must continue to teach the 
 Truth. 
 
 George Marchbank felt this ; still he remained 
 outside. Like one who, gazing on the imposing 
 colonnades, the magnificent fagade, and the tower- 
 ing dome of St. Peter's, and lost in wonder at its 
 outer glories, forgets to enter to feast his eyes 
 on the inner beauties of that holy Temple, George 
 
THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 349 
 
 Murchbank was as yet content to contemplate the 
 historic grandeur of our Cliurch without seeking 
 to enter its saving fold. He could not get the all- 
 importance of its membership into his head. At 
 times he felt himself drifting away farther every 
 day, more inclined to let things take their chance, 
 aftd not to care much what should become of him 
 here or hereafter. He was mentally sick, and to 
 his disordered vision the wretchedness of this life 
 and the uncertainty of the one to come did not 
 appear to be compensated by the promise of being 
 made a " child of God and an heir to the heavenly 
 kingdom." A strange feeling of sadness took pos- 
 session of his soul as he gazed on an enchanting 
 view or a beautiful flower, as if his power to appre- 
 ciate them were incomplete. And so, indeed. It 
 was: for only by true faith can our intellectual 
 faculties obtain their most delicate and lofty develop- 
 ment; only through it can we fully appreciate and 
 enjoy the beauties of nature. 
 
 But now he was in a gentler and holier mood, as 
 he sat listening, on the evening of December 7, 
 to the Benediction hymn. lie had just returned 
 from a short visit to Albaiio, and was filled with 
 remembrances of Cardinal Altieri. lie had stood 
 with uncovered head by his tomb, and had rever- 
 ently walked over the streets sanctified by his foot- 
 steps. He had entered the Cathedral, and almost 
 fancied that he caught sight of Altieri's figure on 
 the spot on which he had stood when exhorting his 
 flock to repentance and courage. Remembering the 
 Cardinal's dying words to himself to pray for " light 
 
360 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 and grace," he had thrown himself on his knees 
 and poured out the longings of his heart in fervent 
 prayer. And now, as he heard the dying echoes of 
 his loved hymn, the smiling face of Altieri seemed 
 to float near on the waves of music, and then to 
 calmly ascend through the gathering gloom. More 
 pensive than usual, he closed his window, and shortly 
 afterwards retired for the night. 
 
 Next morning all Rome was astir. The great 
 day had arrived ; our generation was about to wit- 
 ness an event of rare occurrence in the history of 
 the Church, viz., the opening of an Ecumenical 
 Council. The Church is a divine institution ; its 
 sacraments and doctrines are stamped with the seal of 
 Heaven, and it is ever guided by the Holy Spirit. 
 But its members are only human : they are by 
 adoption, it is true, children of God ; still they are 
 obnoxious to the frailties of a fallen nature. The 
 great granary of the Lord contains chaff mixed 
 with the wheat ; vessels of wood and clay are seen 
 side by side with those of gold and precious gems. 
 Hence individual sins and abuses — the scandal, per- 
 haps, of a whole nation becoming apostate — may be 
 verified in the Church, but they are not sins and 
 abuses of the Church. The Spouse of Christ has 
 no spot nor wrinkle on her virgin brow ; she is not 
 defiled by the vice of her unworthy children, because 
 it is against her teaching and her protests that 
 crimes are committed. At times she is roused to 
 employ the dreadful punishment of excommunica- 
 tion — to cut off, that is, the rotten branches lest 
 they infect the sound. She has within herself all 
 
THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 351 
 
 the elements of renewal, all the power lecessary to 
 effect a reformation in her members. In herself 
 there can be no reformation, because she is the 
 infallible representative of Christ. God did not 
 leave her unfinished ; he left nothing in her to be 
 perfected by man. She received the deposit of 
 Faith ; she is its guardian and expounder. Through 
 her is taught the Word of Christ: throucrh her 
 flows sacramental grace. Unchanging is her Faith ; 
 because it is God's message to man, proclaimed once 
 through Christ, now through his Spouse. More 
 precisely and more fully, in accordance with the 
 necessities and development of human thought, she 
 defines and expounds her doctrines ; but she never 
 changes them. Her outward laws of discipline, 
 made by herself for the good of her members, are 
 
 modified or 
 
 abrogated 
 
 as circumstances chantre : 
 
 but never once in her long history did she change 
 a dogma; never once did she contradict herself; 
 never once did she trim her sails or lower her flag 
 at the bidding of any tyrant. This ought to be 
 enough to convince any man of sense that she must 
 be divine in her origin, in her mission, and in her 
 authority. 
 
 Tiie object of a General Council has always been 
 one of vast moment — either to settle soi.ie point of 
 doctrine and to formulate it in precise terms, or 
 to correct flagrant abuses in the members of the 
 Church, or to enact salutary laws of discipline, and 
 to promote the advancement of science. Yes ; 
 though George Marchbank had often read the 
 sneers of the ignorant, declaiming against the fancied 
 
 1 
 
352 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 )i- ■ 
 
 wis! 
 
 ignorance of the Church, he now knew that many 
 of the greatest universities of Europe owed their 
 origin to the Councils of the Churcli. He likewise 
 knew that in every branch of polite or learned liter- 
 ature, in every refining art and ennobling science, 
 Catholics had excelled ; and even now, despite the 
 bombastic nonsense of Tyndall, Huxley, and their 
 hebetated copyists, do excel. Many a popular delu- 
 sion rests, like this strange hallucination of bigots 
 about the ignorance of Eome, on the crass stupidity 
 of its victims. 
 
 The lovers of parliamentary institutions would 
 do well to study the history of Ecumenical Councils. 
 So thought George Marchbank, as he took his 
 crowded way to St. Peter's. Here was the head of 
 the Church summoning men from every clime to 
 meet and consult on the affairs of Christendom. 
 The same had taken place at various epochs of the 
 Christian era — from the Council of the Apostles in 
 Jerusalem to that of the Vatican in 1869. 
 
 The hall of the Council was formed by running a 
 temporary partition between two of the immense 
 pilasters which help to support the dome, thus cut- 
 ting off one arm of tlie cross, in the form of which 
 St. Peter's is built. It opened into the body of the 
 church by folding-doors ; these were opposite the 
 High Altar, and were open during public sessions. 
 From an early hour the vast Basilica was filled with 
 anxious thousands. Around the High Altar, be- 
 neath the wondrous dome, the press was so great that 
 it was impossible — actually, literally impossible — 
 to raise an arm from one's side often for an hour 
 
THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 363 
 
 at a stretch. Packed among this ahnost immovable 
 mass George Marchbank stood for six long hours. 
 A double line of soldiers from the door of the 
 church to the Council-chamber kept, by great exer- 
 tion, an open passage for the prelates. Towards 
 this lane expectant eyes were continually turned. 
 
 At length the eager whisper, " They are coming," 
 floats through the crowd. Headed by a guard of 
 honor, the grand procession moves up the noble 
 temple. Every murmur is hushed ; every eye is 
 strained ; every heart thrills with an unaccustomed 
 emotion. What a gorgeous and what an unique 
 sight! More than seven hundred bishops, repre- 
 sentatives of every part of the known world, clad 
 in copes of glittering cloth-of-gold, and mitres glis- 
 tening with diamonds, walked slowly up the guarded 
 lane. The cardinals in their scarlet robes followed, 
 and borne aloft on the Sedia Gestatoria the vener- 
 able Pontiff himself. The minor features of mili- 
 tary display and the grand music of " Tu es Petrus" 
 were lost sight of in the awful sense of wondering 
 admiration. Here were men from the East and 
 West — men famed in the world of science or lite- 
 rature — old men tottering feebly along, and strong 
 men in the prime of life — strangers to one another, 
 yet all linked in a holy bond of faith. Slowly up 
 the magnificent pageant moved, and as it entered 
 the Council-chamber each bishop took his appointed 
 place. The Pope's throne was in the extreme end ; 
 on each side were raised forms for the cardinals ; 
 rows of seats, tier above tier, stretched out from 
 those for the bishops. When the Pope had reached 
 
354 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 i. 
 
 hia throne and, having been seated, resumed the 
 tiara, all the bishops put on their mitres and sat 
 down. From the arrangement of the interior of 
 the Council-hall one standing under the dome could 
 take in the whole scene at a glance. George March- 
 bank was in such a position. 
 
 The sight profoundly affected him. His well- 
 stored mind went back up the pathway of centu- 
 ries, and sought for parallels to this scene. Were 
 there any ? Yes : in imagination he was transported 
 to Trent, and saw three centuries ago a similar 
 sight. He saw the same at Constance, at Florence, 
 at Lyons, at the Lateran, at Constantinople, at 
 Ephesus, at Nice, and finally at Jerusalem. Yes ; 
 there could be no mistaking the parallels : acciden- 
 tal differences there were, but the essential feat- 
 ures were ever the same ; bishops from all parts, 
 and the Pope presiding, either in person or through 
 his delegates. Against each of these the impious 
 had raved, just as they were now raving against the 
 Vatican Council ; false doctrines were condemned, 
 and the truth taught with an authority which in- 
 dicated its source in the Council of the Apostles : 
 " it has appeared good to us and the Holy Ghost." 
 Yes ; there could be no mistaking the parallels, no 
 shirking their awful significance. If the Council 
 of Nice represented Christianity, the Council of the 
 Vatican must do the same. Unless the Christian 
 religion be a fable and Christ a myth, the Coun- 
 cil here assembled must be the exponent of Truth ; 
 it must be the authoritative teacher of Christ's 
 doctrine, It is the genuine heir and actual inheritor 
 
THE VATICAN COUNCIL. 
 
 366 
 
 of all the rights and privileges of former synods. 
 The sainted Fathers who sat in the Council of Nice 
 would find themselves at home in that of the 
 Vatican. In it tliey would hear no strange tongue, 
 in it they would listen to no new doctrine. Just as 
 they had been convened by the authority of the 
 Pope of Rome, so had the Fathers of the Vatican. 
 Against all who would rebel against the teachings 
 of the Vatican they would as surely thunder an 
 anathema as they had against the wretched Arius. 
 Here, then, is tlie living teaching body of the 
 Church. There can be none other. 
 
 This was Georije Marchbank's conclusion, loijical- 
 ly drawn from well-established premises. All his 
 former doubts vanished in an instant; his former in- 
 difference to revealed trutlis appeared an unaccount- 
 able insanity. There was a God ; He had revealed 
 His will and commanded us to obey it ; Ho had 
 founded a Church, promising to be with her; and 
 here, after eighteen centuries of persecutions and 
 triumphs, she now stood fortli, prochiimingto an un- 
 believing age her heavenly mission as boldly as in 
 the beginning. Evidently it was his duty to join 
 her communion. 
 
 The ways of God's dealings witli man are 
 mysterious. The workings of His grace unfathom- 
 able. A thoughtless soul is at times stricken, like 
 Saul, to the earth, and rises to light and peace. 
 Often, on the other hand, a serious heart with vague 
 yearnings for something more real tlian the cold 
 forms of heresy is tossed about for years on a sea 
 of anxious doubt and harrowing uncertainty. It 
 
856 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 fain would believe right, but it knows not wliat to 
 accept ; it longs to do God's will, but no kindly 
 light affords it an illuminated pathw ay. Some who 
 are thus being purified in the trying crucible of 
 tribulation lose courage, give np the search for 
 truth, and melt away in the drossy sea of infidelity ; 
 others remain steadfast in their pnrpose, and conic 
 forth from the bitter test radiant with the beauty 
 of God's own grace. 
 
 So soon as George Marchbank conld escape 
 from the thickest of the crowd he n>oved back to 
 the farther side of the High Altar, and prostra- 
 ting himself by tlie shrine of St. Peter, liunibly 
 and witli deep feelings of reverence repeated the 
 Apostles' Creed. The words " 1 believe in the 
 Holy Catholic Church" had now a meaning: they 
 were no voiceless echoes of the past; they were 
 fraught with a living reality, and bound him to the 
 past, the present, and the future. God's grace was 
 upon him, llis light was shining into his soul. lie 
 could now understand whv Eleanor had refused his 
 proffered love. He had crossed over from the dark 
 side of the river; and stood in a flood of mellowed 
 brightness. He felt the reality of the truths of 
 revelation, and shuddered as he thought of his 
 former indifference. His soul had found peace, be- 
 cause it had found the truth. 
 
'Wwji 
 
 J:LEANOR*a STRUGGLE. 
 
 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 E r. E A N O R ' 8 8 T E U O O I. E . 
 
 " Well, Eleanor, George M.irchbank has become, 
 as -I predicted he miglit, a Catholic. He called 
 here wliile you and Morgan were out. I invited 
 him to return tliis evening. He is anxious to see 
 you, and you, doubtless, will be glad to speak with 
 him." 
 
 " Oh yes, Mrs. Barton, I shall be very happy to 
 meet liim ; I have only, as you know, seen him 
 once since we liave arrived. He looked, I thought, 
 paler and more thoughtful than when lie left Canada. 
 Morgan says he is likely to become a great artist ; 
 I wish he may." 
 
 " So do I," replied Mrs. Barton. " But fame has 
 not come as yet, and it may be years before it will : 
 in the mean time he must toil and be patient. How- 
 ever, he has already acquired something more valua- 
 ble than the praise of his fellows by coming to 
 Rome : he has been brought to the true fold. 
 Henceforth his chances of success as a painter are 
 better; the faith of Christ has opened up a wider 
 and more sublime view to his intellect, and given 
 him loftiei' ideals." 
 
 " So you think, then," said Eleanor, " that one 
 who belongs to the true Church can be a greater 
 artist than one outside of it?" 
 
;)^8 
 
 AFTER TVEARY TEAKS. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! Why, my dear girl, have not the 
 most renowned painters, sculptoio, poets, architects, 
 the soundest pliilosophers, the deepest thinkers, to 
 say nothing of theologians, belonged to our Cliurch ? 
 In music, too, as in every ennol)ling or refining art, 
 we take the lead. If we were to blot out the names 
 of Catholics from the annals of art, the modern 
 world would have but a short and unimposing list 
 of great names. '" 
 
 " You ai'd quite right, Mrs. Barton ; but is it not 
 stranp-c that we are taunted with isnorance and with 
 n oramping of the intellect in the face of such proof 
 to the contrary ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I do not know whether it is stranger than 
 other charges equally ridiculous. The fact is, those 
 who are outside of our pale may be divided into 
 two classes — the well-meaning but simple, and the 
 malicious. The former have been educated in the 
 belief that we are idolaters, or nearly so ; they have 
 been surrounded by an atmosphere of prejudice so 
 dense that it is difficult for them to pierce it. They 
 read the stale lies so often refuted, but which, like 
 filthy worms, increase by putrefaction. Can you 
 wonder that persons wdiose daily intellectual food 
 consists in America of Harper's publications and 
 similar prints ; and in England of the Times and 
 Froude's romancins^ in the pathwavs of historv, 
 should be ignorant? They, poor souls, swear by 
 their favorite newspaper or writer, and are actually 
 thunderstruck if you deny his assertions. The ma- 
 licious know that they malign us; they know in 
 their inmost soul that ours is the only true Church 
 
 
Eleanor's struggle. 
 
 359 
 
 of God ; that we only are truly free, being made so 
 by the Truth ; but because our religion imposes re- 
 straints on tlie indulgence of their sinful passions, 
 they bow not to it, although, like the devils, they 
 believe and tremble.' " 
 
 " It is dreadful," sighed Eleanor, " that persons 
 should be so blinded. The follies of life, position 
 in society, dress, and sucli like vanities, will look 
 mi3an and contemptible when viewed by the light of 
 a deathbed." 
 
 " Too true ; but even man v who have been brouo-ht 
 up in the household of the Faith forget God to think 
 of these. See how many young Catholic girls and 
 boys hang entranced over a filthy love-tale ! They 
 Mush to be seen frequenting the Church and the 
 sacraments ; but they experience no sense of shame 
 in reading vile books, or in flaunting in a ball-room, 
 where youthful charms are as really prostituted as 
 in any den of iniquity, and where even aged women 
 expose shamelessly their scraggy necks and freckled 
 shoulders, to the unspeakable disgust of all right- 
 thinking men, though ' society ' keeps them silent." 
 
 As Mrs. Barton spoke a shade of crimson flashed 
 athwart the pallor of lier cheeks as she indignantly 
 thought of the scandal given by many who refuse 
 to listen to the teachings of religion, pleading as 
 their excuse the " usage of society." It is true that 
 custom may excuse certain modes of dress not openly 
 inmiodest ; but no custom can excuse certain l)all- 
 room toilets; and no young girl ever appeared for 
 the first time in one of these diabolically suggested 
 dresses without experiencing a thrill of shame, and 
 
IL 
 
 360 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 
 showing a conscious flush of outraged modesty. As 
 for certain modern dances, we can only wonder that 
 any girl who lias a sense of maidenly honor should 
 join in them ; or how any man could take as his wife 
 one whom he had seen dancing them. 
 
 The conversation between Mrs. Barton and 
 Eleanor took place in tlieir apartments near 'he 
 Piazza di Sjxujna, a few days after the 0}>eniiig of 
 the Council. Whilst they were still pursuing the 
 subject of their just indignation, George Marchbaiik 
 was announced. He looked somewhat pale, and 
 was slightly agitated when addressing Eleanor. He 
 soon grew cheerful, and gave a full account of ^i"; 
 adventures since he had left the banks of the St. 
 Lawrence. When, in response to an inquiry from 
 Mrs. Barton, he spoke of his reception into the true 
 Church, he glanced at Eleanor, and said : 
 
 " I can now understand many things which were 
 heretofore unintelligible. I feel the reality of re- 
 ligion, not my former indefinite impression ; I feel 
 that there are nobler aspirations than the grasping 
 at the transitory goods of life. My art is invested 
 with a new interest for me, because I can now make 
 it speak of God to others ; and I experience a higher 
 inspiration when I seize the brush. My intellect 
 seems to have expanded wonderfully wit^^.in a few 
 days ; and I enjoy that peace of mind so character- 
 istic of Catholics who practise their religion. And, 
 he added softly, I can understand why a sincere 
 Catholic should not wish to marry one who had no 
 sympathy of Faith." 
 
 ElcLUor felt uneasy, and to divert the current of 
 
Eleanor's struggle. 
 
 361 
 
 liis thoughts spoke about the Garibaldian raid in 
 1867, and the battle of Mentana. Her cliecks 
 glowed and her eyes shone with ]>leasure as George 
 related the braverv of Morc^an : and wlien he inci- 
 dentally referred to Lorenzo's share in tlie tight, and 
 liis wound, a fihn, the harbinger of a sympathetic 
 tear, dimmed for an instant her soft eyes, and a 
 deeper tinge of carnation suffused lier cheeks. 
 
 Just then Morc-an and Lorenzo entered. The 
 latter was greeted warndy by Mrs. Barton, resjiect- 
 fully by George Marchbank, and half timidly, half 
 enthusiastically, hy Eleanor. Somehow the conver- 
 sation soon grew monosylhibic and formah Morgan 
 started an idea, but no one seemed inclined to fol- 
 low it. Mrs. Barton broaclied a subject, but not 
 even Lorenzo attacked it witli zest. Georij^e March- 
 bank became thoughtful ; he mentally inquired, 
 "What is the matter with us all ?" Lorenzo looked 
 puzzled ; he was trying to discover what it was 
 that kept his tongue almost tied. lie thought 
 witliin himself, '* Why does that Marehbaidv always 
 act as a lump of ice on my spirits ?" and George 
 inwardly sighed, " How I should like to know why 
 young Aldini prevents me from speaking naturally." 
 
 At this juncture, Morgan, in the second stage of 
 despair at his ilbsuccess in making the evening 
 pleasant, asked his sister if she, like Miss Drew, 
 would lind a husband in Kome. George and 
 Lorenzo glanced at her, and then at each other. In 
 that one look each found the answer to his mental 
 inquiry ; each discovered the secret of their mutual 
 want of sympathy, and each knew that the otlier 
 16 
 
362 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 !? 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 had, like himself, been enlightened. They were 
 rivals. Yes; they saw it clearly now, and though 
 both were frank and honorable, they fain would 
 have hidden the fact from themselves and from 
 each other. Yes, they were rivals; but each felt 
 that the other would not stoop to any dishonorable 
 arts in order to supplant him : it would be a fair 
 contest for the coveted prize; they arrived at an 
 understanding in that short glance. 
 
 Mrs. Barton had noticed the interchange of looks 
 between the two young men, and half divined their 
 thoughts. She thought witli a quiet sigh of the 
 little chance her lost Denis would have of win- 
 ning Eleanor were he now to be found ; for, with 
 a sympathetic woman's keen instinct, she knew 
 that her friend loved Lorenzo Aldini. Nor did she 
 wonder at this. He was in every way calculated to 
 arouse, in such a girl as Eleanor, that feeling of 
 love which is in some secret chamber of the heart 
 of every one, except those called by God to the 
 higher and holier state of celibacy. Generous, 
 brave, highly cultured, and affable, he had become 
 very dear to Mrs. Barton, who frequently wished 
 that Denis were like him. She well knew that 
 Eleanor was one of those rare treasures such as few 
 men find, and fewer perhaps can appreciate. For 
 laugh as the unthinking and ungenerous may at 
 woman's foibles, the number of men who can really 
 understand and estimate at their proper value true 
 women is smaller far than is that of such women. 
 
 The mind of the average man is blunt and unre- 
 fined ; he cannot sympathize with the finer emo- 
 
ELEANOR'S STRUGGLE. 
 
 363 
 
 tions of hnman nature ; he cannot grasp the pri- 
 mary truth, that the very charm of tlie feminine 
 character is in its difference from liis own, in its 
 generous impvilsos and its amiable weakness. 
 Hence he is annoyed at woman's apparent way- 
 wardness, instead of being pleased at lier gentler 
 thoughts; he frets at her a})parent want of judg- 
 ment, instead of admiring her correct instincts ; he 
 is aggrieved at her less stalwart nature, instead 
 of being delighted with her clinging tenderness. 
 Thus, want of appreciation on the part of man — 
 a lack on his part of the proper mode of action, and 
 not the wrong qualities of the woman, is too often 
 the cause of unhappiness in married life. If young 
 men think the affection of a girl worth winning, it 
 is surely worth retaining; it can be retained by the 
 same means as it was won, namely, by a little atten- 
 tion, and a due consideration for its value : in this 
 way married life might be, if not an unbroken 
 honeymoon, at least a season of quiet happiness. 
 It is as untrue as it is unmanly, to lay all connubial 
 misery at the door of womanly foibles. 
 
 Now Mrs. Barton felt that Lorenzo could appreci- 
 ate a true woman ; for, although brave and manly, 
 he had many feminine qualities. It is only by a 
 judicious mingling of all that is noblest it\ man and 
 most refininii: in woman that a true man is con- 
 stituted. But the ideal woman should have no ad- 
 mixture of virile qualities. Men may admire the 
 masculine woman, but they can only love the 
 shrinking, delicate one who requires their protect- 
 ing care. 
 
% .n 
 
 364 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 »"? 
 
 i. 
 I 1 1"» 
 
 ■ I 
 
 Eleanor returned a playful answer to Morgan's 
 question, and asked George if he had yet captivated 
 a Roman signora. But even this airy subject fell flat. 
 After an uncomfortable half hour Georo-e March- 
 bank departed. He resolved to return on the mor- 
 row and learn his fate from Eleanor. 
 
 When Morgan and Lorenzo arose to betake them- 
 selves to their lodgings, Eleanor accompanied them 
 to the foot of the stairs. They led to a spacious 
 courtyard around which ran a richly ornamented 
 entablature, supported on porphry colunms. Huge 
 earthen pots containing orange and lemon trees, 
 the former bearing fruit now nearly ripe, formed 
 quite a grove without the veranda. The night 
 was clear and slightly cold. The nearly rounded 
 moon swam peacefully overhead. Its softened 
 beams trembled on the orange leaves and danced 
 like sportive elves on the paved courtyard. A 
 lofty fountain in the centre of the square sent up 
 a hissing jet which glinted in the rays of light like 
 trees in our northern clime when covered witli 
 icicles, as it broke into myriad drops. With a soft 
 plash it fell into a marble vase which rested on alle- 
 gorical figures, and murmuring rolled in a gentle 
 wave over the sides of this vase into a large basin 
 below. 
 
 The spirit of beauty is always abroad in Italy. 
 Involuntarily all three gave an exclamation of de 
 light. Mrs. Barton came to the head of the stairs 
 and called Morgan, saying she wished to speak with 
 him for a few minutes. Eleanor and Lorenzo were 
 thus left standing alone. The latter mindful of 
 
Eleanor's struggle. 
 
 365 
 
 what he had discovered George Marchbank to be, 
 resolved in liis usual impulsive way to speak of his 
 love to Eleanor. lie did so in earnest and respect- 
 ful terms, lialf trembling with emotion, and with a 
 liuskiness of voice which told of deep and tender 
 feelings kept down by a strong will. Although 
 almost unknown to her, Morgan, he said, knew all 
 about his character and prospects ; that ever since 
 he first saw her in the railway carriage his heart had 
 gone out to her; that she was the original of a 
 })hotograph which liad some mystery connected 
 with it, and which he had received from his father. 
 
 Poor Eleanor stood with beating heart and down- 
 cast eyes, nervously plucking at the stiff, cold orange 
 leaves. When he had first begun to speak a great 
 wave of joy swelled proudly within her soul, suffus- 
 ing her cheeks with a flush of pleasure, and causing 
 tears of happiness to well up in her sparkling eyes. 
 For Mrs. Barton had guessed aright. Eleanor dearly 
 loved Lorenzo, and his words of tenderness found a 
 sympathetic response in her own pure heart. The 
 strong, chaste love of a virtuous girl glowed in her 
 soul and ennobled her. Yes, a pure, generous 
 human love ennobles both its subject and its object ; 
 not of course in so high a degree as Divine love, but 
 nevertheless really and truly. For the love of such 
 as Eleanor and Lorenzo is not the murky fiame of 
 the thoughtless; it is founded in reason and religion 
 and is a reflection from heaven. 
 
 But the bright vision lasted only an instant. 
 Eleanor remembered her promise to Mrs. Barton ; 
 the three years had not yet elapsed. She was not 
 
366 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 ' I ' 
 
 
 ii^ ' 
 
 free to accept his love. When onr eni'otions are 
 awakened we crowd into one l)rief moment tlie 
 events of years. Tlie mind seems to liave acquired 
 a new power, it can view numberless things sinnd- 
 taneously, it can see their mutual relations, and 
 perceive tlieir necessary consequences. Length of 
 years on earth is not always synonymous with 
 amount of life. Many men live more in one day 
 than others do in years, for the more we think, the 
 more we exercise our intellectual powers, the more 
 we live. Whilst Lorenzo was speaking Eleanor 
 lived many years. Jler peacefully happy days of 
 girlhood, her ])romise to Mrs. Barton, her future 
 desolation, all, all were present to her imagination. 
 She knew that even should Denis Barton ever return 
 to his mother, — a most unlikely event, — she could not 
 be his bride, for, alas, her heart's affections were 
 given once and forever to Lorenzo. Yet she dared 
 not accept the hitter's proffered love. She had pro- 
 mised to remain free for a time, and the term had 
 not yet expired. A wild thought surged for an 
 instant through her achinc: heart — she would tell 
 Lorenzo of her promise ; but even as it rushed 
 tumultuously through her brain maidenly delicacy 
 checked its headlong course. No, though she fore- 
 saw in full her own misery, and in part, Lorenzo's, 
 if she told it not, still silence must seal her lips. 
 
 A thousand subtle emotions urged her to accept ; 
 a thousand selfish feelings strove to overmaster her 
 will ; a thousand tempting demons sought to make 
 her false to her promise, or, at least, untrue to that 
 delicacy which kept her dumb regarding Denis Bar- 
 
ELEANOR'S STRUGGLE. 
 
 367 
 
 ton. But Eleanor liad drunk deeply at tlie fount of 
 Grace ; she had long schooled herself to trample on 
 selfish promptings, and to guide her actions by the 
 law of right. Her struggle was keen ; her anguish 
 cruel ; for they were in proportion to the sensitive- 
 ness of her refined soul. Yet amidst the darkness 
 of her bitter desolation tiierc ever shone a gentle ray 
 of light. It seemed to shoot from Calvary's sacred 
 hill, and told of a loving and suffering Saviour. It 
 gave her strength and victory. 
 
 Lorenzo had paused from the excess of emotion, 
 and tremblingly stoood awaiting an answer. The 
 chill night breeze rustled among the cold orange 
 leaves. The icy waters of the fountain fell with a 
 sad murmur. The pale moonbeams had a ghastly 
 glow as they shone aslant the cold marble pillars. 
 It was a beautiful yet a mocking night for such a 
 scene. Only these two young hearts, with the fervor 
 of their great love, relieved the universal coldness ; 
 and these, alas, would soon be frozen by their grief. 
 
 They remained silent for a moment, too happy or 
 too miserable for speech. Morgan's voice was heard 
 above and they knew he would soon be with them. 
 Lorenzo said : 
 
 " What is my answer, Eleanor ?" 
 
 With a face more blanched than the cold moon- 
 beams, and eyes that spoke a great sorrow, she re- 
 plied : 
 
 " I cannot tell my thanks ; but it may not be." 
 
 "Dio mio! Dio mio," were the only words that 
 escaped Lorenzo's lips ; but they were so laden with 
 a passionate, almost despairing grief that poorElean- 
 

 368 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 or sliivcred with fear. Then as Morgan was heard 
 bidding Mrs. l>arton good-night, the gentle girl laid 
 her hand on J^orenzo's arm and said : 
 
 "Pardon nie for this pain — and pity nie too — for 
 — for my heart is riven — but I cannot now accept 
 your love." 
 
 These words were wrung from her compassionate 
 soul and recalled Lorenzo to himself. But even then 
 she had gone and Morgan was close to his side. 
 
 Silently they passed under the broad archway 
 which led from the courtyard into the street. From 
 the agitated manner of his sister who merely had 
 given liim her hand on the dark stairway, and /the 
 silence of Lorenzo, Morgan guessed what had taken 
 ])lace. Yet it was a puzzle to him why Eleanor 
 should have refused the hand of his friend. lie had 
 half hoped that they would have been married. 
 However, he said nothing, not well knowing — for 
 who does know in such a case ? — what were best to 
 say. 
 
 Mrs. Barton noticed Eleanor's woe-begone coun- 
 tenance when she returned to the room, and half 
 divined its cause. Bitterly did she now reproach 
 lierself for having asked Eleanor not to plight her 
 troth for that term of years. She was about to speak 
 to the suffering girl and release her from her promise, 
 but Eleanor who seemed to know her mind rose to 
 retiic for the night, saying, 
 
 " Let us never speak about this night any more." 
 
PASSING AWAY. 
 
 369 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 The banks of the noble St. Lawrence are piled 
 with driven snow. The bare branches of nia[)le, 
 beech, and ebu crackle with tlie keen frost as tliey 
 inonrnfully sway in the January breeze. Pines 
 and firs, in their robes of dark green powdered witli 
 lioar frost, or gracefully fringed witli icicles, give 
 beauty and color to the snowy carpet whicli winter 
 spreads over these regions. The mighty river is 
 caught in the chill grasp of winter, and no longer 
 bears on its proud bosom the wealth of our great 
 Dominion. A sparkling sheet of crystal is thrown 
 over its laughing waters, making it resemble a huge 
 giant wrapjied in his funeral robes. And even as 
 the mortal body is clasped by the icy hand of death, 
 and lies like the great river in sepulchral garments 
 for a brief season, but shall be one day released 
 from its cold bonds, in like manner shall the torpid 
 St. Lawrence, warmed by the rays of spring, burst 
 asunder its crystal winding-sheet and laugh and 
 glint in the beams of the sun. 
 
 Death and resurrection are stamped on all visible 
 
 creation. We see them in the plants, the trees, the 
 
 grass, the flowers ; we note them in the seasons, the 
 
 phases of the moon, and the varying states of the 
 
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370 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 atmosphere; they all die but to be reborn. It is 
 but a shallow philosophy which seeks to exempt 
 man from the general law of resurrection. The 
 dust of liis body may be borne hither and thither 
 just as the elements of a wilted rose will be scat- 
 tered by autumn's blast; but what of that? Not 
 one atom of it perishes ; not one of its particles is 
 destroyed. In the vast storehouse of Nature its 
 eveiy element is garnered up, and will one day, at 
 the beck of the Almighty God, be built anew into a 
 liuman form. 
 
 This belief robs death of half its terrors and 
 makes the Christian mother await confidently the 
 time when she shall again see her buried darlings 
 This belief made John Leahy less anxious as he lay 
 this cold January morning on his bed of death. 
 
 Yes, the hardy old pioneer was dying ; the strong, 
 faithful Catholic was passing.away, not rapidly like 
 the light of a November evening, but serenely and 
 slowly like the fading sheen of a midsummer's sun- 
 set. Death is usually merciful to those who have 
 used life aright. It is a compendium of life, and, 
 like all thorough compendiums, contains the most 
 striking features of the unabridged work. The 
 gnawing remorse which the wicked in vain endeavor 
 to strangle by entangling themselves still more in 
 the meshes of crime — the awful fear of dread pun- 
 ishment which in life they strive to overcome by 
 feigning scepticism ; the desolate heart yearning 
 for God's love and yet too weak or too proud to 
 submit to his holy law — all these are seen in the 
 sinner's death. Oh ! what pen can tell the agonies 
 
■PH 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 371 
 
 of that hour for the impious 1 In the flusli of health 
 and the pride of strong life they may laugh at our 
 words and term them the gloomy fancies of a bigot, 
 an ascetic, or a hypochondriac. These are the ex- 
 pressions employed by brainless scriblers when re- 
 ferring to the teachings of religion on this point. 
 But those who have seen the strong man brought 
 low, and the robust youth stricken down by a fell 
 disease, and who have stood by their dying couch 
 and heard their heart-rending laments, their loud be- 
 wailings, and, perhaps, their appalling cries of de- 
 spair, may be allowed to know more of the terrors of 
 death and of the proper preparation for it than the 
 flippant scoffer who is usually the greatest coward in 
 moments of danger. To live a virtuous life is the 
 great secret of a happy death. 
 
 John Leahy was an example of this. His unaf- 
 fected piety, his firm faith, his deep love for God, 
 were now blossoming into the fruit of eternal life. 
 He could look back on a career unsullied by any act 
 of dishonor, on a life unblemished by the gross vices 
 of worldlings. He had not trodden, it is true, the 
 high paths of social life ; he had not been known 
 beyond the small circle in which he moved ; but 
 what of that ? Of what avail would now be to him 
 glory, riches, or honor ? Less than nothing. They 
 could not bring ease to his pain; they could not 
 stay his ebbing life ; they could not bribe the grim 
 death-king, nor delay the approaching grasp of his 
 icy hand. Only his good deeds could now console 
 Lim ; they stood around his bed ; they plucked the 
 sting from death; they would follow him beyond 
 
 • 
 
372 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 the tomb and speak for him, trumpet-tongued, at 
 the bar of the Eternal Judge. 
 
 It was the 10th of January, 1870. John Leahy 
 reclined in his bed in such a manner as to be able 
 to gaze out on the bright wintry scene. Innumer- 
 able prisms of frost were scattered over the surface 
 of the snow. The rays of the sun falling on the 
 crystal background were refracted and reflected by 
 tlie myriad prisms, and formed a vision of kaleido- 
 scopic loveliness ; but only to such eyes as were 
 strong enough to endure the dazzling light. The 
 most delicate and beautiful tracery may be seen on 
 the winter car])et of our great Dominion. A dew- 
 drop, condensed from a bahny current which has 
 sported too far from its home, is slowly congealed 
 into a diamond or a sparkling star; or a drop of rain 
 is gradually frozen, as it drifts through the air, into 
 a feather-shaped flake fringed with lace of matchless 
 design. Flowers of driven snow, as various and as 
 beautiful as those in a well-kept garden, are plenti- 
 fully strewn over the landscape. 
 
 John Leahy delighted to look upon the bean- 
 ties of nature. They spoke to him of God, and 
 made him feel how glorious heaven must be 
 since earth, our place of pilgrimage, is so resplen- 
 dent. 
 
 Mrs. Leahy was quietly sitting beside her hus- 
 band's couch. They were speaking about Morgan 
 and Eleanor. The old man asked : 
 
 " How long will it be, do you think, before they 
 arrive ?" 
 
 " It cannot be much longer ; we telegraphed on 
 
i«Mi 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 373 
 
 the 15th of last month ; they would leave Eome at 
 once, and, God speeding, will soon be here.? 
 
 " I pray God to grant me the happiness of look- 
 ing once more on my dear children. Myjioble boy 
 must be greatly changed in appearance, but his 
 heart will be the same towards us ; don't you think 
 it will ?" he said, almost wistfully. 
 
 " Surely, surely," answered Mrs. Leahy, as she 
 wiped away a tear which the memory of her son 
 had called up ; " Morgan was a loving son, and his 
 heart is as tender towards us now as ever." 
 
 " I thank God," reverently spoke the old man, 
 "that my boy had faith and courage enough to go 
 to defend the rights of the Pope. I could not die 
 as peacefully as I do now if I had endeavored to 
 prevent him. Truly, if we cast our bread upon 
 the waters it will return after many days." 
 
 "Do you think, John," tearfully began Mrs. 
 Leahy, "that God will make my death unhappy 
 because, in my selfish sorrow, I wislied to hinder 
 Morgan from going ?" 
 
 " Not if you sincerely repent and atone for it. 
 As I look back over my seventy years of life I see 
 many imperfections ; but I have wept for them ; I 
 have confessed them to God's priest; I have en- 
 deavored to wash them out in the sacred blood of 
 my Redeemer, and I have faith enough in my reli- 
 gion not to fear death. I do not say this for a boast. 
 God knows I am sinful enough, but I trust in his 
 mercy, and I am certain that what our Church teaches 
 about pardon and penance is true. It is my Faith 
 which makes me meet death without a fear." 
 
374 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 " Oh ! John, you were ever better than I, stronger 
 in faith, and more generous in your works. Years 
 ago, before there was a chui'ch here, you used to go 
 through «torm and frost to Mass, or to bring the 
 priest to hold a * station.' Often have I trembled 
 for your safety, but you never feared." 
 
 " Vhy should I fear ? If I did God's will would 
 He not protect me? Or even if I had perished 
 doing my duty, would not the gain be mine ? One 
 of my greatest consolations now is that I was always 
 anxious to assist at Mass. Those who are careless 
 about that may well tremble ; they are in a bad way." 
 
 " Pray for me, John, that I may soon follow you 
 in peace, for my life will be very lonely after you 
 are gone.'' 
 
 Thus spoke' the simple-minded old people. They 
 were only a couple of hard-working children of 
 Erin, of little account in the eyes of fashionable 
 society. And yet the teachings of their Church en- 
 nobled their minds, and caused them to have more 
 refined ideas of supernatural things than those en- 
 tertained by pretended scientists. They had learned 
 two great arts— that of living well and that of dying 
 well. And there are thousands of such as John 
 Leahy and and his wife around about us in the 
 Catholic Church. After all is said and done, they 
 are really better and more useful citizens than men 
 of gigantic enterprises and huge swindles ; they are 
 really happier in life, and, assuredly, will be hap- 
 pier after death than the frivolous and the polished 
 slaves of vice. It might be well to learn a lesson 
 from these simple poor. 
 
^ 
 
 PASSING AWAY. 
 
 376 
 
 The short winter day had nearly waned into night. 
 Stars, which rivalled in their sharp glitenng the rays 
 of the sunken sun, leaped out into the azure field of 
 the peaceful sky. The pearly whiteness of the snow- 
 carpet, tesselated with feathered dew-drops, and the 
 pale blue canopy of night studded with gems, made 
 the banks of the St. Lawrence appear like a fairy 
 castle of vast dimensions. The frozen river formed 
 a crystal pathway from end to end of the gorgeous 
 palace ; trees covered with hoar-frost took the place 
 of magic chandeliers, and the faint murmur of the 
 water chafing against its icy fetters was like the 
 soft chanting of sportive elves. 
 
 Far away over the hills the hungry wolves yelped 
 in harsh tones ; but the sound, borne on the tremu- 
 lous air lost its harshness, and came as pleasing 
 music to the river's edge, even as a rude soul 
 is chastened and refined by delicate surround- 
 in<?s. 
 
 Every voice, no matter how discordant, was at- 
 tuned to harmony by the magic of the limpid atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 A few perches down the river a huge boulder 
 raised its frc vvning head high above the ice. The 
 snow had covered it, but had b^ien drifted into fan- 
 tastic forms, one of which in the coming gloaming 
 assumed the appearance of a woman. It reminded 
 one of the beautiful Andromeda chained to the 
 rock to appease the wrath of insulted Neptune. 
 Heathen mythology could not surround Cassio- 
 peia's hapless daughter with such beauty and gran- 
 deur as were here revealed. A slim fir-tree waving 
 
 r 
 
 !ii: 
 
876 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 on the bank looked like the venturesome Perseus 
 preparing to bound to the rescue of the weeping 
 maiden. 
 
 No bird-warbles were heard from the drooping 
 branches of the pines ; shrouded gracefully in a man- 
 tie of purest snow thvey bent gently earthward, and 
 lightly swayed in the faint breeze. 
 
 A scarcely perceptible cloud of powdered snow 
 sped, gyrating over the polished surface of the ice 
 like faries wliirling in the mazes of some fantastic 
 dance. 
 
 The sharp jingle of sleigh-bells broke from time 
 to time the pleasing spell of fairyland as shivering 
 parties drove past. The horses covered with white 
 frost, and the driver enveloped in wolf-robes, miglit 
 easily be mistaken for the death-king taking a sur- 
 vey of his cold and silent domains. 
 
 Mrs. Leahy had come to the door of her house to 
 take a last look for the day up the road which led 
 to the nearest railway station. A sleigh was rapidly 
 approaching ; it entered by the open gateway and 
 halted within a yard of where she was standing. In 
 a moment she was caught by the strong hands of 
 Morgan who hurriedly asked : 
 
 "How is father?" 
 
 " Thank God, it is Morgan," was all Mrs. Leahy 
 could answer. 
 
 Eleanor and Mrs. Barton now descended from 
 the sleigh, and all were soon seated near a roaring 
 grate. 
 
 The joy and pride of John Leahy as his son, to 
 gratify the good old man's whim, appeared before 
 
^i 
 
 PASSING iWAY. 
 
 377 
 
 him clad in his Zouave uniform, and wearing his 
 Men tana medal, as well as the one received for 
 devotion to duty during the cholera at Albano, were 
 beyond the power of words to describe. 
 
 Catching Morgan's arm he kissed the sleeve of 
 his jacket, saying: 
 
 " Glory be to God, I have seen the Pontifical 
 uniform — and that on a son of my own. Now I can 
 die content. Wear it every day, Morgan, until my 
 death. Next to dying for your Faith, the most 
 glorious thing is to fight for the patrimony of St. 
 Peter." 
 
 For a few days more the old man lingered ; Mor- 
 gan and Eleanor were ever at his bedside. The 
 waning of his life was peaceful, his soul was filled 
 with hope. The parish priest was assiduous in his 
 visits, and administered with all solemnity the last 
 sacraments of the Church. With a profession of 
 Faith still quivering on his lips, with a calm smile 
 playing over his countenance, John Leahy passed 
 away, leaving his family more awe-stricken than 
 sorrowful. 
 
 The wintry snow rustles lightly over his grave, 
 and the sparkling frost forms a circle of glory around 
 his tomb. 
 
 The seed has been cast into the bed of immor- 
 tality and will, ere long, germ, and burst and bud 
 into everlasting life at the sound of the angel's 
 trumpet. 
 
 His good deeds, shining brighter far than the 
 frost-stars which bedeck his grave, have accom- 
 panied his soul to the bar of justice. They alone 
 
878 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 of all earthly possessions are prized by the disen- 
 thralled soul, for they alone can rob death of its 
 sting and judgment of its terrors. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 INJUSTICE TBIUMPIIANT. 
 
 Months had passed since the body of John Leahy 
 had been consigned to its kindred clay. The icy 
 gyves which had bound the noble St. Lawrence had 
 long since melted away ; the proud river leaped and 
 exulted in its freedom, and bore seaward Canada's 
 surplus productions. The young Dominion, rash 
 and venturesome like a young man, thought to cope 
 in trade and manufactures with its older and more 
 powerful neighbors. It insanely threw open its 
 markets to foreign products while its manufactured 
 goods were heavily taxed by other nations. In the 
 year 1870 it had not felt severely the effect of this 
 policy ; but a day was to come on which it would 
 find that Canada was the slaughter market of the 
 United States ; that Canadian industries were lan- 
 guishing, and Canadian enterprise paralyzed by an 
 unwise domestic policy. A day was to come on 
 which thoughtful men could see no hope of national 
 prosperity unless by a wise re-adjustment of tariff 
 which would foster home manufactures. 
 
 But as yet the crisis had not come ; the rushing 
 stream bore proudly down its current undeniable 
 
» 
 
 INJUSTIOB TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 879 
 
 tokens of onr vast resources. By land and water 
 steana-power was at work subserving the purposes of 
 man. 
 
 Slowly ran, freighted with old-time memories, the 
 yellow Tiber; seen from the Pincian heights it 
 resembled a golden thread inwrought on an emerald 
 garment. No signs of busy commerce disturbed 
 its tranquility. It speaks of something more en- 
 nobling than gold or silver; it tells of greater 
 glor'as than those revealed by steamships and com- 
 merce. Just as there is in the heart of man some 
 quiet chamber sacred to endearing reminiscences, 
 and which would be defiled by the presence of selfish 
 thoughts, just so there is in the centre of civilization 
 this river ovei-shadowed by classical memories, and 
 free from the vulgar signs of sordid greed. It is a 
 rest spot in this restless world ; a river on whose 
 banks man may contemplate primitive modes of 
 living and primitive charms side by side with the 
 greatest works of genius. It retains a something of 
 the peace of Eden mingled with our modern life. 
 
 It was the 19th of September, 1870. The even- 
 ing was drawing on apace. The sun had sunk into 
 the Mediterranean in a mist of ruby and opal. A 
 warm glow was in the streets of Rome, and a chill 
 gust of air played on the Pincian hill. This favorite 
 place of public resort was almost deserted ; it was 
 closed against citizens and open only to the military. 
 Huge guns stood grimly on the gravelled walks, and 
 piles of leaden balls disfigured the neatly trimmed 
 lawns. A lumbering ambulance had been wheeled 
 over a bed of gorgeous flowers ; many of these had 
 
880 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 raised their rich clusters around the unsightly 
 object, causing it to suggest the idea of a hideous 
 old bride arrayed in garish trappings. Under the 
 shadow of a grove of ilexes, and near a palm tree 
 which seemed from its desolate appearance to be 
 mourning for its Eastern home, a few canvas tents 
 had been erected. Small groups of soldiers were 
 squatting on the ground, their muskets stacked, like 
 the framework of an Indian wigwam, near by. 
 
 Seated on the basin of the beautiful fountain, in 
 the centre of which is a marble figure of Pharaoh's 
 daughter picking up the wicker basket that contains 
 the youthful Moses, two Zouaves were engaged in 
 earnest conversation. ' Their forms are familiar, 
 and so are their voices. 
 
 " I have seen so little of you, Morgan, since your 
 return that I have had no time to learn the particu- 
 lars of your visit td Canada. "We are likely to have 
 a few spare hours now." 
 
 It was Lorenzo who spoke, but not the bright, 
 gay, laughing Lorenzo of yore. He was prema- 
 turely wan ; his handsome face was pale and serious, 
 almost stern. His eyes were more wistful than 
 formerly, as if from continually looking for and 
 never finding some object. A smile, which was 
 nearly akin to an expression of sadness, hovered 
 around the corners of liis mouth as he spoke; but 
 when he glanced over the Pincian wall, and ran his 
 eye along the dim outlines of Mount Parioli, be- 
 neath whose shadow he supposed the enemy 
 encamped, a gleam of subdued joy and triumph lit 
 up his noble countenance. Perhaps lie thought of 
 
■f 
 
 INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 381 
 
 a glorious death on tho morrow in a holy cause ; or 
 perhaps he pictured Eleanor listening with rapt 
 enthusiasm to Morgan's account of his bravery ; or 
 perhaps his young and weary heart was opening 
 once more to the many roses which life ever bears 
 even along its most thorny road. 
 
 " The particulars are easily given, Lorenzo. Wo 
 were, as you know, summoned home to c^ir father's 
 death-bed. Quietly and happily he pasb' i away 
 shortly after our return. Lorenzo, hi*' death was 
 most edifying ; I would not exchange such a r^r ath 
 as his ly: all the glories this world can boei' w; my 
 V mother wished me to remain at home, and I con- 
 seu,ted, thinking that no dangers would thrcutcn the 
 Holy See. When, however, I read of the with- 
 drawal of the French troops shortly after the out- 
 break of the present Franco-Prussian War, I deemed 
 it my duty to return. Need I say how glad 1 am 
 that I arrived in time to fight again for the rights 
 of the Church ? But tell me how this impious in- 
 vasion began." 
 
 " That I can soon do," said Lorenzo. " When tho 
 French troops were withdrawn the reverses of France 
 began. I am not, so you know Morgan, supersti- 
 tious ; but I cannot close my eyes to facts. There 
 were a few French soldiers in the Pontifical States 
 when the first encounter took place between the 
 French and Prussian armies. In it the former were 
 successful. The soldiers of France were taken away 
 from the Pope's dominions, and on that very day 
 the French lost in battle exactly as many men as 
 were embarked at Civita Yecchia. Since that time 
 
 ti' 
 
 liPiW-liJi^ 
 
382 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 defeat has followed defeat; the gallant army so 
 often in the past victorious has been crushed and 
 almost annihilated at Sedan, scarce tliree weeks 
 since. Napoleon is a prisoner; his dynasty has 
 been overthrown; his wife and son arc fugitives. 
 Men may attriljute this to the superior power of 
 Prussia; be that power what it may, I see in tliis 
 sad humiliation of France an avenging God.'* 
 
 " About that there can scarcely be a doubt ; the 
 semi-barbarous German may be brave, but his bravery 
 is not greater than that of the Frank." 
 
 " Well," continued Lorenzo, " the Piedmontcso 
 Government saw in the defeat of France and the con- 
 fusion of Europe, an opportunit}' of seizing the last 
 remaining territory of the Pope. Victor Emanuel, 
 who is the catspaw of the Revolution, addressed a 
 letter to the Holy Father asking to be allowed to 
 occupy the Roman States. Of course the Pope re- 
 fused; and the^; without declaration of war, the 
 Piedmontese army crosses the frontier and marches 
 on to Rome. On the 12thCivit{\ Castellana was at- 
 tacked. An army numbering nearly 70,000 men, 
 well provided with artillery, has been advancing in 
 three divisions. One of these you narrowly escaped 
 the other day when you succeeded in reaching tlio 
 city. The Pope seeing that it would be a useless 
 loss of life for small garrisons to resist such an army, 
 ordered them to fall back on the Capital. On the 
 14th, our company, under the personal command of 
 De Charette, arrived from Yiterbo. At once the 
 work of fortifying, as well as we could, the city was 
 begun. In many places the walls are weak and can- 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 383 
 
 not offer a serious resistance to modern artillery. 
 Civitii Yecchia fell on the 17th, the day on which 
 you entered. We are now surrounded by a large 
 army; our own is, as you know, quite small, num- 
 bering only 13,000, or less. We are cut off from 
 all communication with the outside world ; breaches 
 will soon be made in the wall and then — " 
 
 " Then what, Lorenzo ?" 
 
 But Lorenzo's rifle was raised ; he ran forward a 
 few paces, and a quick report followed by a sharp 
 cry of pain from a small copse in the Villa Bor- 
 ghese told that the quick eye of Lorenzo had 
 espied an enemy approaching too near, and his sure 
 aim had laid him low. In an instant every soldier 
 leaped to his feet ; the squatting groups arose as if 
 by magic ; the apparently listless loungers who sat 
 on gun-carriage and ambulance awoke to sudden 
 animation and life. Each soldier seized his rifle 
 from the "stack," and fell in line ere the ofliicers 
 could give the orders. In the gathering shade of 
 night, there was something awe-inspiring in the 
 quick and silent forming of line ; something grand- 
 ly heroic in the ready courage of these few men 
 preparing to resist an enemy of well-known strength. 
 
 Lorenzo informed the officer in command of the 
 cause of his firing ; no other enemy being in sight, 
 an extra -guard was posted on the declivity by the 
 broken wall, in a position to command a view of the 
 road beneath, and also of the neighboring villa. 
 The ranks were then broken at the word of com- 
 mand ; the rifles were again stacked ; tongues were 
 loosened in sprightly chatj groups were reformed 
 
384 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 on the grass, and apparently listless loungers sat 
 again on gun-carriage and ambulance. 
 
 Morgan and Lorenzo sought a quiet resting-place 
 beneath the shade of a clump of laurel. 
 
 " You ended your last sentence rather abruptly," 
 began Morgan. " What will take place after breach- 
 es shall have been made in the walls ?" 
 
 " Carnage," answered Lorenzo, " a dreadful car- 
 nage. We are ready to die to the last man ; the 
 enemy is numerous — what else can ensue?" 
 
 "Nothing else, so far as I can see; unless in- 
 deed," he added after a pause, " the Pope should 
 command us to desist. He may only offer resist- 
 ance enough to prove that his dominions were wrest- 
 ed from him by violence." 
 
 " Well, Morgan, your conjecture may be right. 
 I am not reckless nor impious enough to commit 
 suicide ; but I must say that I did look forward to 
 giving my life for the defence of Rome. I half 
 hoped that I was worthy of the honor.** 
 
 " Perhaps you are, Lorenzo ; and perhaps you 
 may fall in the fight ; but if the Holy Father deem 
 it expedient not to resist to the last extremity you 
 can live for other noble purposes." 
 
 " Alas !^' said Lorenzo mournfully, " I have now 
 on other purpose in life than that of dying for the 
 rights of Holy Church. All the brightness has gone 
 out from my path ; all hope of earthly happiness 
 has been crushed. I am an old man in my youth, 
 inasmuch as I have outlived my hopes and aspira- 
 tions ; but I have not the merciful infirmity of old 
 age to cheer me with the expectation of a speedy 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 385 
 
 ending of my sorrows. For you, Morgan, every- 
 thing is bright. Your mind sees things in a differ- 
 ent light from mine. I can only have a companion- 
 ship of intellect with few ; and no physical suffer- 
 ing is equal to the desolation of a mind not called 
 to serve God in a state of celibacy and yet com- 
 panionless. The priest, the monk, the nun, are not 
 in this desolate condition ; they are called to choose 
 God for their portion, and have tender sympathies 
 with all mankind. But it is not so with the lonely 
 like me." 
 
 Lorenzo's voice had sunk so low, that he ap- 
 peared to be holding converse with himself rather 
 than with Morgan. The latter kindly laid his hand 
 on his friend's arm, and said : 
 
 " Come, Lorenzo, you are too young to be speak- 
 ing in this sad tone. Life has its ills, but it has its 
 joys ; the latter are more numerous and more last- 
 ing than the former if we only do our duty in a 
 proper spirit. Roses spring up on all sides. We 
 may crush this one with our foot, but another 
 equally beautiful will bud and blossom near by." 
 
 " There are some roses," slowly replied Lorenzo, 
 "which can never, in our stimation, be equalled. 
 But I must not inflict my trouble on you. How 
 did you leave Mrs. Barton and — and your — friends ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Barton sas well, but not very joyous. 
 My mother is fast following my poor father, and 
 Eleanor is bowed down with some great grief." 
 
 " Naturally she feels the death of your father and 
 her mother's sickness." ' 
 
 " It is not that alone," said Morgan confidently. 
 17 
 
886 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 " Ever since the last night she was in Rome she has 
 changed. Pardon me Lorenzo if I woimd you; 
 but you know I love you both very dearly, and I 
 say I think there must have been some misunder- 
 standing." 
 
 Lorenzo flushed with emotion, though the faint 
 light of a young moon did not reveal the fact to his 
 companion's gaze. 
 
 " Do you know what passed between us on that 
 nif;ht r 
 
 " Only as much as I could guess," replied Mor- 
 gan. 
 
 " Well, then, I asked Eleanor to be wife, and re- 
 ferred her to you for a knowledge of myself and my 
 circumstances. She refused." 
 
 " There is some unexplained mystery," said Mor- 
 gan ; " I am sure Eleanor's aEections were un- 
 engaged ; and I think she loves you." 
 
 "Ah, Morgan, if I could think so a new life 
 would begin for me ; but she said, * I cannot now 
 accept your love. ' " 
 
 "Promise me, Lorenzo, not to be despondent, 
 and that you will visit Canada if you survive this 
 campaign." 
 
 " I promise you, Morgan." 
 
 The crescent moon sank behind the dusky out- 
 anes of Mount Mario. 
 
 A screech-owl hooted from the belfry of Santa 
 Maria del Popolo. 
 
 The night-gun boomed from Castel San Angelo. 
 
 About this same hour a solitary figure might have 
 been seen gliding cautiously over that undulating 
 
iii 
 
 INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 387 
 
 tract of country which lies between the Nomentana 
 and Salara "Ways, and in that exact portion of it 
 which contains the villa owned by the Irish College. 
 Now nimbly running between rows of clustering 
 vines; now crawling on all fours in the shade of 
 some low boxwood ; now listening at the edge of an 
 olive grove, and then quietly but confidently advanc- 
 ing. Wary as an Indian on the war-trail, and 
 supple as a trained athlete, the figure had crossed 
 the wliole country from Villa Borghese to the spot 
 where it now rested. 
 
 A faint beam from the sotting moon wandered 
 up a deep valley, having entered by a break between 
 the range of hills, and fell upon the person whose 
 actions we have noted. It glinted upon the polished 
 rifle which he bore ; it played upon his costume of 
 a Zouave ; and it revealed the form and face of 
 Peppe. Yes, it was that adventurous individual. 
 He, along with a few others, had been sent out as 
 scouts ; he had pushed on until he was now close 
 upon the enemy, who were throwing up earthworks, 
 and mounting cannon on the brow of a low hill hard 
 by the Irish Villa. He was not two hundred yards 
 distant, and saw and heard enough to know that one 
 of the chief points of attack on the north and west 
 of Rome would be near Porta Via. 
 
 Peppe brought his rifle to his shoulder, and then 
 stood irresolute. 
 
 " I can bring down that officer, but is it manly ? 
 Besides, I might be shot in return, and thus our 
 men would lose the benefit of my observations of 
 the enemy's position. It is almost too bad, bow- 
 
888 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 ever, to let these villains work in peace. I will re- 
 tire to that bramble-girt path yonder and decide." 
 
 Thus soliloquized Peppe, and then he quietly re- 
 turned to the path in question. It was narrow and 
 almost overshadowed bv the briars and wild vines 
 which grew profusely on each side. 
 
 " Let me see," began Peppe ; " this lane leads not 
 to the road but to the banks of the Tiber ; then there 
 is a quiet valley nearly to the foot of the Pinciaii 
 wall. They will never distinguish whence comes 
 the report. I will give them a fright." 
 
 He drew aside some vine-trails and peered througli 
 the opening. He raised his rifle again a' d paused. 
 " We were not to court danger ; that was our order. 
 Am I courting danger ? Yes ; no ; — Yes — no — no 
 no!" 
 
 A shrill report ; a startled exclamation from tlie 
 group of sappers ; the oflScer in command called to 
 arms, but ere he was obeyed Peppe was beyond dan- 
 ger. Reaching the banks of the Tiber he reloaded 
 his musket and walked quickly along a winding ra- 
 vine, and within half an hour he was relating his ad- 
 ventures to his comrades on Monte Pincio. Owing 
 to his report of the position of the enemy nearly all 
 the Zouaves were, during the early night, marched 
 from the Pincio to Porta Pia. 
 
 Nemesis, the Goddess of Vengeance, was the fabled 
 daughter of Night. On such a night as that of the 
 19th September, 1870, she must surely have been 
 born to be prepared to avenge the wrongs about to 
 be inflicted by lawless might against justice. 
 
^m 
 
 INJUSTICE TKIUMPIIANT. 
 
 389 
 
 The bright constellations pursued their various 
 courses; the gleeful nightingale carolled from its 
 laurel-embosomed throne ; the unconscious Tiber 
 saluted, now with a low murmur of admiration, now 
 with a rippling silvery laugh, Rome its eternal bride. 
 All nature was quiet and beautiful, a faint image of 
 Eden's glory. But the same crafty serpent which 
 beguiled Eve into disobedience was busy now urging 
 on the last act in " United Italy's " fatal drama. 
 
 For eighteen hundred years the conquered Lucifer 
 had measured his strength against that of the Church. 
 Fierce violence, treachery, deceitful tranquility, the 
 enervating power of riches and command — each and 
 all had been tried, but all in vain. Despite the con- 
 spiracy of the impious, and the base slanders of 
 blasphemous scribblers, the Church was more wide- 
 spread, more vigorous, more united than ever before. 
 It was of no use to attack dogmas of belief ; the un- 
 believing would be cut off from the Church. It was 
 of no avail to attempt corruption of morals; the 
 children of the Faith had the inestimable gift of the 
 Sacraments. It was bad policy to openly persecute ; 
 it only strengthened and purified. All this was 
 clear to Satan and his instruments on earth. One 
 only hope remained ; viz., to destroy the temporal 
 independence of the Pope ; to cut down the watch- 
 tower from which the Vicar on earth of Christ kept 
 watch and ward over the vast fold ; and from which, 
 free from the restraint of a worldlv master, he en- 
 couraged, reproved, cast out, or took back. 
 
 To crush the Faith of Christ by reducing the Pope 
 to slavery was the project of the arch enemy of man. 
 
390 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 For years he had worked upon the passions of some, 
 and in the national spirit of otliers to build up a 
 " United Italy," with Rome as its capital. Step by 
 step, in the third quarter of the nineteenth century, 
 the plan approached completion. The faithful could 
 only pray ; nations looked on and offered no resist- 
 ance. The net had been cast over Italy, and now 
 only Home remained to be drawn within its meshes. 
 To the eyes of those who did not believe in the Divine 
 origin of the Church its destruction appeared so cer- 
 tain that one exultingly said : " If the Roman Church 
 escapes this time I will believe that it is Divine in its 
 origin." What does he and others think now ? Has 
 it not survived? 
 
 The gray mist on the Campagna had not been dis- 
 sipated, ror even had it been crested with white and 
 gold, when the loud booming of cannon startled 
 every sleeper and shook the time-worn walls of 
 Rome. It was five o'clock of the morning of 20th 
 September, 1870. Soon a furious cannonading be- 
 gan against the " Porta Pia," the " Porta San Gio- 
 vanni," and the " Porta San Pancrazio." The buzz 
 of leaden balls and the sharp whistling of shells could 
 be heard between the sullen roar of belching cannon. 
 Future generations will be confounded and sorely 
 puzzled to understand how sucli an unprovoked, law- 
 less and demoralizing attack should have been al- 
 lowed by Europe. The foul sin will have to be ex- 
 piated by every European nation, and expiated by 
 the blood of its citizens. A Nemesis was born dur- 
 ing that assault, and the blood alone of those king- 
 doms which in act or counsel participated therein 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 391 
 
 can appease its vengeance. Wo are compelled to 
 read, even to nausea, the grandiloquent harangues 
 of half-crazy demagogues, and the sickening cant of 
 addle-pated rogues about the enlightenment and 
 civilization of our age. And yet millions of soldiers 
 armed to the teeth are held in readiness; gross 
 swindles and petty frauds abound ; the moral virtues 
 are outraged according to a scientific rule. 
 
 Since the hand of Cain was imbrued with frater- 
 nal blood guilty violence has known but a short 
 truce ; the demon-inspired murderer, whether as a 
 craven assassin, or as a wager of unjust wars, has 
 ever skulked in the byways of life, or wildly rushed 
 through its public thoroughfares. Now, as ever, 
 the Church of God is the only bright spot amid the 
 nations ; and nowj as ever, raging enemies seek to 
 efface it or to mar its heaven-born beauty. Rebel- 
 lion against its authority is the fruitful mother of 
 the crimes and miseries of so many kingdoms. 
 
 The bright September sun rose from out the 
 mists of the Campagna and the smoke of the can- 
 non. Faint emblem of the all-seeing eye of God, it 
 looks on scenes of bloodshed as calmly as on deeds 
 of heroic virtue ; but a day will come when it will 
 refuse its light and shall seem to scowl upon the 
 impious, even as the face of the avenging judge 
 will be changed in its aspect towards the wicked. 
 
 Against a weak portion of the walls near " Porta 
 Pia" the chief attack was directed. The magnificent 
 gateway called " Porta Pia" had been but recently 
 completed. An embankment had been thrown up 
 across its entrance, and a few pieces of artillery had 
 
3d2 
 
 AFtER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 been mounted under its cover. These replied with- 
 out intermission to the batteries of the enemy posted 
 on a declivity between the Salara and Nomentana 
 Roads. Captain Delahide, a gallant Irishman, com- 
 manded the Zouaves near Porta Pia. Morgan and 
 Lorenzo had been drafted off from the Pincian Hill 
 during the night, and were now under Captain De* 
 lahide's orders. 
 
 As yet there was nothing for the infantry to do ; 
 it was an artillery duel. The roar of cannon, the 
 excitement of the surroundings, and above all a 
 noble indignation at the vile and unprovoked assault, 
 made the soldiers impatient of restraint. Lorenzo 
 only expressed the general feeling when he said : 
 
 "This is tiresome work, Morgan, waiting idly 
 here. I wish we had orders to sally forth and cap- 
 ture that battery. We would make a Montana of 
 that hillside." 
 
 "I, too, find our duty irksome. However, we 
 must remember that true valor is always prudent. 
 We are but a handful opposed to the thousands who 
 surround us. At Mentana our enemy was little 
 more than double our number ; these Piedmontese 
 are five times more numerous than we, and well 
 provided with heavy cannon." 
 
 " That is all very true, Morgan, but we are here 
 to defend this city of Rome against its assailants. 
 We can fight till we die, and from our blood will 
 spring up legions of defenders of St. Peter's Chair. 
 I always admired the expression of Tertullian that 
 " the blood of martyrs is the seed of Christians." See 
 how it has been verified by your Canada. A small 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 893 
 
 quantity of Canadian blood was shed on the slopes 
 of Mentana, and scarce had the earth drunk the ruby 
 tide ere three hundred of your fellow-citizens sprang 
 to arms in defence of Holy Church." 
 
 " Yes," said Morgan with u look of pardonable 
 pride, " and thousands would be xere to-day did they 
 know of this sacreligious war. In the mean time 
 those who are here will do their share when the in- 
 fantry attack commences." 
 
 At every point the Pontifical soldiers were ani- 
 mated with feelings of devoted courage, and would 
 have eagerly welcomed the command to sally forth. 
 It is useless now to speculate on what might have 
 been ; but those who know what was the spirit of 
 the brave men who fought for Rome, feel sure that 
 had the struggle been continued to the bitter end, 
 few, if any, of Victor Emanuel's seventy thousand 
 would have set foot in the Eternal City. 
 
 The fierce cannonading waxed louder and sharper. 
 Shells wildly screamed through the peaceful air, 
 and often ricochetted from pavement to palace wall. 
 Terrified groups of citizens spoke in subdued tones, 
 and with blanched faces endeavored to appear fear- 
 less. The wildest reports regarding the assault and 
 defence ran unquestioned through the crowd. 
 Shops were closed ; iron shutters on the palaces of 
 the aristocracy whose hinges had grown rusty from 
 long disuse were heard to creak and complain, as 
 frightened footmen swung them forward. 
 
 Many foreignere raised the flag of their country 
 over their residences, and then sat down to wait the 
 issue of the battle. '_':' • 
 
 17* 
 
394 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 In the Vatican Palace the venerable Pontiff whose 
 virtues had endeared him to the hearts of Catholics, 
 and whose unmerited misfortunes have thrown a 
 lialo of awe and reverence around his name, sat and 
 sadly listened to the iron music of the rattling guns. 
 Some Cardinals and the ambassadors accredited to 
 the Holy See were present; these conversed in low 
 tones or moved restlessly from seat to seat. Pius 
 IX., alone, calm to all outward seeming, neither 
 spoke nor moved. His noble countenance wore an 
 expression of pensive sadness but showed no sign 
 of fear. 
 
 Who can paint the varying emotions of his great 
 soul. He heard the wild huzzas, the joyful shouts 
 which hailed his accession to the Pontifical throne ; 
 he heard the rabble-cry of ungrateful and plotting 
 Revolutionists besieging the Quirinal Palace in 
 1848 ; he heard the death-cry of the fearless De 
 Kossi, his murdered minister, and the hypocritical 
 professions of his enemies. He thought of all he 
 had done for Italy and for the world, and of the in- 
 juries inflicted upon him. And now in his old age, 
 the last bitter dregs of his chalice is presented to his 
 lips by an organized Government which had pro- 
 mised to respect and defend his territory. That 
 promise is shamelessly broken; the pretended de- 
 fenders are thundering at the gates of his capital ; 
 their missiles are falling in his city, and he will soon 
 be a prisoner. Had he been other than Pius IX., a 
 wild feeling of revenge and war to the death might 
 have been admitted ; but the image of the Crucified, 
 to-day saluted with paeans of joy and to-morrow 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 390 
 
 betray jd and reviled, rose up before him and caused 
 him to repeat) " The servant is not greater than his 
 master" ; " If they have persecuted me, they will 
 persecute you." 
 
 It was now 10 o'clock. A considerable breach 
 had been made in the walls near Porta Fia. Dark 
 lines of infantry, under shelter of the enemy's bat- 
 teries were moving forward to the assault. The 
 Pontifical soldiers were impatiently awaiting their 
 advance. '. few shots at a long range had already 
 been firea. Lorenzo, grasping Morgan's hand, 
 whispered : 
 
 " Only over my body shall the enemy enter that 
 breach. Good by; and if you survive me tell 
 Eleanor how I died, and that my dying lips prayed 
 for her happiness. Peppe, addioy and be a hero 
 to-day." 
 
 The bugle sounded the advance. Calm and 
 stern, Lorenzo brough his rifle " to rest," and leaped 
 the first to the front of the breach. The head of 
 the enemy's column came in sight round a hedge- 
 row. Lorenzo's musket flashed, and the first man 
 of the advancing line bit the dust. 
 
 But now the hostile batteries ceased ; the ad- 
 vancing ranks stood still, and a superior officer came 
 galloping up to the wondering Zouaves, and ordered 
 them to desist. 
 
 Suprise, incredulity, and indignation were all 
 mingled in the looks of the soldiers. To their noble 
 and generous souls it appeared cowardly and unwise 
 to cease firing whilst an enemy was at the gate. 
 They had panted for a glorious charge under the 
 
 (i:?:.!!! 
 
396 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 r; 
 -.■(■ 
 
 banner of fet. Peter, and led by the standard of the 
 Archangel St. Micliael, and jnst as they were about 
 to begin, the order to surrender came. 
 
 Yet so it was. We will not now seek to deter- 
 mine whether or not, the Pope's policy was, in a 
 worldly point of view, advisable. A resistance to 
 the bitter end would have in all probability an- 
 nilnlated the invading force and half destroyed 
 Rome. 
 
 Pius IX. was the Pope of Peace, and perhaps of 
 a too great clemency. He wished to spare the 
 effusion of human blood, and at the same time, to 
 give proof to the woild that he did not surrender 
 his riglits. Hence, on the evening previous to the 
 assault, he wrote to General Kanzler ordering iiim 
 to raise the white flas: whei^'^vor a breach would 
 have been made in the walls. Thus would lives be 
 spared, and undeniable proofs given that the Pope 
 yielded only to force. 
 
 In nlmost sullen o-loom the Pontifical soldiers 
 lowered their arms. They felt how bitter is the 
 sacrifice which duty often requires. They experi- 
 enced how cruel are at times the tests to which 
 noble souls are subjected. They could clearly un- 
 derstand that the path of duty and honor may ap- 
 pear to the unthinking a road of shame and igno- 
 miny. 
 
 They were brave, resolute, and well-trained. 
 They were foruied to tread the highest walks of 
 military glory, but now their virtues compelled 
 them to accept the part of a defeated army. Yet 
 they gained a nobler victory than that of conquering 
 
INJUSTICE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 397 
 
 deter- 
 
 igno- 
 
 armed warriore; they were victorious over them- 
 selvep. How often in the life of each of us are onr 
 greatest victories apparent defeats ; and our deepest 
 humiliation enduring triumphs! We may rejoice 
 amid the glitter of outward success, hut we can only 
 reign through sacrifice and tears. 
 
 The invading army hecame masters of the place. 
 Those of the Pontifical soldiers who did not shut 
 themselves up in Castel San Angelo were disarmed, 
 and marched through the streets as prisoners of 
 war. Vile scoundrels insulted them as they passed. 
 It was the last dregs of their chalice of humilia- 
 tion. 
 
 A swarm of pickpockets, blacklegs, and assasains — 
 the offscourings of the cities of Italy — entered Rome 
 in the wake of the invaders. The mob opened most 
 of the jails and swelled their ranks with the freed 
 prisoners. 
 
 Yelling and hooting filled the erst quiet streets, 
 and degraded wretches who had plotted long for 
 this, wildly clasped each other's hands, and shouted 
 until they were hoarse. 
 
 The aspect of the city changed as if by magic. 
 The good were shut up in their houses, and only 
 the swarm of plunderers and plotters were abroad. 
 Thieves ran through the streets bearing stolen goods 
 and crying, Viva la libertd! ("Hurrah for Lib- 
 erty !") 
 
 The colors of "United Italy" waved from 
 balconies, fluttered on the hats of men, and dangled 
 from the bridles of donkeys. 
 
 All that sad afternoon, and far up in the night, 
 
398 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS* 
 
 the uproar continued. Hell kept high carnival, and 
 demons laughed hideously; for Rome had fallen, 
 the Pope was a prisoner, and Injustice was triumph- 
 ant. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYII. 
 
 DISBANDED. 
 
 "GooD-BY Morgan, a thousand times good-by; 
 may we soon meet again under our old banner ; this 
 cruel ending of all my fond hopes almost unmans 
 
 me. 
 
 )) 
 
 " We will not say good-by yet, Lorenzo ; we will 
 be together when we lay down our arms. But do 
 not, my dear friend, be so down-hearted, you are 
 not conquered, although about to surrender." 
 
 " I know it, Morgan ; we are not conquered ; but 
 this only serves to add to my regret. Why wore 
 we not allowed to fight while a man remained in 
 the breach? Had we exhausted every available 
 means of defence I would not find it so hard to give 
 up my arms. Oh, had tliat messenger from our 
 commander been only ten minutes later, we would 
 have been in the midst of a desperate struggle. We 
 would have made the enemy feel the strength of our 
 resistance." 
 
 " It is better, Lorenzo, not to question the wisdom 
 of our Holy Father in not continuing the battle. 
 No one can doubt the heroism of his army or its 
 
t)iSBANbEDi 
 
 399 
 
 devotion to his cause. "We will prove our devotion 
 in the humiliation of this surrender even as we 
 proved it in the defence of Porta Pia. Injustice 
 has triumphed for the present; but God lives, and 
 although the shallow may laugh at our hopes, we 
 tnow that a day will come when His Providence 
 and our cause shall be vindicated." 
 
 " You are right, Morgan ; and I feel all this in 
 theory; but it is so hard, so hard to appeal* con- 
 quered when we are not." 
 
 Poor Lorenzo expressed in this the difio^culty we 
 all experience in gaining a victory over ourselves. 
 We know what is right to be done in most cases, 
 but too often the sneers of others make us cowards. 
 And yet one who had " all power in heaven and on 
 earth" willingly submitted to every humiliation. 
 And it is only by suffering with Him than we can 
 hope to reign with Him. 
 
 Something to this effect Morgan replied when 
 Lorenzo asked : 
 
 " Do you intend returning at once to Canada ?" 
 
 " Yes ; as I see no hope at present of using the 
 sword for the cause of Holy Church I shall resume 
 my studies, and may, if found wo^'thy, become a 
 priest." 
 
 " You are happy, Morgan, in having a future be- 
 fore you ; I have none now. So long as our little 
 army had a mission to fulfill, I had work and duty. 
 But now — " 
 
 " But now, what, Lorenzo ? Surely you do not 
 mean that you have no duty left. You have your 
 place in life, and its duties are many." 
 
400 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 " It seems to me that I have fallen out of, or been 
 forced out of, my place in life. I do not know who 
 I am ; how can I know what to do ?" 
 
 " That is not Italian logic, Lorenzo ; you may not 
 know your real history, but there are many paths 
 of life which you may tread in safety and honor." 
 
 " I scarcely meant what I said. I have one duty : 
 that is to find that old Jew who has the paper left 
 for me by my father. That done, I will go to 
 France and oifer my sword in her defense against 
 those barbarian Prussians." 
 
 " Remember your promise to me on the night bo- 
 fore the bombardment; come out to Canada." 
 
 " If I thought — But did I really promise?" 
 
 " Surely you did ; and I know we will all be de- 
 lighted to see you. George Marchbank talks of 
 going soon." 
 
 " Does he? Well, I will go ; vedremo lafineP 
 
 This conversation between Morgan and Lorenzo 
 took place in the enclosure of Castel San Angelo 
 two days after the taking of Rome. The remnant 
 of the gallant little army of Pius IX., which had 
 made its way to the Castel and insisted on honorable 
 terms of surrender, was drawn up in order of 
 march. 
 
 The signal was given ; with drums beating, colors 
 flying, and arms in hand they filed out, saluted by 
 tlie Piedmontese soldiery. No fear cowed their 
 dauntless hearts ; no vain swaggering marked their 
 carriage. They were soon to be prisoners of war, 
 yet they were unconquered soldiers. 
 
 Slowly they wound their way to the Piazza of St. 
 
DISBANDED. 
 
 401 
 
 Peter's. With'-ut the gate of Cavalleggieri they 
 were to lay down their arms and be disbanded. 
 
 The noble soal of Pius IX., which bled more at 
 the humiliation of his devoted troops than at his own 
 misfortmies, caused him to appear at a window of 
 his palace, and to bless them for a last time. So 
 soon as he was perceived a frantic cheer broke from 
 the ranks, and every musket was discharged in his 
 honor. Overcome with emotion the Pope with- 
 drew, and thus parted forever Pius IX. and his 
 ai'my. * 
 
 Many a lieart beat high with the hope of soon re- 
 turning to his service ; and many a lip formed a 
 solemn vow to be ready when the opportune mo- 
 ment should have arrived. 
 
 To be disbanded is, to enthusiastic soldiers, akin 
 to the separation of lovers. Sweet and bitter are 
 the feelings evoked ; gentle and fierce the thoughts 
 engendered. 
 
 Slowly they passed beyond the walls of Rome ; 
 sadly they resigned their glittering rifles, after 
 having kissed them ; wistfully they turned to gaze 
 on the Eternal City, and to breathe a prayer for its 
 deliverance. 
 
 Then they were prisoners, and disbanded. 
 
 The foreigners were to be sent towards Genoa, 
 thence to proceed to their various homes. The 
 Italians were thus soon separated from their late 
 companions. Lorenzo had barely time to give a 
 hasty "Addio" to Morgan, and to send a message of 
 remembrance to Eleanor. 
 
 Morgan shed a tear of regret as he marched along 
 
 \i i 
 
 ■11 
 
402 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 
 the dusty road, — regret for Rome and the sainted 
 Pius IX. now in the hands of a hostile power, and 
 regret at parting thus from his genial friend. His 
 only consolation on the latter point was tlie hope 
 that Lorenzo would follow him, as speedily as pos- 
 sible, to Canada. 
 
 We will not follow Morgan in all his adventures 
 and delays. Once clear of the Italian frontier he 
 was master of his own movements, and travelled 
 quickly on to Liverpool. Thence, in company with 
 several of his contrymen, he sailed for New York. 
 
 The sad news of Rome's disaster had flown across 
 the Atlantic, and filled with sorrow the hearts of 
 many. The Catholics of New York resolved to 
 greet the returning Zouaves with every demonstra- 
 tion of respect and admiration. No need to describe 
 an event still fresh in the remembrance of all. The 
 sons of Canada have not forgotten it, and they will 
 tell it to their children. 
 
 When Morgan was walking along Broadway, on 
 the morning after this reception, something drew 
 his attention to two men who were sauntering along 
 directly in front of him. The younger of the two 
 was dressed in the extreme of fashion, but did not 
 look either genteel or inviting. His face was coarse 
 and flabby ; dissipation and vice had stamped their 
 impress in unmistakable characters thereon. His 
 legs were shrunken and bowed ; his gait rolling, and 
 his carriage half swagger^ half shuffle. 
 
 Morgan read his history at a glance. The public 
 schools, dime novels, diabolical publications on sex- 
 ual subjects advertised through the press, the low 
 
DISBANDED. 
 
 403 
 
 theatre and the brothel, — these were the stepping- 
 stones by which that unfortunate young man had 
 reached his present degredation. How long will 
 the same infamous causes be allowed to produce 
 similar effects? 
 
 Turning his attention to the elder, Morgan fan- 
 cied he recognized something familiar in his angular 
 form. Hearing his voice all doubt vanished. The 
 two turned to look after a carriage which drove 
 past, and Morgan stood face to face with Mr. Drew 
 and — can it be ? — yes. Washy I Alas poor Washy I 
 who is most to blame for -'.y vices and crimes, — a 
 careless parent, a vicious school system, a foul press, 
 hbertine literature, or the " spirit of the age" ? 
 Alas poor Washy I There is not much of the man 
 left in thy composition, but there is yet plenty of 
 the brute. 
 
 Mr. Drew recognized Morgan and was evidently 
 pleased to meet him. 
 
 " Who would ever think of meeting you in Broad- 
 way"? I do warm to an old friend always. Why, 
 come and take a bit of dinner at our house. They 
 will all be glad to see you. So Rome has bust up, 
 has it, and you were all given yonr walking-ticket ? 
 By Jemiuny, but you fought well though in '67. 
 Read all about it in the Herald! As it is pretty 
 near as often right as wrong, we believe it always ; 
 saves reflection you see. But won't you come ?" 
 
 Thus Mr. Drew in the first effusion of his joy. 
 
 Morgan smiled at his naive reason for always be- 
 lieving the Herald^ and thought how much truth 
 there was in the observation. Accepting Mr. Drew's 
 
 km 
 
 i-1 
 
 m 
 
 
404 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 proffered hospitality, they mounted an omnibus and 
 chatted about Mr. Drew's adventures in Europe. 
 Washy's contribution to the conversation was the 
 remark that it " was a rum start to have gone at 
 all.'' 
 
 Mrs. Drew received her husband and Morgan in 
 a gaudily-upholstered apartment. She did not rec- 
 ognize Morgan at first. On being told who he was, 
 she expressed the pleasure it afforded her to meet 
 one who had helped the family against " them for- 
 eigners." 
 
 " I always did say to Daniel how as me and him 
 was foolish to take the girls among foreign catch- 
 pennies." Here she glared covertly at the Italian 
 'Count,' her hopeful son-in-law, who was lazily 
 reclining on a crimson lounge. " Mrs. Hezekiah 
 Flintwood, the president of our Bible Society, says 
 to me that her girls will never go a-towering 
 through Europe." 
 
 "I suspect, ma," said Miss Drew, "that the 
 reason is because they have not got the money. 
 When pa made his pile it was only right to enjoy 
 ourselves, and to make the grand tour." 
 
 " Yes, and be snapped up by any good-for-nothing 
 foreigner as has got curly hair, and bows, and grins, 
 — bows and grins," repeated Mrs. Drew with em- 
 phasis as the Count sardonically smiled. 
 
 " Well, I am sure, ma, all the foreigners are not 
 like that. We saw a perfect love of a soldier in the 
 Coliseum, and he had such strange adventures, and 
 such polite ways." 
 
 Here Miss Drew sighed as she recalled Peppe's 
 
DISBANDED. 
 
 406 
 
 manly form, and the help he had afforded her in 
 mounting the ruins of the Flavian Amphitheatre. 
 
 The poor *' Countess" said never a word. Her 
 young romance was over ; her hero was only clay, 
 and base at that. Her sprightly airs were subdued 
 and quiet ; her face careworn and sad. She gave a 
 mute appealing look to Mr. Drew, who seemed to 
 understand her, for he changed the conversation by 
 asking Morgan when he would leave New York. 
 
 "I leave to-night for Montreal," he replied. 
 "I am anxious to arrive home as soon as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 After partaking of Mr. Drew's hospitality Morgan 
 drove to the railway station. As he went along he 
 wondered much at the blindness of many girls. A 
 quiet, unassuming man is slighted and a brainless 
 coxcomb adored. The sacred pleasures of a cheer- 
 ful fireside have no charms for them ; all their 
 aspirations are for the whirl and excitement of a 
 fashionable life. They hunger for love, and yet 
 they sell themselves for money or position. They 
 dream of domestic joys, still they never strive to fit 
 themselves for conferring them. Blind to tht dic- 
 tates of common-sense, and deaf to the advice of 
 friends, they romantically imagine that the object 
 of their ill-regulated affections is perfect. 
 
 And a sister is not made wiser by the unhappi- 
 ness of a sister. Miss Drew knows the fraud of 
 which her sister has been the victim, still she would 
 be as easily deceived to-morrow as if the " Italian 
 Count" had been genuine. She feels that her hero 
 would be true. Sensational literature has bred a 
 
 ill 
 
 
 ! '. 
 
406 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 mental unrest, and destroyed the womanly instincts 
 of many besides Miss Drew. 
 
 And still, God be thanked, wonian'^ best qnalities 
 often remain untouched in the root. Morgan felt 
 sure that if the lazy Italian impostor were stricken 
 with a dire disease his poor duped wife, forgetful of 
 lier wrongs, would be his devoted nurse. 
 
 Such reflections as these occupied Morgan's mind 
 for a length of time. That young girls would strive 
 to overcome the romantic tendency of their nature, 
 and prize the quiet joys of a simple home was his 
 wish, as the express clattered rapidly on towards 
 fair Cannda. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXYIII. 
 
 THE STOLEN DOCUMENT. 
 
 Once again the genial month of October has re- 
 turned ; the rich grapes are being gathered on the 
 banks of Lake Albano, and the chestnuts fall thickly 
 in the woods below the crazily perched town of 
 Rocca di Papa. Little children with large, won- 
 dering dark eyes, and a wealth of black hair, pickup 
 the nuts in osier-baskets, or sport like youthful 
 dryads in the checkered light. From the chestnut 
 a coarse nutritious meal is procured, which the peas- 
 antry either use alone or mix with wheaten flour 
 On the squares of every town and city roasted 
 chestnuts hold the place of the American pea-nut. 
 
THE STOLEN DOCUMENT. 
 
 407 
 
 jt is not then for amusement that the children are 
 at work. 
 
 A month has passed since the Pontifical army 
 was disbanded ; a month has passed since Pius IX. 
 became a prisoner in the Vatican. The infidel 
 world has had its shout of joy ; the bigots have 
 uttered their frenzied cry that " Popery has fallen." 
 They have yet to learn, what history might have 
 taught them, that the Church never dies. Pius IX. 
 may die, but Peter will live on; he has lived for 
 eighteen hundred years, and he will live until time 
 shall be no more. 
 
 The ascent through the grove of chestnut- and ilex- 
 trees to Hocca di Papa is steep and winding. This 
 little town is built on a spur of Monte Cavo, and is a 
 gem of inaccessibility, inconvenience, and primeval 
 irregularity. Once, however, that your have mas- 
 tered the difficulties of the situation and scaled its 
 dizzy heights, you can enjoy a glorious prospect. 
 Monte Cavo looms grimly above you, perhaps sul- 
 kily veiling its head with a cloud ; Lake Albano 
 glints peacfully below, apparently so near that you 
 meditate a leap into its inviting waters. The green 
 fringe of low underwood around the base of Monte 
 Cavo sparkles in the setting sun, and is reflected in 
 the tiny wavelets of the lake. The town of Albano 
 is seen on its gentle slope, seemingly desirous of 
 going forth to meet the waters of the Mediterranean. 
 Patches of sun-lit hill are interspersed with the 
 shade of small valleys, mingled like the grave and 
 gay of life; they extend to the west and ^nd with 
 the walls of Kome. 
 
408 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Up the steep ascent two men were ascending on 
 this quiet October evening. They were Lorenzo 
 and Peppe. Like their fellow-countrymen who had 
 belonged to the Pope's army, they had refused to 
 take service under the invader. Tiicy were now 
 comparatively free in their movements. The rea- 
 son of their present excursion may be learned from 
 their conversation. 
 
 " Are you sure, Peppe, that we are on the right 
 track ?" 
 
 " I wish I were as sure of a chance of fighting 
 for the Pope. I saw the old rascal this morning." 
 
 " There is no doubt in your mind about its being 
 the one we want ?" 
 
 " Why, Signer Lorenzo," said Peppe, evidently 
 astonished, " can you ask such a question ? Could 
 I be deceived in old Ezra? Surely now there is 
 no other such face and figure in all Italy. I could 
 pick him out in the valley of Jehosaphat, unless, in- 
 deed, the impenitent thief or Judas might be mis- 
 taken for him." 
 
 " Is he so ill-looking ^s that ?" asked Lorenzo 
 with a visible shudder. 
 
 " Altro !" was Peppe V^ expressive reply. 
 
 " What could my father possibly want with such 
 a disreputable character? There was nothing in 
 common between them. Had my father been poorer 
 I might think that old Ezra had loaned him money ; 
 but that is impossible. What could he have wanted 
 with him Peppe ?" 
 
 Peppe scratched his head, shrugged his shoulders 
 and merely replied : 
 
THE STOLEN DOCUMENT. 
 
 409 
 
 "Who knows r 
 
 Many a question oqually knotty has been solved 
 with this same rejoinder, and many more might bo 
 with advantage to mankind. 
 
 " But, Peppe, you know sometliing about my early 
 history, and about my mother. If loyalty to my 
 father kept you silent during his lifetime, duty to mo 
 might msiko you speak now. You know more about 
 me than 1 know myself." 
 
 " It is true that I do, Signor Lorenzo ; but I know 
 scarcely anything about your mother." 
 
 " Tell me what you do know," said Lorenzo, as he 
 stood motionless in the dusty road. 
 
 " I do not think that I am at liberty to do so. 
 When Giovanni Aldini bound me to silence you were 
 to learn all through him; if he failed to inform you, 
 I might speak. If we cannot recover the stolen 
 document I shall tell what I know, but it is not all 
 you wish to learn." 
 
 " I suppose you are right, Peppe, and since I have 
 waited so long, I can wait longer. After all, what 
 does it matter now ? It is better, perhaps, that I 
 should not find the lost paper. The search for it 
 will be an employment which will serve to distract 
 my mind. Were it in my possession what object 
 would I have left ? Ah ! if only Eleanor" — His 
 voice had gradually sunk during the latter part of 
 this speech, and now became inaudible. 
 
 Peppe who understood pretty well the nature of 
 Lorenzo's feelings regarding Eleanor Leahy, and be- 
 ing persuaded that she could not help loving him, 
 wished to trge him on to a renewal of his suit, but 
 18 
 
410 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 did not dare speak openly. He took another course 
 by saying : 
 
 " Signor Lorenzo, we had better wait here until 
 sunset ; old Ezra will be about the streets until that 
 time. If you wish I will tell you how my uncle, who 
 was a man of considerable importance, got his wife, 
 a fine lady. It will help to pass the time." 
 
 " Very good, Peppe, I shall be glad to hear it." 
 
 " My uncle," began Peppe, " was a dashing young 
 officer forty years ago, as my mother often told me. 
 He had good looks, high hopes, spirit, but no money. 
 All the girls of his acquaintance were madly in love 
 with him, for somehow they manage to lose their 
 hearts easily to one who does not seek them, or care 
 about them, whilst they pretend to dislike the man 
 who makes love to them." 
 
 " How can that be, Peppe, since so many continu- 
 ally marry ?" asked Lorenzo, with an amused look. 
 
 " Oh ! it is only at first that they pretend to dis- 
 like their wooers, as my uncle's case will show. They 
 do this to enhance their value, to make their admi- 
 rers more eager in their suit, and to gratify their 
 vanity. No surer way, Signor Lorenzo, of succeed- 
 ing quickly with the greater number of girls than 
 to be careless about them. Per Bacco ! but that 
 makes them angry and resolved to win you." 
 
 " Why, Peppe, you talk as though you had had 
 a vast experience of female character. I always 
 thought that you rarely mingled in their society. 
 
 " I have lived some years and I have kept my eyes 
 
 opeuj 
 
 that is how I know all this." 
 
 " Then your opinion, Peppe," said Iiorenzo, with 
 
THE STOLEN DOCUMENT. 
 
 411 
 
 a smile, " is that woman will come to you if you do 
 not go to her." 
 
 "Not always, Signor. There are some fine na- 
 tures which must be won by persevering endeavors, 
 as the story of my uncle's courtship will make 
 plain." 
 
 " Let us hear that wonderful story then." 
 
 " Well, my uncle, as I said, was young and hand- 
 some, but impecunious. He first met his future 
 wife in a stage-coach and fell in love with her at 
 once. It has often puzzled me to understand why 
 or how this sort of thing happens ; but it does hap- 
 pen, it does," said Peppe, shaking his head. 
 
 " It does, I believe," answered Lorenzo as a warm 
 tinge colored his cheeks. 
 
 "My uncle soon obtained an introduction to his 
 inamorata and quickly made proposals of marriage. 
 They were not accepted ; still every one thought 
 tliat Lucia Benvenuti loved my uncle Rnggiero 
 Spada. She was not a coquette, she had no favored 
 admirer, still she refused. My uncle, who iliought 
 that her answer would have been as prompt as his 
 offer, if she had really loved him, was disconsolate. 
 He lost his gayety and shunned company. He faced 
 death on the field of battle, but death fled from 
 him. A friend who knew his secret advised him 
 to persevere in his suit, to prove that he was in 
 earnest and that his affection was not a mere 
 momentary sentiment. Lucia, he said, was of a 
 gentle and loyal disposition, and sought to discover 
 earnestness in her lover. 
 
 " My uucle renewed his suit and followed her to 
 
412 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 Switzerland, where the family were passing the 
 summer. He told her anew his passion, and de- 
 clared that if she did not consent to become his he 
 would rush heedlessly into the thickest of the battle 
 and invite death to put an end to his torments." 
 
 "What did Lucia reply to this Byronism?" 
 
 "What could she reply, but that as he had proved 
 the depth and earnestness of his love by following 
 her so far, it was for her to gladly accept it? My 
 uncle's friend was right ; it only required perseve- 
 rance to win the prize. My uncle always said that 
 when a young man had been rejected all he had to 
 do was to carry on a regular siege with patience and 
 the citadel would eventually capitulate. His con- 
 clusion is my own — viz., that most women will fly 
 after you if you are indifferent to their attractions, 
 and a few can only be won by perseverance." 
 
 Whether Peppe was right or wrong in this con- 
 clusion our lady readers will decide. He had a 
 double object in lengthening out this family in- 
 cident : the one was to induce his master to follow 
 Eleanor to Canada, and the other to amuse Lorenzo 
 until it should be time to visit old Ezra. 
 
 They now arose and walked quickly up the rocky 
 slope. Lorenzo was to await the return of Peppe at 
 a neighboring Trattoria. 
 
 "Be sure you procure the document at any 
 price," was his last injunction to his faithful ser- 
 vant. 
 
 "Per Bacco! if I don't get it for nothing I'm a 
 Turk," was Peppe's reply. 
 
 Lightly springing up a fljght of steps cut out of 
 
The stolen document. 
 
 413 
 
 » 
 
 the tiiffa rock, which led to a narrow street parallel 
 to the one on which he left his master, Peppe sped 
 on his way. The crazy old houses appeared to grow 
 out of the hill-side in a horizontal line. The door 
 opens on the brink of a precipice, or midway down 
 a flight of treacherous steps. A stranger would be 
 puzzled to know how children ever reached the age 
 of maturity with so many pitfalls around. Their 
 toes must be, one is half inclined to believe, en- 
 dowed with an apparatus similar to that which en- 
 ables flies to walk up a wall. 
 
 Peppe ascended almost three hundred feet above 
 the level of the lower street, and came to an un- 
 shapen mass of volcanic rock which stands at the 
 upper extremity of the town. At its base a door 
 stood open and Peppe unceremoniously entered. It 
 was a small, dingy apartment, musty and cold. It 
 had been cut out of the rock for a wine-vault by a 
 man possessed of more money than brains. No 
 doubt it would be a safe and cool place in which to 
 store wine, but how could a cask ever be brought 
 thither from the vinevards below ? The idea of the 
 vault was defective on one side, as ideas often are ; 
 hence the collapse of the scheme. However, the 
 excavation was not altogether useless ; it was rented 
 as a dwelling. 
 
 Peppe looked around this hovel, and at first saw 
 nothing but lieaps of old rags and fragments of 
 paper. Then, as he peered about, he discovered an 
 old man sitting by a rickety table. Dirty, shrivelled, 
 yellow, and greasy as of yore sat old Ezra. His 
 puckered mouth and closed eyes showed that he had 
 
414 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 fallen asleep over his work. On the table were 
 piles of rags and bundles of paper. Casting his eye 
 over these latter Peppe recognized on the outside of 
 one the handwriting of Giovanni Aldini. Instinc- 
 tively he picked it up and saw that it was the stolen 
 document. Old Ezra always carried it with him, 
 and probably had been assorting the contents of a 
 shrunken valise which lay near by when he had been 
 overpowered by sleep. 
 
 " You old vulture," said Peppe, shaking his fin- 
 ger at him, " I have brought you down at last. I 
 might go away now and you be none the wiser, 
 but that would not do; I'll wake you. IIo! Sor 
 Ezra, wake up. Can I sell you some nice lettuce 
 for supper ?" 
 
 With a frightened spring the old Jew bounded to 
 his feet, and glaring at Peppe, squeaked, 
 
 " "Who the devil are you, and how did you en- 
 ter ?'» 
 
 " By the door, Sor Ezra ; but are you all alone 
 liere ?" 
 
 " What business is it of yours ; go away thief." 
 
 " I must be an honest thief to wake you up. But 
 come, don't you remember me ? You told me about 
 a paper written by Giovanni Aldini which you had. 
 I want it." 
 
 " How much will you give for it ?" 
 
 " Whatever you honestly ask ?" 
 
 " Good ! good I Where's the money ? A thousand 
 Bcudi ; only a thousand scudi," and the old wretch 
 clawed the papers with his hideous fingers. 
 
 " But a million devils I where is it ? It is gone, 
 
 I 
 
AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 416 
 
 gone ; you stole it, thief ; I'll have your life or it. " 
 And Ezra made a clutch at the smiling Peppe. 
 
 Stepping to the door Peppe displayed the paper 
 and said : 
 
 " Wretch ! I could hang you for what you did ; 
 but I am satisfied to have got what I wanted. Pare 
 to follow me and I will hand you over to the police. 
 Now good-by." 
 
 The miser sank back on his chair as Peppe gayly 
 tripped back to find Lorenzo. The excitement of 
 the latter on seeing the document was intense. 
 Wildly he tore it open and read, trembling the 
 while. Peppe watched him with evident alarm, and 
 caught him as he sank moaning, 
 
 " Oh 1 my mother ; my poor desolate mother 1" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 AFTER WEAKY YEARS. 
 
 Many days had come and gone since Mrs. 
 Barton commenced to keep her sad anniversary. 
 Sands innumerable had trickled noiselessly from 
 Time's hour-glass ; golden sands for some, but grimy 
 ones, alas, for very many. Noble resolutions by 
 the thousand had been taken, and few but had been 
 broken. Careers of usefulness and honor had been 
 begun, high hopes had been aroused, but often the 
 social glass had led to intoxication and to a dishonored 
 end. Tears of youthful a£&iction for the loss of 
 
416 
 
 AFtER tVEARY f EARS. 
 
 a mother had been shed in what appeared an agony 
 of undying grief, but they liad quickly been dried 
 and the sorrow forgoLLen. Tales of love had been 
 told ; wild vows of constancy had been registered in 
 the shifting sands of life ; but t4ie tales had long 
 been an idle breath, and the vows a voiceless echo 
 from a viewless shore. 
 
 These changes had been effected, but there was 
 one affection at least which had remained unaltered 
 during .11 v ■ .;e dreary years. 
 
 It was Mrs. Barton's love for her lost son. 
 
 Tho yof blo' i of youth had faded from her 
 cheek ; the lovely light of her dreamy eyes had 
 been dimmed ; white streaks had checkered her erst 
 brown hair ; the thousand nameless charms of voice, 
 motion, and expression of life's springtime had 
 flown, but still her love as a mother lived on, and 
 her calm hope of meeting her boy on earth survived. 
 
 In all this world of inconstancy and change a 
 mother's deep and tender love is the only purely 
 human affection which is almost immutable. It 
 cannot decrease, because lier quality of motherhood 
 ever remains ; it can scarcely grow greater, for it 
 was always immense. 
 
 Mrs. Barton had kept her last sad anniversary as 
 usual : the faded kite, the little ball and bat had 
 been laid down just without the door, and she had 
 sat within, holding the little blue cloth cap with a 
 glazed peak. Eleanor had come to pay her a visit, 
 and they both sat there about the very hour that 
 Lorenzo received the document from Peppe. 
 
 It was a still, mild night ; the mighty St. Lawrence 
 
After weary years* 
 
 417 
 
 peacefully murmured as it flowed beneatli the 
 garden wall. The rich tinge of autumn was on 
 every leaf, though all seemed a mellowed white in 
 the soft moonbeams. The graceful spire of the 
 neighboring church cast the shadow of its cross ovel* 
 Mrs. Barton as she sat within the door ; but by de= 
 grees, as the moon rose higher, it receded and left 
 her bathed in light. 
 
 Eleanor noticed this, and thought it att expressive 
 image of the supernatural light of glory which shall 
 fill the soul that has faithfully borne its cross. 
 
 Mrs. Barton who had been silent for some time 
 said, 
 
 "I am thinking much to-night, Eleanor, of 
 Lorenzo Aldini. I do hope he will return with 
 Morgan. Somehow my soul yearns to-night to see 
 him." 
 
 ' Poor Eleanor could have truthfully said as much 
 any night during the past six months ; however, she 
 only softly sighed. Not so softly, however, but 
 that Mrs. Barton heard or rather felt it in the 
 
 an*. 
 
 " Eleanor, my dear girl, my selfish love has caused 
 you much pain. Had I not extracted that promise 
 from you, you would have been happy in the love 
 of your brother's noble friend. Can you forgive 
 me ?" 
 
 " Forgive you ? It was no fault of yours. Pray 
 do not speak any more about it." 
 
 Mrs. Barton knew it was a painful topic to 
 Eleanor, so she asked : 
 
 " When do you expect Morgan ?" , 
 18* 
 
 w 
 
418 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 "In two days; we had a telegram from New 
 York. He is quite well in health." 
 
 " Is he all alone ?" 
 
 " I suppose so, for he makes no mention of any 
 one else." 
 
 "Oh, how I wish his friend were with him. 
 How I long to-night to see you his wife, for I know 
 it would ensure happiness to you both." 
 
 This conversation had taken place late in October, 
 it was now past the middle of November. The 
 ground was hard and bare ; a crisp frost covered the 
 withered grass, and delicately adorned witli a featli. 
 ery fringe the leafless boughs. The face of the 
 great river was dark and scowling; its peaceful 
 murmur of a month ago was exchanged for a hoarse 
 and fretful roar. The last ships of the season were 
 liurryingdown its course, fearful of being caught in 
 the icy fetters of winter. A spirit of unrest was in 
 the air and a gloom was over the land. Wild mas- 
 ses of clouds would hurtle through the sky, and 
 quickly disappearing would be succeeded by evanes- 
 cent beams of sunshine. Snow, rain, hard frost, or 
 a warm sunlight, each was liable to ensue within an 
 hour, and to last a day or ten minutes. An at- 
 mospheric crisis was at hand, and its result uncer- 
 tain. • 
 
 The short day was drawing to a close as Eleanor 
 Leahy and George Marchbank walked slowly along 
 the course of the darkening river. The young 
 artist was not now unknown to fame. At the ex- 
 
AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 419 
 
 hibition of fine arts held at Rome during the sitting 
 of the Vatican Council, his works had attracted the 
 favorable notice of persons whose taste was unques- 
 tioned. He was pronounced a " rising man ;" and 
 to be thus designated by leading artistic critics, is to 
 be placed at only one remove from a risen one. 
 His sketch of the opening of the Council was justly 
 admired. It would take time, perhaps years to 
 complete it ; but the scene had been so vividly im- 
 pressed on his mind, for, as already seen, he had 
 viewed it in the light of Faith which had flashed 
 over his soul, that he could reproduce it in its every 
 detail. He was thus on the road to fame ; still he 
 was not happy. 
 
 In the unceasing unrest of our soul, in its yearn- 
 ings after some unattained happiness, we can see, 
 unless we be self-blinded, that we have been formed 
 for a higher destiny than this world can afford. 
 All the wealth, fame, and glory of this earth cannot 
 satisfy our longings ; our capacity for enjoyment 
 may, indeed, be sated in some respects, yet it is of 
 indefinite power that nothing which we can im- 
 agine in life can ever fill it. The immortal spirit 
 refuses to be satisfied with mortal pleasures ; it in- 
 dignantly asserts its nobility of origin and end even 
 in its degradation. It ever proclaims the truth of 
 (St. Augustine's words : " Thou hast made us for 
 Thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are unquiet until 
 they rest in Thee." 
 
 George Marchbank had returned to his Canadian 
 home for a short time. He half hoped that Eleanor 
 would now accept his love, and fill the blank which 
 
420 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 he experienced in his life. But whatever hopes he 
 had cherished on this head were destroyed on this 
 chill November evening. 
 
 W ith the delicacy and earnest gentleness ofher 
 noble nature Eleanor had spoken to him, and poured, 
 a balm on his wounds even as she was inflicting 
 them. He felt it could not be as he liad wished, 
 and although he suffered keenly, there was no rank- 
 ling sting left behind. Eleanor's gentle hand had 
 plucked it out, and her true womanly sympathy had 
 assuaged half of his pain. Her words of encourage- 
 ment, to pursue manfully a career of usefulness and 
 honor, had strengthened his purpose, and left his 
 future less dark than he had thought it could be. 
 Hearts are made of such elastic material that they 
 seldom, or never, break. 
 
 The setting sun emerged from an angry cloud ; 
 a flood of ruby light bathed its frowning folds and 
 beautifled its jagged outlines. 
 
 A cold breeze swept over the face of the river, 
 and sadly moaned as it died away amidst the leafless 
 boughs of a neighboring grove. 
 
 The shrill whistle of an engine was borne on the 
 frosty air, and brought a strange joy to Eleanor's 
 heart. 
 
 In the short twilight, George Marchbank and 
 Eleanor reached the home of the latter, and parted 
 as friends ere they had arrived at the door. He 
 Went to his native village, and she entered her 
 home. Morgan was there and appeared excited 
 over something. In reply to his sister's inquiries 
 he informed her that Lorenzo Aldini was on his 
 
AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 421 
 
 way to Canada; was in Canada even now, and 
 would be at the station in five minutes. 
 
 " I must now go to meet him ; I only received 
 his letter an hour ago. We will be here in twenty 
 minutes." 
 
 Saying this Morgan leaped into a carriage and 
 drove rapidly away. 
 
 A thousand wild emotions filled the soul of 
 Eleanor, but joy ever took the lead. It is true that 
 fear lest Lorenzo should not renew his suit occa- 
 sionally started up, but the fact of his coming surely 
 proved the groundlessness of its nature. No need 
 to question her own heart ; it told its tale in its 
 quickened pulsations, and by the warm glow which 
 it diffused over her countenance. Endeavoring to 
 compose her feelings she waited with strained 
 anxiety her brother's return. He was not back so 
 speedily as he had promised ; but he came at length 
 and Lorenzo was with him. 
 
 When Lorenzo and Eleanor met, each saw in the 
 first swift glance the other's love, and knew better 
 than words can tell the depths of their mutual 
 affection. Ere an hour had passed they had plighted 
 their troth, with the full approbation of Mrs. Leahy 
 and Morgan. 
 
 Eleanor who was ever mindful of Mrs. Barton, 
 did not forget her in the dawn of her new-born 
 happiness. She proposed that they should go and 
 see her at once. Lorenzo and Morgan consented 
 with evident alacrity, and jn a few minutes they 
 were in her quiet home. The state of affairs was soon 
 made known and she warmly congratulated them. 
 
 
422 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 "You will have, Lorenzo, the best wife that 
 Canada can give, and although I over fondly hoped 
 that she might one day be my daughter, I am truly 
 glad to-night. I have not ruined her hopes ot 
 happiness after all." 
 
 " We will love you as dearly as if we were your 
 children," said Lorenzo with deep feeling. 
 
 "Mrs. Barton," began Morgan, "did you ever 
 see any resemblance in Lorenzo to any one you ever 
 knew? Did you ever observe him attentively? 
 Look into his eyes now and tell me what you 
 think." 
 
 " In the full light Mrs. Barton gazed intently 
 at Lorenze, and an unaccustomed tremor shook her 
 every limb. In the trusting, loving look of his 
 dreamy eyes she saw the image of a fair child lost 
 long ago, and in the swelling of her maternal heart 
 she knew that he was fou .d. No need for Lorenzo 
 to clasp her in his strong arras and to murmur, 
 
 "Mother, dearest mother, I am your long-lost 
 
 » 
 
 son. 
 
 She knew it ere the words were spoken, and as 
 she strained him to her heart she sobbed, 
 
 " O God, I thank Thee, that After Weary Years 
 of lonely waiting and hoping Thou hast heard my 
 prayer." 
 
 Morgan who had learned the truth from Lorenzo 
 on their way from the station, took Eleanor aside 
 and calmed her excitement, as mother and son wept 
 sweet tears of joy. 
 
 Mrs. Barton, however, soon subdued her feelings, 
 and calling Eleanor to her side^ laid a hand on her 
 
AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 423 
 
 liead and tlie other on that of lier son, and invoked 
 God's blessing on their betrotlial. 
 
 It was a solemn moment, a moment of happiness 
 for all. 
 
 When they had recovered in some degree their 
 composure, Mrs. Barton asked : 
 
 " How long is it since you knew who was your 
 mother, my dear boy ?" 
 
 " Since the last anniversary of my disappearance. 
 For a long time I knew my mother was alive, but 
 who she was or where she might be, I never knew 
 until that night. Oh I how my hc;\rt went out to 
 you at that moment, for I knew that you were keep- 
 ing your sad watch." 
 
 " Ah ! that is perhaps why I told Eleanor that I 
 was thinking much of you that night. But how 
 did you learn it then ?" 
 
 " From a document which my — Giovanni Aldini 
 left for me when he died, but which I did not get 
 until then. It was written shortly before his death; 
 it is a full confession. Shall I read it?" 
 
 " By all means, my darling boy." 
 
 Lorenzo then began 
 
 THE CONFESSION OF GIOVANNI ALDINI. 
 
 " * All ! Lorenzo how can I write what I must say ? 
 How can I lay bare to you my heart, and tell you 
 the great wrong that has been inflicted on you by 
 me ? It is a dreadful thing to be cursed by those 
 we passionately love ; it is intensest anguish to 
 think that we will be an object of loathing to those 
 
 
424 
 
 At'TER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 whose slightest look is treasured in our soul. And 
 yet what can I expect excepting loathing and per- 
 haps bitter imprecations ? What else do I deserve 
 although I lavished untold affection on you for 
 years? But mine was a diseased love, an insane 
 sentiment wliich devoured my life-fibres and gnawed 
 unceasingly my troubled brain. My sin brought its 
 avenging spirit ; punishment trod ever on the heels 
 of my crime, and still I clung to you, foreseeing 
 your malediction. O my God ! if my sin has been 
 great, great too has been my punishment. 
 
 " ' But, Lorenzo, you will not be hard on me ; you 
 will not curse me. My worn body shall be moul- 
 dering in its cold sepulchre when you read this, and 
 the awful veil which liides the supernatural world 
 from mortal gaze shall have fallen between us, and 
 will, I hope, conceal my deformity from your eyes. 
 You will only remember the poor acts of kindness 
 which I have done, and your promise to hold my 
 memory in benediction. 
 
 " ' Lorenzo, I am not your father, nor can I claim 
 any kinship to you, except that of our common 
 humanity. Neither were you an orphan adopted 
 by me, nor the disown 3d child of criminal parents. 
 You are the son of 'irtuous couple ; you were the 
 object of a tende nother's fondest love, and the 
 proud hope of a noble father, ere you unfortunately 
 attracted my attention. You are not an Italian ; 
 your home was on the banks of Canada's mighty 
 river, near to that of your friend Morgan Leahy. 
 
 " ' I was married in my youth, Lorenzo, to a lovely 
 girl, such as still adorn the virtuous homes of Italy. 
 
At'TEU WEAKir YEARS. 
 
 425 
 
 Our happiness was great, but of short duration. 
 Scarce three years of wedded life, and I was left a 
 widower. A little boy of eighteen months remained 
 to distract my sad thoughts and to give me some- 
 thing for wliich to face my blank future. But 
 within two years he followed his mother, and I was 
 indeed desolate. 
 
 "'My great grief undermined my health and 
 weakened my intellect. In the death of my darling 
 boy I lost anew my wife, and bore a double load of 
 eorrow. I was ill for months, and rose a broken- 
 down man, an old man in my youth. 
 
 "'I travelled abroad; spent some months in 
 France, then crossed over to England and remained 
 nearly a year. Peppe was with me ; he was only a 
 lad then, but he was very active and useful. Do 
 not blame him, Lorenzo; he never injured you; he 
 did not know all. 
 
 '• ' We went to Canada. Aimlessly wandering 
 through the country along the course of the St. 
 Laurence, we came to your father's house. AVe 
 were kindly entertained for the night. You were 
 then a laughing boy, with eyes and forehead like 
 my lost darling ; you were nearly the age he would 
 have been. Can you wonder that I loved you ? 
 Can you not pity my weakness when I resolved to 
 obtain you ? My mind was diseased ; I do not seek 
 to palliate my actions, but in mercy remember what 
 I had suffered, and its effect on my imagination. 1 
 had neither wife nor child ; your parents remained 
 to each other even were you taken. Thus I reasoned 
 with myself, shut my eyes to the wrong which I 
 
436 
 
 AFTER WEART YEARS. 
 
 would do, and steeled my heart against the thought 
 of your parents' grief. It has bled full often since. 
 
 '- ' I employed an old Jew, named Ezra, to decoy 
 you from your home and to bring you to me at 
 Montreal on the eve of mj' departure. I have heard 
 that you were playing before the door of your 
 father's house, when he beclconed to you .id en- 
 ticed you to a carriage in waiting. Peppe was told 
 that your parents had given you to be adopted by 
 me, and was cautioned to never undeceive you re- 
 garding your birth. You grew up as my son, and 
 warped though my judgment was, God knows I 
 tried to be a good father to you. I had been trained 
 to virtue, and my first great crime was your abduc- 
 tion. 
 
 " ' In memory of Canada's great river I named 
 you Lorenzo. In your pocket I found the photo- 
 graph whicli I gave you when you were setting out 
 for Home ; I had seen the original ; she was the 
 daughter of your father's nearest neighbor. 
 
 " ' After you joined the Zouaves, I visited, un- 
 known to you, Canada, and spoke with your mother 
 to let her know that her son lived. I never fully 
 realized what her anguish must have been until 
 you had left me. So true it is that we are too 
 often selfishly blind to the sufferings of others. 
 
 "'Your true name, Lorenzo, is Denis Barton. 
 
 " ' O God, I bring this sad confession to an end 
 with a cry to Tlioe for pardon and mercy I Deign 
 to accept, as some atonement, the racking torments 
 of more than twenty years of an unquiet con- 
 science. -• 
 
EIGHT YEARS LATER. 
 
 427 
 
 " * Lorenzo, my loved, my cherished Lorenzo, pity 
 a frail wretch whose disordered love for you was 
 the root of all his wrong-doing. Forgive and bless, 
 if you can, the memory of 
 
 " ' Giovanni Aldini.' 
 
 " May he rest in peace !" said Lorenzo, as he 
 finished reading the above. 
 
 " Amen !" solemnly responded Mrs. Barton. 
 
 "Is it not strange," began Morgan, "that he 
 should have endured the sting of conscience so 
 long and so bitterly, when \i3 could so easily have 
 plucked it out ?" 
 
 "No more strange than that a Christian soul 
 should live one hour in mortal sin when it can so 
 readily obtain pardon through a good confession," 
 answered Mrs. Barton. 
 
 She was right. How many lead unhappy lives 
 for years, goaded by remorse, and wilfully cling to 
 that which causes it! How many sell their heirship 
 to the kingdom of God for that which embitters 
 their existence ! 
 
 Ye foolish, at length understand, " Wliat doth it 
 profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose 
 his own soul ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 eight years later. 
 
 Stealthily as ever Time advances ; remorselessly 
 as ever the ghastly scythe of death cuts down its 
 
428 
 
 After weary years* 
 
 victims. The noiseless chariot rolls onward ; the 
 world grows hoary ; the death-king renews his 
 youth. Drop by drop the stream of Humanity is 
 falling into the ocean of Eternity. The follies, 
 crimes, and vices of men are repeated ; the virtues, 
 deeds of heroism and charity of the first Christians 
 are practised in our day. Good and evil still fight 
 on, but the tactics of the latter have cluanged. 
 Gross vice is no longer pitted against virtue; a 
 specious sentimentalism attacks religious observ- 
 ances ; and a blatant travesty of science wages war 
 against Faith. Surely a portion of humanity must 
 be in its dotage when such scientific frauds as 
 Spencer, Darwin, Huxley, and others of that 
 feather are looked upon as teachers, and quoted as 
 authorities. 
 
 The yellow Tiber still winds its devious way 
 through the Roman Campagna; the grapes still 
 ripen on the banks of Albano's peaceful lake. Tlie 
 song of the vine-dresser is yet heard on the sur- 
 rounding hills, and Rocca di Papa still sits on its 
 craggy perch. The dead of the cholera in Albano 
 repose undisturbed around the remains of their 
 heroic Cardinal-Bishop ; the dread, the fear, the 
 suffering of that time, are forgotten ; the memory 
 of Cardinal Altieri is still green. 
 
 The grand figure of Pius IX. has disappeared 
 from this earthly stage, but his successor sits in the 
 Chair of St. Peter and rules the Church from the 
 Vatican. Seven weary years of imprisonment 
 crowned the glorious career of Pius the Great ; his 
 spirit was uncrushed, his courage undaunted. One 
 
EIGHT YEAR8 LATER. 
 
 429 
 
 the 
 
 by one his enemies fell beneath the icy breath of 
 death ; those who had planned and schemed against 
 him went to their last account before their heroic 
 victim. He was not spared to see the day of the 
 restoration of his temporal power, but he lived 
 to catch a glimpse of its dawn. The Nemesis 
 which was born on the day of the bombardment of 
 Rome had attained its maturity ere the great Pope 
 died. It broods over Europe ; kings quake on their 
 thrones, and are targets for the assassin's bullet. 
 Distrust hastens the equipment of troops; huge 
 guns are prepared with nervous trepidation ; large 
 armies are marshalled for war. When the general 
 clash of arms shall arise in commingled battle, the 
 fall of Home will be avenged, and its restoration 
 to the Pope effected. The sun of that great day 
 has risen ; ye gallant crusaders be prepared. 
 
 Majestically runs the mighty St. Lawrence, and 
 bears, each year, a richer freight down to the ocean. 
 The young Dominion has entered in earnest on 
 the path of national greatness. Seven provinces 
 are linked into a vast whole ; each brings a tribu- 
 tary offering to the Commonwealth, but still retains 
 a local autonomy. Short as is our national history, 
 it has an unworthy page or two. The thoughtless 
 action in connection with the Red River difficulty 
 was, we are willing to believe, an error of judg- 
 ment; but the heartless ostracism of men, who 
 banded together to defend, as they thought, their 
 rights against an invader, is without excuse. Riel 
 will one day hold his place in the history of Canada 
 as a brave patriot who mistook, it is true, the inten- 
 
430 
 
 AFTER WEARY TEARS. 
 
 tion of the Ottawa Government, and the death of 
 the unfortunate Scott will cease to be called a 
 murder.* 
 
 There are blots liere and there, but the good 
 sense of the people shall jet prevail, and tluey will 
 liasten to wipe them out. 
 
 The love of religion which sent three hundred of 
 Canada's sons to fight for the cause of the Pope 
 still lives in the hearts of our Catholic countrymen. 
 Over this fair Dominion the Pope " hath, and ought 
 to have," and ever will have, spiritual jurisdiction 
 — insulting oaths of oflSce to the contrary notwith- 
 standing. 
 
 Eight years have come and gone since Mrs. Bar- 
 ton recovered her long-lost son. The evening of 
 her days is drawing to a peaceful close, and soon 
 she will rest from her life's labors. Her old friend, 
 Mrs. Leahy, has long since been dead. 
 
 Eleanor has been a wife for more than seven 
 years. Have they been years of unalloyed happi- 
 ness ? Who so foolish as to believe us if we said 
 yes? Surely none; unless, indeed, the young girl 
 dreaming her first dream of love. 
 
 A fair share of felicitv has been Eleanor's, but 
 she has known care. No state or condition of life 
 is exempt from tribulation. The wild romancing 
 
 * Scott was legitimately conderaned by the legitimate au- 
 thority of Red River, viz., Riel's provisional government. 
 The miserable pandering of politicians to the wretched Orange 
 faction of Ontario in this case is a foul blot on our country, 
 and probably the cause of the present trouble in the North- 
 west. 
 
 i« 
 
EIGHT YEARS LATER. 
 
 431 
 
 ) death of 
 8 called a 
 
 the good 
 tluey will 
 
 lundred of 
 the Pope 
 
 nntrymen. 
 and ought 
 
 urisdietion 
 
 y notwitli- 
 
 Mrs. Bar- 
 jvening of 
 
 and soon 
 old friend, 
 
 lan seven 
 
 '^ed happi- 
 
 f we said 
 
 oung girl 
 
 luor's, but 
 )n of life 
 omancing 
 
 itimate au- 
 ;overnment. 
 hed Orange 
 ur country, 
 the North- 
 
 about the bliss of two hearts united in the holy 
 bonds of matrimony is only heard of in the cheap 
 novel. No one can ever be perfectly happy in this 
 world ; but the one who, having been called by God 
 to a life of celibacy, is a virgin in body and mind, 
 enjoys the nearest approach to perfect felicity. 
 The average novelist knows nothing of this; it 
 is beyond his or her comprehonsion. Money and 
 marriage are their sources of happiness. 
 
 Yes, Eleanor has had a large share of domestic 
 bliss. Her spliere of usefulness was larger now 
 tlian formerly ; her virtues had increased, she was 
 serenely tranquil. 
 
 The report of a gun is occasionally heard in the 
 groves along the river. Peppe it is who is the 
 sportsman. He is still as gay as ever. His theory 
 about girls, as explained to Lorenzo, is verified in a 
 wonderful degree in his own case. The women 
 dote on him, but he is indifferent to them all. Did 
 we say all ? Ah ! one little exception there is ; 
 but, as if to prove the correctness of his views, 
 she appears indifferent to him. However, one 
 so full of resources as Peppe is likely to succeed. 
 He is following the example of his uncle, and 
 in a few months there may be a quiet wed- 
 ding. 
 
 Eight years have passed, and Canada's ablest Gov- 
 ernor-General has come and gone. The ability, 
 tact, and courtesy of Lord Dufferin have endeared 
 his name to the citizens of the Dominion. Apart 
 from the mere routine of his office he exercised a 
 powerful influence. Our national character had no 
 
432 
 
 AFTER WEARY YEARS. 
 
 definite bent previous to his arrival ; he gi'asped it 
 with a firm, though gentle liand, and cast it in a 
 broad and generous mould. 
 
 It is the December of 1878. A fleecy carpet is 
 spread over the banks of the St. Lawrence, and 
 feathery fringe adorns every bough. Morgan 
 Leahy, now a priest, and Lorenzo are walking along 
 tlie river's bank. 
 
 " So, Morgan, you intend returning to your dear 
 half-breeds in Winnipeg ?" said Lorenzo. 
 
 " Yes, I will go to them as soon as possible." 
 
 " You were in Montreal at the time of the arrival 
 of the Marrpiis of Lome. What did you think of 
 his reception ?" 
 
 " Oh, as usual on such occasions, the sensible por- 
 tion of the community was respectful and quiet ; the 
 flunkies and nonentities noisy in their demonstrative 
 loyalty. It snowed poetry and rained prose. It 
 was pleasing, however, to find that the true women 
 of Canada knew how to treat the ridiculous notice 
 about court- dresses. Who could have been the 
 author of that huge absurdity ?" 
 
 " Peppe thinks," said Lorenzo, " that it must have 
 been suggested by one related to the Russian Em- 
 peror, it so closely resembles a ukase." 
 
 "Not a bad suggestion," laughed Morgan. 
 
 " I used to think," said Lorenzo, " that it was a 
 weakness peculiar to the Irish to go crazy over a 
 countryman, but here are the Scotch rushing wildly 
 along, with their bagpipes in rest, ready to overflow 
 this fair country with a flood of screeching music. 
 I do hope that our next Governor-General may be 
 
EIGHT YEARS LATER. 
 
 433 
 
 an Afghan or Ghoorka. We would then be freed 
 from this national nuisance." 
 
 "Do you remember, Lorenzo, when I used to 
 speak about our Dominion in Rome, you thought 
 my praises extravagant. What is your opinion 
 now?" 
 
 " You were right. Our Dominion is destined 
 be a mighty nation. But one spot above all others 
 claims my love. It is Prince Edward Island. Its 
 soil is so fruitful, its climate in summer so healthy. 
 The quiet beauty of its small bays is unsurpassed. 
 Its sons are talented and brave, its daughters beauti- 
 ful and virtuous, its merchants enterprising and 
 honorable. It is the gem of the Dominion," 
 
 " That is praise indeed." 
 
 " But fully merited." 
 
 They turned away ; and turn now we must from 
 these historic sketches. We echo Lorenzo's praise 
 of Prince Edward Island. We love the great Do- 
 minion as a whole, but we fondly cherish the dear 
 little island of the gulf. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 19