I 
 
" 
 
 e 
 
FIRST GLIMPSE OF CALIFORNIA FROM 
 STEAMER " GOLDEN AGE," 1868 
 
^preface 
 
 This little Memorial commends itself to the pupils of the Con- 
 vent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart in their moments of pleasant 
 retrospection. Pursuing the paths and by-paths of years, culling 
 here and there a flower of perfumed memory, it will lend a charm 
 we trust, to their leisure hours, while it cannot fail to interest those 
 who have seen their Alma Mater's young and vigorous life culminate 
 in a grand Jubilee demonstration. 
 
 Xo event of the past is fraught with keener emotions or purer 
 joys than a visit to the old homestead, dim as the dear old relic 
 may appear in the twilight of receding years. So a ramble through 
 our school days is attended with a corresponding degree of pleasure, 
 blurred though our favorite pictures are, by the cares and anxieties 
 of life, or by the shadows of time, which are lengthening and deep- 
 ening. 
 
 But lo ! a flash from memory's sun and the whole scene is 
 aglow radiant with light, color and beauty. There are joys and 
 sorrows, struggles and defeats, high aims and lofty endeavors here, 
 a wise counsel, which like a golden thread, has woven itself into 
 our years. Now, a hallowed life, which has set its seal upon our 
 own, again, an influence, whose power for good is abiding. 
 
 Friends outside the school circle, of whose names we are justly 
 proud, have come into this memory banquet, and graced the board 
 by their genial sympathy, their beauty of speech, and melody of 
 song. We value the contribution, both for its intrinsic worth and 
 for the gracious kindness which suggested it. 
 
 We leave you, therefore, dear pupils, in communion with this 
 messenger of pleasant souvenirs, trusting to the generosity we have 
 'so well known in the past, that you will take it to your hearts in 
 kindly approval, and still more kindly welcome. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 Feast of the Holy Name of fesns, 1893. 
 
 9 
 
.* A. M. D. G. 
 
 On October 6, 1811 at St. Antoine on the river Chambly in Can- 
 ada, a little girl was born to Sir Oliver Durocher. She was baptized 
 the same day and called Eulalia. God had destined this child to 
 be a vessel of election to carry His name and His holy truth to many. 
 From early childhood she heard in the depths of her soul, the whis- 
 perings of the Holy Spirit urging her to consecrate herself to God's 
 service. Faithful to grace and ever anxious to obey these promptings 
 to higher things, she made repeated efforts to enter several different 
 religious Sisterhoods ; but insuperable obstacles always arose to bar 
 her entrance. These disappointments did not dishearten her, nor 
 cool her ardent yearning for self immolation to God's glory. They 
 served rather to increase that lofty aspiration to detach her heart 
 from everything earthly and to purify its affections. 
 
 God's ways are always wise, though not always obvious to ordi- 
 nary souls : but Eulalia Durocher was not an ordinary soul. All 
 indeed seemed dark, yet like all great minds inspired by God to do 
 great things for Him, she trusted and waited. She believed that the 
 Holy Spirit who filled her heart with such noble desires would in 
 His own time and own way show her how to accomplish them. 
 
 Having chosen for confessor the Rev. Father Telmont, an Oblate 
 Father of Mary Immaculate, she opened her soul to him ; and 
 under his enlightened direction, she at last learned God's designs 
 toward her. She would indeed consecrate herself to God's service, 
 but, it would be in a Congregation of which she would be the 
 foundress. 
 
 The Oblate Fathers at Longueuil, were men full of zeal for souls 
 and for the welfare of Holy Church. They gave Missions at this 
 
 11 
 
12 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 time throughout Canada ; and in their extensive journeys they saw 
 with much pain, the need of a superior teaching body for girls and 
 young women. Many of the poor were very ignorant ; and the ed- 
 ucation given even to the richer classes was totally insufficient for the 
 rising generation, living among a people either hostile to the Church 
 or totally indifferent to the teachings of religion. These zealous 
 men sought a remedy for this great evil by introducing from France, 
 the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. Negotiations 
 to this end were opened with the Mother Superior in France ; but 
 they came to nothing. 
 
 Father Telmont who had wished to send his penitent to that 
 congregation, now felt inspired to organize herself and companions, 
 Melodic Dufresne and Henriette Cere, into a religious Community. 
 He did so, and sent them to Longueuil, where Father Honorat was 
 Superior of the Oblates ; and Father Honorat himself became the 
 first Superior, and Father Allard, first Chaplain and Novice Master 
 and teacher of the young Community. 
 
 Earnestly and faithfully Father Allard trained them to solid 
 virtue and true perfection ; till having been transferred to Ottawa, 
 and later consecrated Bishop, he was sent to Natal, in South Africa. 
 He labored there till old age forced him to seek a rest. Providence 
 called him to Rome, where he greatly aided his early penitents and 
 novices whom he found seeking the approval of the Holy See for 
 those very constitutions and rules in which he had so long instructed 
 them. It was due to him that they were approved so soon. 
 
 It was on Nov. 1, 1843 that Eulalia Duroclier, Melodie Dufresne 
 and Henriette Cere were formed into a religious Community by the 
 permission and with the blessing of the Bishop of Montreal. After 
 a year's instruction and probation, they pronounced their first 
 vows, December 8, 1844 ; and in 1846, August loth, they took per- 
 petual vows. Eulalia Durocher became Sister Mary Rose; and when 
 elected Superior, she was called Mother Mary Rose, the title by 
 which we shall henceforth know her. Her companions were named 
 respectively, Sister M. Agnes, and Sister M. Madeleine. 
 
INTRODUCTION 13 
 
 The new Congregation had a lowly beginning, like all great bodies 
 that have done much for the honor of God. Its first years were 
 passed amid trials, difficulties and great tribulations. These were 
 years of poverty, of suffering and of heroic endurance in the face of 
 strong opposition, sometimes even from those consecrated to thasame 
 cause. The Mother House at Longueuil was very small, one room 
 serving for dormitory, study-hall, work-room and a place of recrea- 
 tion; another was used now as refectory and again as parlor. 
 The chapel was 11 x 12 feet ; and its sole ornaments were a crucifix 
 and a statue of the Blessed Virgin. In this house the Sisters kept, 
 besides the infant community, seventeen boarders ; and so low were 
 their finances, that in order to give the children enough to eat, the 
 Sisters would deny themselves not only every luxury, but often 
 the most ordinary food, their meals being often only potatoe* an <1 
 gait, 
 
 These privations were a source of real joy to the three brave 
 women. Was not this the cross stamping their work ? And 
 must not the Cross mark all of God's great works ? They were 
 children of faith ; and they saw in these effects of poverty a sign of 
 His love who chose to be born in a manger. Mother Rose knowing 
 how God's children are purified and sanctified by sufferings, rejoiced 
 in the depths of her great heart ; and throughout all these tribu- 
 lations, she remained calm and happy. She looked beyond the 
 breakers into the great future, and in strong hopeful words of 
 prophecy spoke of the final success, spread and triumph of her 
 children. 
 
 Not the least of the early trials of the Sisters was the death of 
 Mother Rose, five years after her vows ; yet in that short time she 
 had so imparted her spirit to her saintly companions and daughters 
 that the Congregation scarcely felt her loss. She continued to live 
 in Mother Agnes, Mother Madeleine, Mother Veronica and Mother 
 Teresa. They had her strong faith and burning zeal for God's glory 
 and the good of Holy Church. Very humble and mortified, totally 
 forgetful of self, inflamed with ardent love of Jesus, whom they 
 
14 SILVER jritlLKK M 
 
 received almost daily in holy Communion, these noble souls carried 
 on the work of their Mother. No sacrifice was too great, no labor too 
 difficult when there was question of God's glory, and the salvation 
 of souls. Nothing disheartened, nothing appalled them in their 
 efforts to give a Christian education to those for whom Christ had 
 died. Their hearts like that of Mother Rose went out to the little 
 children of the land. 
 
 A three-fold blessing fell upon this rising Congregation. The first 
 was its early poverty and consequent sufferings ; the second the 
 union of mind and heart betw r een the Foundress and her first com- 
 panions who continued her work in the same spirit of faith and by 
 the same lofty means ; the third, in the enlightened and zealous 
 Spiritual Fathers whom God sent them ; viz : the saintly Bishop 
 Allard, its first Novice Master and life-long friend ; Rt. Rev. Dr. 
 Guigues, Bishop of Ottawa, whose devoted friendship and assistance 
 it long enjoyed; and finally the venerable Archbishop Bourget, 
 who during forty-two years was its father and constant protector. 
 From the day he blessed the beginning of the Congregation in 1843 
 till his death in 1885, this great and wise prelate watched over all 
 its affairs, gave it advice, assistance, counsel and protection. He 
 was, in fact, a second founder. 
 
 The constitutions and rules received from the Sisters of the Holy 
 Names in France were modified under his supervision so as to meet 
 the wants and fit the circumstances of a new people and a new 
 world ; and out of respect to those Sisters the same beautiful name 
 was retained for this young American Congregation. 
 
 These constitutions as adopted by Mother Rose's Sisters are a 
 masterpiece of religious legislation, and they display great spirit- 
 ual foresight and an intimate knowledge of the wants of the people 
 as well as the dangers to be met in supplying those wants. 
 
 The end proposed to one entering the Congregation is the 
 loftiest possible God's greater glory and the salvation of souls ; 
 and the means by which this divine end must be ever and untir- 
 
INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 ingly sought, are at once most practical and truly wise, securing 
 first the spiritual advancement and perfection of the religious, and 
 yet urging her onward in procuring the salvation of others. 
 
 They provide for the formation of thorough Christian teachers- 
 heroic- women whose time, strength, talents, zeal are all constantly 
 directed to the one grand object. Hence the greatest discretion and 
 prudence is demanded in admitting postulants to the Congregation ; 
 and when admitted, very great care in training them to be ideal 
 teachers, religious, learned, apt, zealous imbued not only with the 
 true science of the saints, this is a sine qua non qualification, but 
 also thoroughly instructed in all branches of learning. 
 
 If any have tastes and talents for special branches of science or 
 art, they are assisted and urged to cultivate them. A mistress of 
 studies chosen for her talents, learning and experience instructs 
 the young teachers, and supervises their studies and reading ; and 
 the rule imposes two hours of daily study upon all. 
 
 This constant attention to the education of the novices and 
 their formation into intelligent and practical religious teachers, re- 
 veals the secret of that marvellous success which has followed the 
 labors of these ladies all over the country. The first teachers in 
 the Congregation were of very superior order and highly cultured 
 in the sciences ; and there have always been among them many 
 gifted souls, eminent not only for virtue but also for their great 
 knowledge and marked success in imparting their learning to 
 children. 
 
 Mother Rose wished her daughters to strive to excel in all that 
 goes to make a true teacher ; but they must be eminent for their 
 knowledge of the Christian Doctrine and possess tact and skill in 
 imparting it to others. In her visitations she was wont to impress 
 this upon the minds of all ; and the children would say, " All she 
 tells us is : ' Love God and learn your catechism.' " 
 
 The Sisters of the Holy Names must be not only learned, pains- 
 taking teachers, their rules require them to be Apostles ; they must 
 
1 SILVER JUBILEK MEMORIAL 
 
 form their pupils into Christian women, into women of enlight- 
 ened faith, of high principle, of angelic purity and true Christian 
 charity : they will in the words of the rule, (chapter I, Art. II,) 
 " inspire children with hatred of vice, desire of virtue and with the fair 
 and love of God ; " and lest the good seed sown so lovingly be de- 
 stroyed or bring forth no fruit, the teachers must as far as possible 
 watch with renewed care their pupils after they have left the school 
 and gone forth amid the snares and dangers of the world. 
 
 Their rule bids them welcome these young souls seeking counsel 
 or sympathy, and when possible to unite them into sodalities, to 
 procure for them good reading and all healthful help and association 
 that may assist to bring to perfection the seed sown in the class-room. 
 They must in the words of the rule, " Assiduously foster ther/ro*//// 
 of virtue in the souls of their pupils more particularly of those 
 who having left school are engaged in active life." (Chap. II, Sec. 3.) 
 
 Though the primary object of the Congregation was the Chris- 
 tian education of the children of the poor and middle classes, as is 
 expressly stated in the constitutions; yet from the beginning, the 
 Sisters have directed schools and academies for the higher studies 
 suitable to young ladies, and in these Academies have been given 
 courses in Belles-lettres, the sciences, music, etc., and those accom- 
 plishments usual to a finished female education. 
 
 In 1863 the saintly Pius IX praised the labors of the Sisters of 
 the Holy Names ; on Sept. 4, 1877, the Congregation was formally 
 approved by the Holy See, and the constitutions, rules, etc., were 
 approved by a Brief of Pope Leo XIII, dated Dec. 22, 1X86. 
 
 Space does not permit us to dwell longer upon these admirable 
 constitutions, nor to speak of the wise form of government they em- 
 body. In reading them and above all in witnessing their applica- 
 tion to the exigencies of the time, one discovers the over shadowing 
 influence of those two master-minds, the gentle Bishop of Geneva, 
 St. Francis de Sales, and the soldier of Loyola, St. Ignatius. 
 
 The early growth of the Congregation was slow and steady, yet 
 
BIRTHPLACE OF MOTHER ROSE, SAINT ANTOINE 
 
 FOUNDATION HOUSE, LONGUEUIL, P. Q. 
 
 MOTHER MARY ROSE, FOUNDRESS 
 
INTRODUCTION 17 
 
 ' 
 with an energy indicative of its American origin, it pushed at once 
 
 into the front rank. Beside teaching bodies venerable by their long 
 and successful labors in educating the young, and in its subsequent 
 labors throughout the Dominion of Canada and the United States, 
 it has held its place with honor. This is due, after God's blessing 
 upon their work, to the enlightened labors and wise administration 
 of many gifted women whom God called to serve His cause of 
 Christian education in the humble serge of a Sister of the Holy 
 Xames. 
 
 The Mother House and Novitiate at Longueuil were transferred 
 in 1860 to Hochelaga, now a part of the city of Montreal. This is 
 the residence of the Mother General and her assistants, and the chief 
 Convent of this " Pious Congregation " to use the words of the Papal 
 brief of 1886. 
 
 Since Pius IX blessed their work in 1863, the increase and 
 spread of the Congregation have been very rapid ; and now it has 
 Convents and Schools thoughout Canada and in many parts of the 
 United States. 
 
 In Canada it has seventy-four Houses and directs thirty- 
 two parochial schools, whilst in the United States there are seven- 
 teen Houses and twenty-eight parochial schools. The pupils 
 attending their Academies and schools number no less than fifteen 
 thousand, and there are nearly three hundred sodalities under their 
 Care and direction. 
 
 However useful and pleasant it would be to follow the spread 
 of the Congregation and to tell of its great work and triumphs in 
 the cause of education, the limits assigned me warn me to confine 
 my few words to their labors in our own State ; and from what we 
 shall see accomplished here, we may form a fair judgment of their 
 work in other spots favored by their presence. 
 
 Twenty-five years ago, on May 10, six Sisters of the Holy Names 
 arrived in Oakland and took possession of a neat Convent building 
 on Webster Street, and a few days later, they began teaching the 
 
18 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 classes in the parochial school at St. Mary's Church. Only one of 
 that pioneer band remains in Oakland, viz. : Sister M. Celestine 
 who now presides over the school in St. Frances de Sales' parish. 
 
 On May 31, the first pupil entered the boarding-school on Web- 
 ster Street ; and this little school of the Convent of our Lady of the 
 Sacred Heart has grown to be one of the finest female educational 
 institutions west of the Rocky Mountains. Besides the great Acad- 
 emy for young ladies, there is a large Novitiate and Convent, and 
 each 'morning bands of teachers go forth to take charge of three 
 large and flourishing parochial schools. 
 
 From this Community have been founded the Convent of the 
 Holy Names in St. Joseph's parish, 10th Street, San Francisco, the 
 Academy at Ramona in the South, and that at Spokane Falls in 
 Washington. The six Sisters have increased to be one hundred and 
 five ; and in the interval seventeen have fallen at their posts. Nigh 
 seventeen hundred children are daily under their instruction, whilst 
 all over the State are vast numbers of exemplary Christian maidens 
 and mothers formed by their teaching. 
 
 With much reason may the citizens of Oakland pride them- 
 selves on the stately Convent by the shore of Lake Merritt a thing 
 of beauty to the eyes of men, and a place of benediction in the sight 
 of God. Twenty-five years ago this site was in the country, on one 
 side was wild, brush-covered land that formed a cover for rabbit and 
 quail ; on the other the hunter was lured along a silent shore by 
 flocks of duck and snipe, mud hens and rail. 
 
 When in 1865 Rev. Michael King, Assistant Pastor at St. Pat- 
 rick's in San Francisco, was appointed Pastor of Oakland, the whole 
 population of the city did not exceed three thousand souls ; but the 
 young Pastor with true foresight, divined the great future of the City 
 of Oaks, and with characteristic prudence he at once began to 
 prepare for that future. He wished to have the mothers of his par- 
 ish, educated Christian women, wisely reflecting that if he could 
 accomplish that, his work as pastor would redound to the glory of 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 God and to the spread of the Church. Happy that land whose 
 mothers are truly Christian. 
 
 Whilst Assistant Pastor of St. Patrick's in San Francisco, 
 Father King met Mother Teresa, Mother General of the Sisters of the 
 Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. She was on her way to visit her 
 Sisters in Oregon and had with her a number of Sisters going thither 
 to teach. At the request of the late saintly Archbishop Alemany, 
 he made arrangements with the Mother General for the foundation 
 of a Convent of the Holy Names in San Francisco. The Mother 
 General promised to send Sisters ; and they were appointed and pre- 
 pared to come, but financial difficulties prevented His Grace from 
 securing the ground for a Convent as he had wished, and hence their 
 coming was postponed until a suitable place and buildings should 
 be procured. 
 
 Father King, full of plans for his parish now bethought him of 
 these Sisters awaiting the call of the Archbishop ; and he be- 
 sought His Grace to waive his claim to them for San Francisco, 
 and to allow them to go to Oakland. He pleaded so well that his 
 petition was granted. The zealous Pastor at once took means to se- 
 cure a lot suitable for a Convent and school buildings. This was not 
 an easy task when money was wanting, and few shared his own 
 ardent aspirations. 
 
 Father King had what was better than gold, a stout heart and a 
 strong will with a great confidence in God, and trust in his own 
 flock. Not a few perhaps thought him over sanguine. Why should 
 such a small parish undertake such an extraordinary and expensive 
 work ? Was not the Pastor asking too much ? Would not a more 
 modest school do for many years to come ? 
 
 His Grace full of prudence wished him to buy a plot near the 
 church ; but neither pecuniary difficulties, nor the prudent sugges- 
 tions of the Archbishop, nor the thousand other obstacles that arose 
 could check the ardor or change the broad views of Father King. 
 
 He ever looked into the great future of Oakland ; and he would 
 
20 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 build for that future. His choice of a site for the Convent was truly 
 happy ; and it would be difficult to have made a better one. The 
 land having been secured, the Convent building must be erected. 
 It was here that Father King revealed his true character and proved 
 that he knew the hearts of his people. 
 
 Having procured picks, shovels and a wheel-barrow, and having 
 secured the co-operation of one of his parishioners, Father King 
 with his friend repaired to the land purchased. They took off their 
 coats and having traced the ground plan for a building 30 x 40, be- 
 gan to dig the foundations of the first Convent of the Sisters of the 
 Holy Names in California. The writer thinks a picture telling the 
 story of this first day's work should adorn the Convent walls. 
 
 When the Catholics saw their Pastor pick in hand digging awn y 
 like a common workman, their hearts were stirred and their better 
 nature moved. Father King's Convent was not long building. His 
 flock, charmed and completely won by his self devotion, soon put 
 into his hands four thousand five hundred dollars ; and by May 
 1868 he had the building ready to receive Sister M. Salome and her 
 five companions, the pioneer colony. 
 
 Every year since has witnessed the increase of that little 
 colony, and widened the circle of their work. Pupils have 
 come in numbers to enjoy the great advantages of their teach- 
 ing ; and God has sent into their ranks many zealous, talented 
 women, eager to serve God and instruct God's little ones under the 
 banner of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. 
 
 This increase in number enabled them to open other Convents 
 and schools. Hence in August, 1871, as Father King in 1865 fore- 
 told Archbishop Alemany, a colony went from Oakland to take 
 possession of the Convent in St. Joseph's parish on 10th Street, San 
 Francisco. Nine years later St. Lawrence parochial school, Temescal , 
 fell under their care ; and on October 5, 1886, Sisters of the Holy 
 Names were seen teaching in St. Rose's parochial school, San Fran- 
 cisco. On July 15, 1887, we find them in charge of the parochial 
 
INTRODUCTION 21 
 
 school of St. Francis de Sales parish, Oakland. But the most im- 
 portant foundation was that of a Convent at Ramona, Los Angeles 
 County. The buildings were erected in 1889, and the Academy 
 opened to pupils in 1890. Besides this wonderful expansion we 
 must not forget the little colony sent all the way to Spokane Falls, 
 Washington, from Oakland. 
 
 The little building erected by the zeal of Father King was soon 
 so overcrowded that in 1873 a more commodious structure was 
 built. This also proving inadequate for increasing wants, was so 
 enlarged and repaired in 1885, as to make it one of the best ap- 
 pointed and most elegant Academies west of the Rocky Mountains. 
 In this same year also was completed a large and beautiful Chapel. 
 
 The increase in the number of members has been so gratifying 
 that in 1892 a large Novitiate building was added to the Convent 
 buildings. We must also notice the purchase of a farm near Hay- 
 wards, upon which is a pretty incipient villa, called Our Lady's 
 Nook, a country retreat for the convalescent and the much worked 
 and weary teachers. Hither they go on vacation days to find rest, 
 and new vigor for the long hours in class-rooms. 
 
 The first Superior, Sr. M. Salome now in Key West, Florida, 
 was succeeded in a few months by Mother M. J. Baptist who 
 governed the Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart during nine- 
 teen years, with great ability and wonderful success. Mother Bap- 
 tist was a remarkable woman of superior talents and great powers 
 of administration. Full of the true spirit of her Pious Institute, 
 zealous for God's glory and keenly alive to the importance of a true 
 Catholic education, she threw her whole soul into the work given 
 her Congregation. After God's blessing the great success of the 
 Sisters of the Holy Names in California is due to the energy, good 
 sense and tireless zeal of Mother M. J. Baptist. The happy results 
 of her government in California pointed her out as a fit person to 
 govern the whole Congregation ; and in 1886 she was elected 
 Mother General. 
 
22 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 She was followed in the Superiorship of the Convent of our 
 Lady of the Sacred Heart by Mother Michael of the Saints, until the 
 appointment of the present Superior, Mother Elizabeth on June 
 22, 1888. This excellent lady continued the great work begun by 
 Mother Baptist, in the same spirit and with the same happy results. 
 To her motherly solicitude, her hard working teachers are indebted 
 for Our Lady's Nook. Possessed of fine administrative ability, 
 thorough knowledge of the wants of the country, and a great good 
 heart, she is at once a wise Superior and a tender Mother. 
 
 With such Superiors who have been seconded by most devoted 
 self-sacrificing Assistants and by teachers of great excellence, and 
 by religious of rare virtue, the progress of the Congregation is no 
 longer a marvel. The Novitiate is most flourishing and is a true 
 nursery of saintly religious and earnest, enlightened teachers 
 teachers who have before them a great field. 
 
 The grand work done during the dead twenty-five full years is 
 a pledge of yet greater work to be done. This Congregation has a 
 great future before it in California ; the good done by the Convent 
 on Lake Merritt and its zealous band of teachers will increase a 
 hundred fold. It takes no prophet to say that Ramona yet strug- 
 gling in the South will rival its mother in good deeds, and in turn 
 become mother of many Houses and Schools. At its silver jubilee, 
 the chronicler will record greater things than we have done. 
 
 Our introduction grows beyond its limits, yet one word more 
 to point out a charming trait of these Sisters, a legacy from their 
 gentle Mother Rose. She would have her daughters thorough 
 teachers and zealous Apostles ; but before all they must be devoted 
 friends and loving mothers to their pupils. Judging from the his- 
 tory of the Congregation, it seems to be a grace of their vocation to 
 be such, and to win and hold the hearts of those who study any 
 length of time under them. 
 
 This unselfish devotedness of these Sisters begets in their grate- 
 ful children an attachment which is undying and which has a char- 
 
INTRODUCTION 23 
 
 acteristic sincerity and strength that is as beautiful as it is rare. The 
 writer has been so charmed by this devotedness in which there is no 
 softness, and so struck by this unusual attachment that he deems 
 it worthy of special mention, revealing as it does the work of the 
 true Christian teacher. 
 
 We must close The Congregation of the Holy Names of Jesus 
 and Mary has deserved well of society and of God's Church in Cal- 
 ifornia. During a quarter of a century it has labored earnestly in 
 sanctifying and lifting up thousands of children who have received 
 from its devoted teachers a Christian education ; and to-day they are 
 training in California alone, seventeen hundred girls to Christian 
 virtue, and instructing them in all branches of learning. 
 
 Happy, thrice happy that country which is blessed by such 
 teachers ! for they who form the Mothers of a nation, shape the des- 
 tiny of that nation. 
 
 R. E. K., S. J., 
 
 Santa Clara, Cal, 
 
 As WE advance in life we look onward less and upward more. 
 We say we are less joyous but we are more peaceful. When every 
 outward object has failed us we turn to whatever temple we have 
 erected within, and if the outside structure has not entirely hidden 
 all, there will be bright star-flashes and glorious sunshine struggling 
 down to us. Kate 
 
// v ,y jf 
 
 s-Z*sfaS^ ^&j^t,4tSt*/ ? ^ffl&swtt/^ 
 / f ' >f 
 
of 
 
 (Woven for the Silver Jubilee of the Convent of Our Lady of 
 the Sacred Heart, Oakland, California, and offered with fondest con- 
 gratulations to the Sisters of the Holy Names, founders and faithful 
 guardians of that Sacred Home of Religion and Science.) 
 
 Thus, from out the Sunset Land 
 
 Love's celestial message came ! 
 "Consecrated vestal band ! 
 
 ' Bearers of My Saving Name, 
 " Twined with hers, to whose blest care 
 
 " Once her God His Childhood gave, 
 " Rise ! and seek My Vineyard fair 
 
 Waiting by the Western wave ! " 
 
 Heeding well that summons sweet 
 
 On the Master's quest to roam, 
 Left His handmaids lov'd retreat 
 
 In their far Canadian home. , 
 And, where Western hills are crowned 
 
 With a fadeless purple glow 
 Fitting spot for toil they found, 
 
 Five and twenty years ago ! 
 
 By the quiet lake that hid 
 
 Near a City's throbbing heart, 
 Shrined in calmness, well-nigh 'mid 
 
 Tumult of that busy mart, 
 
 * 25 
 
26 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Builded they their simple home, 
 
 And, Heav'nward, in the sunny glow, 
 
 Reared the cross that crowned its dome 
 Five and twenty years ago I 
 
 In the Master's service there 
 
 Have they labored long and well ? 
 Let the ripened harvest fair, 
 
 Let the laden vineyard tell I 
 Yes ! by countless treasures won, 
 
 Favored hearts full gladly show 
 Fadeless fruit of toil begun 
 
 Five and twenty years ago ! 
 
 In the worldly desert air 
 
 Blooming with celestial grace, 
 Or in cloister-gardens fair 
 
 Finding safest, fittest place 
 Winners of unfading fame, 
 
 Grateful meed they well may owe 
 To the guides that hither came, 
 
 Five and twenty years ago I 
 
 Guardian of that glorious band I 
 
 With thy vowed ones, now, to thee, 
 Daughters of that Golden Land, 
 
 Dwellers by the Sunset Sea 
 First and fondest tribute pay 
 
 For the love that bade thee go. 
 Leading o'er that unknown way, 
 
 Five and twenty years ago I 
 
 Sower of the earliest seed 
 In this Paradise-parterre 1 
 
.1 WREATH OF RHYME 27 
 
 Gather, now, thy labor's meed 
 
 Of its bloom and fruitage rare 
 Take thy guerdon, grandly won, 
 
 Grateful hearts, where ripened, glow 
 Harvests rich, thy toil begun 
 
 Five and twenty years ago I 
 
 Fitting head of Order blest ! * 
 
 When a golden gala-day 
 Shall replace, within the West 
 
 Faded gleam of silver ray, 
 May'st thou greet its festal sheen, 
 
 Saying, " Hail ! Memento-glow 
 " Of that blest foundation-scene 
 
 " Of fifty glorious years ago ! " 
 
 Now, a fadeless wreath of fame 
 
 Bring we, on his brow to place f 
 Who doth wear his royal name, 
 
 With such meek and Christ-like grace, 
 And, who, at his Lord's behest 
 
 Called ye, sacred band ! to sow 
 Heavenly seed within the West 
 
 Five and twenty years ago ! 
 
 Faithful shepherd ! Pastor true ! 
 
 Serving e'en His u least ones " needs ! 
 Dauntless hand to dare, and do 
 
 For the Master, hero-deeds ! 
 
 * Rev. Mother Baptist, for seventeen years Superior of the Convent, and 
 now Mother-General of the Order. 
 
 tRev. M. King, Pastor of the Church of the Immaculate Conception, 
 Oakland. 
 
28 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 'Mid his labors grandly wrought, 
 This is crowned with brightest glow : 
 
 He these venial toilers brought, 
 Five and twenty years ago ! 
 
 And he planned their earliest home 
 
 Finding rest for Faith Divine, 
 With fair Science, 'neath its dome 
 
 And, unto its simple shrine 
 At his summons, came his Lord 
 
 Living Manna to bestow, 
 Love-sent laborers' rich reward, 
 
 Five and twenty years ago ! 
 
 Now, a noble structure stands 
 
 By the bright lake's peaceful breast- 
 But his Heavenward-lifted hands, 
 
 And his Ministrations blest 
 Guides and guided still may claim, 
 
 Still his care paternal know, 
 E'en as those who hither came 
 
 Five and twenty years ago! 
 
 So, a festal garland fair 
 
 His by sacred right should be 
 He hath won a worthy share 
 
 In this Silver jubilee 
 And its star-like rays serene 
 
 O'er him shed memento-glow 
 Of that blest foundation-scene 
 
 Of five and twenty' years ago ! 
 
 Fadeless picture I Still complete ! 
 All the band then gathered here 
 
A WREATH OF RHYME 29 
 
 Twined in deathless union sweet, 
 
 Brightly visioned, yet appear 
 E'en the loved ones, gone before 
 
 To the bliss ye all shall know, 
 Join the sacred scene once more 
 
 Of five and twenty years ago. 
 
 Aye ! enshrined in silv'ry light, 
 
 Gazing from their home above 
 Sainted faces, pure and bright, 
 
 Lavish smiles of fadeless love 
 On their Convent home adowii, 
 
 While each saith, in murmurs low, 
 " Sisters! toiling for the crown 
 
 " By love promised, long ago, 
 
 "Patience! for a little space! 
 
 Yours our rich reward shall be 
 Passing feasts shall yield their place 
 
 To immortal Jubilee. 
 Then, 'mid gleam of matchless rays 
 
 Ye shall say : 'How faint the glow 
 Of our earthly festal days, 
 
 Faded, endless years ago! ' " 
 
 HARRIET M. SKIDMORE (MARIE) 
 May, 189 S. 
 
 'Tis THE capacity for sorrow that measures the refinement and 
 delicacy of the character. K. K. 
 
Listen to the silvery chime of the Jubilee Bells! borne along the 
 balmy air of May, to the violet-hued mountains of the Coast-Range. 
 The great finger of the Dial of Time points to a quarter of a Century 
 since the Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, first 
 saw its Portals open and its joyous Pupils flock under its protecting 
 spire. 
 
 As the rippling laugh of the scholars, old and new, re-echoes far 
 and wide in the flower-decked rooms and in the perfumed grounds ; 
 let us reverently lift the misty veil of time and cast a look at the 
 dear Pioneers of the beloved Sisterhood. What a fair vision meets 
 our view. 
 
 It is the holy hour of Vespers in the Cathedral of the City of 
 Mary, far-famed Montreal. The Bishop sits on his throne in the 
 Sanctuary, surrounded by a halo of Priests and Acolytes. Loud 
 peals the great Organ, and solemnly the deep-toned voices of the 
 Choir chant the thrilling prayers of the King Prophet. The last 
 sounds have died away along the arched vault. Innumerable tapers 
 illumine the grand Altar ; the incense clouds the air; the Bishop 
 kneels in his Benediction Cope. But why, before ascending the 
 steps, does he look up? We follow his gaze and behold, away off, 
 above the Altar, six black-robed Nuns kneeling at the feet of the 
 Queen of Heaven, in a small Oratory opening into the Church. 
 With solemn prayer the Lord's Minister places them under the care 
 
 30 
 
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO 31 
 
 of the Virgin, " Star of the Sea," for they are going to unfurl the 
 banner of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary in the far-away land 
 of the Pacific Slope, and many a weary day they shall journey over 
 the Oceans before they reach the Golden Gate of California. This 
 is the eve of their departure, soon shall we see them on their way 
 at the bidding of obedience. Gray dawns the early April day, but 
 in the dim light we can see our dear young pioneers kneeling in the 
 Chapel of their sweet Convent-Home, Hochelaga. Two Missionaries, 
 bound for distant parts, are pronouncing their final vows ; one, is 
 now an inhabitant of beautiful, pine-clad Oregon, and the other, the 
 leader of the little band, is dwelling in the shadow of the Palm- 
 trees of the coral isle, Key-West. Not many hours has the day 
 grown older, when on this 13th of April, 1868, the tread of many 
 feet is heard in the hitherto silent corridor : 'Tis the numerous 
 ranks of the Sisterhood, who have been warned by the sound of the 
 bell, to come and bid Adieu to the six travellers taking their depar- 
 ture for the far West. 
 
 Jt is the 15th. The rain is flooding the streets, imparting a dismal 
 look to everything around, but these brave pioneers wend their way 
 to the dark, looming ship that is to bear them over the waters of 
 the Atlantic. The deck of the Ocean Queen is damp and slip- 
 pery, and the weeping skies have turned the azure hue of the Bay 
 into inky blackness. But, lo! the dark clouds roll away, and the 
 sun, darting his million shafts of light around, illuminates the 
 scene. The whistle shrieks, the sails are hoisted, a thrill of life runs 
 through the huge frame, the vessel has left its moorings and is turn- 
 ing her prow seaward. Handkerchiefs are waving sad Adieus. 
 Our Pioneers have commenced their westward journey, they are 
 straining their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the dear Mothers and 
 Sisters who watch the receding ship. Let us follow them in spirit 
 over the wide expanse and eagerly listen ! 
 
 " The hours and days have come and passed like the foam of the 
 crested wave. We are now at the 25th of changeable April. It is 
 
32 SILVER JUBILEE MK.MORIAL 
 
 early morn and we sit on deck, looking at a far-away sail skirting 
 the horizon. It would seem like a phantom ship, were it not con- 
 verted by the brilliant day-light into a radiant object. What a 
 sight meets our view as we turn our gaze westward : a long sandy 
 shore, gleaming in the distance, tall trees balancing their rich, green 
 foliage against the dazzling skies. The majestic Ocean Queen advan- 
 ces leisurely on the mirrored bosom of the great Atlantic and now, we 
 see a small to\\n nestling among orange -groves, and graceful cocoa- 
 nut trees waving in the warm sunshine their plume-like branches. 
 We are in the tropics. Aspinwall next greets us, the whole of the 
 dark population turns out to see the anchoring of the crowded ship. 
 To our northern eyes, their costume is all too scant}', but when we 
 will have felt the overpowering heat a few hours, we will wonder at 
 it no longer. We land with umbrellas over our heads, not that it is 
 drizzling but the hot sun permeating everything, gives us too ardent 
 a welcome. Now we are seated in the kindly shade of a veranda 
 whence we can see the dusky people of the Isthmus doing their 
 marketing. Look at the exuberant piles of the Golden-apple of the 
 South, the luscious bananas hanging in serried ranks on the long 
 stem, the delicious pine-apple with its crown of glory. The merry 
 urchins run about, wearing head -gear made of the fibres of the 
 cocoanut-tree, with green parrots perched on their shoulders, trying 
 to sell them to the passengers going to California. Some of the for- 
 eigners buy the prattlers to make a new addition to the crew. The.re 
 is a goodly noise of screaming, talking, parrot and monkey chatter- 
 ing, and guitar-twanging. At last we hear above all that hubbub, 
 the sharp whistle of the locomotive. In haste we board the train 
 and are carried across the isthmus at thundering speed, whirling 
 past dark, luxuriant forests, with immense palm-trees waving lan- 
 guidly in the sultry air their huge branches of leaves, interlaced 
 with long trailing vines, covered with large scarlet blossoms. AVe 
 rush over the Chagres river, a beautiful little stream of limpid 
 water coming down from these deep tropical shadows, to sparkle in 
 
REV. MICHAEL KING 
 RECTOR CHURCH OF THE IMMACULATE CONCEPTION, OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
TWENTY-FIVE YE All* Ado 33 
 
 the clear day-light. On its banks there is a small village whose 
 houses look quite airy, being built on long stakes that makes the 
 whole under part a kind of veranda, where the sleepy inhabitants 
 may rest at leisure. Some of them look up now and seem sur- 
 prised at the great amount of useless activity we display. 
 
 From the terminus on the shores of the Pacific, we are conveyed 
 in small boats to the Golden Age. Our frail barks dance on the 
 waters and tumble down the foamy waves like mere shells ; it is 
 rather uncomfortable, but we soon reach our steamer and are taken 
 aboard. In the distance the quaint old city of Panama is lost in 
 the glory of the dying day. The Golden Age has managed to 
 secure 1300 inmates for the trip to the Western Emporium. 
 
 April is waning and we are still on the billowy home of the 
 mariner. Our patiently plodding steamer is taking a short rest. 
 We are on the Mexican Coast, right in front of Acapulco, and can 
 hear the chime of silvery-toned Spanish bells. It is the hour of 
 prayer in the old Church on that high white bluff running down to 
 the sea. We seem to be locked in, as all around are mountains at 
 whose base we see plantations of strange looking trees ; their tall 
 naked trunks would be ugly were it not for their glorious tufted 
 heads. The town is small but possesses an old fort, which frowns 
 on us, as if to ask our errand in this " terra caliente " of old Mexico. 
 
 The smiling month of May has dawned for us on the great 
 Ocean. The Pacific has borne its name well for us ; its waters rip- 
 ple like that of a beautiful lake in a secluded dell. It is already the 
 sixth, in the evening, and we are silently watching the sunset gates 
 swinging on their golden hinges. Violet, pink, and soft sea-green 
 tints spread over the heavens, while gorgeous clouds of trailing light 
 fling the loveliest hues over the tranquil waters. Our ship is fol- 
 lowed by the diaphanous colors and its huge blackness disappears in 
 roseate beauty. By and by Twilight closes her eyes and the Queen 
 of Night steps forth. Lo ! it illumines the mountains of a distant 
 shore. All breathless we look, and behold for the first time the dim 
 outlines of our Promised Land, fair California. 
 
34 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 It is May the tenth, we have, at last, reached the harbor of the 
 great Metropolis that stands within the portals of the Golden Gate. 
 Our steamer has stolen in silently, shrouded in the midnight gloom. 
 What a glorious vision awaits our waking hour ! A large city lies 
 before us and though it is very early, the infant day having barely 
 opened its eyes, there is even then great bustle and confusion. The 
 street-cars are rumbling down to the wharf, carriages whirl past, 
 busy men are banging baggage up and down, and heavy carts are al- 
 ready on their way toward lofty commercial houses. As we ride down 
 the thoroughfares, everything is beautiful to our sea-wearied eyes ; 
 even the dust-covered shrubs by the way are an elysian verdure to 
 us lone voyagers. Present!}', winding up a hill we come to the door 
 of the hospitable Sisters of Mercy, who receive us with open arms. 
 Rev. Father M. King comes to meet and salute the little band that 
 have traveled so far to help him in the arduous labors of his ministry. 
 Never has the great heart of the Pastor failed us in need, and always 
 has he been the Father and Guardian of his religious children. 
 
 We cross the bay on a little steamer and land at the " Point,' 1 
 a veritable forest of gnarled California oaks. Flowers are nodding 
 their lovely blossoms everywhere and the air is perfumed with their 
 fragrant breath. Our good Pastor's home is literally embowered in 
 roses. Further on by the banks of a smiling lake, back of the lofty 
 mountains on whose top still sparkle last winter's snows, in a verdant 
 valley stands the modest little Convent which is to be our future 
 home. We step down and the doors of the Convent of Our Lady of 
 the Sacred Heart, Oakland, open to admit its first inmates ; Sr. M. 
 Salome, Sr. M. Anthony, Sr. M. Marceline, Sr. M. Celestine, Sr. M. 
 Seraphine and Sr. M. Cyril. We exclaim with the Prophet : 
 " Beautiful is thy tabernacle, 0* Israel ! here shall we dwell to serve 
 the Lord together." 
 
 A PIONEER. 
 
Pea<j>b pay, Jepb. 2yk\3, 1868 
 (AFTER THE OPENING OF THE CONVENT) 
 
 The year is clad in leafy garb 
 
 Of crimson bright and mellow gold, 
 As if she mocked the angel death 
 
 Whose stroke would lay her pale and cold. 
 Now fades the mountain's velvet robe, 
 
 'Neath summer's warm and fervent kiss; 
 The warble of the woodland bird, 
 
 We sadly in the valley miss. 
 
 The autumn winds e'er sing to all 
 A requiem beautiful and wild, 
 A whisper of the world of rest 
 Awaiting those who've nobly toiled. 
 Though freighted is its perfumed breath 
 . With sadness, yet a welcome day 
 Of sunshine does it usher in, 
 
 Through misty shadows gone astray. 
 
 Our hearts all filled with love and joy 
 In gladness we have gather'd here. 
 
 To lift our voice in childish praise 
 And love, to one, whom all revere. 
 
 35 
 
36 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 But words are empty things at best; 
 
 But echo feelings of the heart 
 And show unto a careless world, 
 
 Of what we feel, the weaker part. 
 
 Father, ne'er can we give thanks 
 
 For holy work so well begun; 
 For purest training and the best, 
 
 Of the persuasive tireless nun. 
 Within the sanctuary's pale; 
 
 Within the chapel hushed and dim, 
 Commingled e'er will be thy name 
 
 In our sincere thanksgiving hymn. 
 
 Forgotten, never, in our prayer, 
 
 Where'er our footsteps chance to roam 
 Will be thy name, Father, dear, 
 
 Or our beloved Convent home. 
 And yet 'tis not an abbey old 
 
 That has escaped the tyrant's grasp, 
 And guiltless are its virgin walls, 
 
 Of withered ivy's loving clasp; 
 
 Nor old and mouldering column high, 
 
 Nor ruined, crumbling, moss-topped arch, 
 In whispers low and mournful speak 
 
 Of cruel Time's remorseless march. 
 A simple tombstone and a cross 
 
 O'ershadows now the flowering sod, 
 And tells us that one angel more 
 
 Now pleads for us in the courts of God. 
 
 Through infancy we look upon 
 A vista of oncoming years, 
 
ADDRESS GIVEN TO REV. FATHER KING 37 
 
 And seek through dimness to descry 
 The guerdon which their ending bears. 
 
 For thine own self, a monument, 
 
 More grand than hero's laureled tomb, 
 
 Thou rearest crowning it with flowers 
 More fair than valley's richest bloom. 
 
 But God, in justice can reward 
 
 So holy and so high a deed ; 
 The harvest may'st thou live to see 
 
 Of what thou so west now in seed. 
 To see this Convent stately rise 
 
 Still guided by this Sister band; 
 Its pupils, may'st thou live to see, 
 
 The gifted, noblest in the land. 
 
 When thee, the angel death will free, 
 From weary care and crushing strife, 
 
 Oh! mayst thou greet thy children each, 
 In that, the purer, better life. 
 
 S. M. I. 
 
 EVERY day is a syllable ; every month a word to make the sen- 
 tence of a vear. A". K. 
 
of fp. ^apbrade of the facr^d <fleaph 
 
 J J 
 
 'Tis the feast of the angel of healing, 
 In the glow of October's late hours, 
 
 And the day has been vocal with wishes 
 And wreathed with the fairest of flowers. 
 
 Like the songs and the smiles of the angel 
 
 Of peace and of joy all the day, 
 From the true hearts of kindred and friendship 
 
 What sunshine, has flooded my way. 
 
 What greetings and prayers, soulful treasures, 
 That are part of the life whence they flow, 
 
 Tender tokens of selfless remembrance, 
 
 Blooms too bright for this brief life below. 
 
 Blooms of kindness so sweet and so fragrant 
 That they thrill me with grateful surprise, 
 
 For they bear on their exquisite petals, 
 The breath of God's love from the skies. 
 
 'Tis the feast of the angel of healing, 
 Of the angel of Peace and of Love, 
 
 But I miss in the glow of the sunset 
 The gleam of a snowy- winged dove. 
 
JIE.MKNBRANCE OF SR. GERTRUDE OF THE 8 AC RED HEART 39 
 
 A message that never yet failed me 
 
 With its burden of wishes and prayers, 
 
 But the sweet Angel-sister that sped it. 
 
 Has passed from earth's pleasures and cares. 
 
 Still her mem'ry is bright as the crimson, 
 
 That flushes the brow of the west, 
 And pure as the pearly haze mantling, 
 
 The Coast Range's glorified breast. 
 
 faithful Friend 1 Daughter ! and Sister ! 
 In the glow of God's glory above, 
 
 1 feel, that your hands are uplifted, 
 
 For the Homes that here shared your heart's love. 
 
 For the Mother and sisters, that treasure 
 Your memory as Love's fairest flower, 
 
 For the souls to whom Jesus. and Mary, 
 Are the glory and joy of each hour. 
 
 For the teachers and friends of your childhood, 
 Whose prayers shall uprise with your song, 
 
 When the Jubilee bells of your Convent, 
 Shall ring out their glad anthems ere long. 
 
 We shall beg God whose graces and goodness, 
 Their calm quarter century have blest, 
 
 To crown with all joys His Heart's Spouses, 
 In the city of Oaks, of the West. 
 
 S. A. R. 
 - Notre Dame, San Jose, Cal. 
 
a 
 
 y 
 
 How strange is the human heart ! so vast in its capacity for the 
 grand and the beautiful, yet ofttimes so weak, so earthly in its 
 longings and desires. 
 
 This little time-piece of cmr existence strikes off the hours one by 
 one, and though they are fraught with numberless blessings, we let 
 them glide on, in our restless eagerness to attain a happiness just 
 beyond our grasp. Life is what we make it ; and if we glance 
 around us, how much cause for real joy do we not find in our every- 
 day-blessings ! Who has not felt the influence of a bright sunny 
 morning ; of the gentle breeze which having playfully stolen the 
 fragrance from the flowers, has wafted it to us as though it knew its 
 power of gratifying ? 
 
 Who, while viewing the grand panorama of nature, with its gor- 
 geous tints and sombre shadows, has thought for one instant how 
 much there is to be thankful for in the gift of sight ? And coming 
 to the real living world of hearts that surround us, who can say, 
 who can count all the blessings affection has bestowed ? The smile 
 of approval, the smile which encourages, are not these treasures of 
 the soul ? And little acts of kindness coming just at the moment 
 we feel the need of sympathy and of love, do they count for naught ? 
 Ah ! no ; though trifling in themselves, they may be the pivot upon 
 which our life's destiny turned, just as the sweet impress of a 
 mother's lips upon the youthful brow of Benjamin West made him 
 form the resolve of putting upon canvas the noble conceptions of 
 his artistic genius. 
 
MOST REV. P. W. RIORDAX 
 ARCHBISHOP OF SAN FRANCISCO 
 

OUR EVERY DAY BLESSINGS 
 
 41 
 
 Gifts from the hand are silver and gold, but the heart gives that 
 which neither silver nor gold can buy. Let us not then stand upon 
 the ocean shore, straining our eyes to catch a glimpse of the ship 
 that may never reach port, but let us manfully, joyfully board the 
 skiff that lies anchored in the harbor, and though the voyage may 
 seem longer, we will surely reach our destination in safety. 
 
 FLORENCE HYDE. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 A SMILE of approval may be a* stepping stone to success. A look 
 of encouragement from those we love may call into being slumber- 
 ing resolutions and forgotten promises that will rise as so many 
 barriers against our own weakness. K. K. 
 
OR a epiebiipe of Jt. 
 
 IN THE MUSIC ROOM. 
 
 picture in the golden frame, 
 
 Fair as the morning sky ! 
 Where is the charm that round thee breathes ? 
 
 Where doth thy beauty lie ? 
 
 'Tis not the beam of light, 
 
 3 Tis not the lovely hair, 
 'Tis not the cheek of softest white 
 
 That makes the face so fair. 
 
 'Tis not the smiling lips so pure 
 
 That breathe with mute appeal, 
 Nor hands in childish fervor clasped, 
 
 As if in prayer to steal. 
 
 'Tis not the mantle folded close 
 
 Around the form of grace ; 
 'Tis not the colors soft and fair, 
 
 Nor richly broider'd lace. 
 
 No but the charm is hidden here 
 
 In eyes of turquoise hue, 
 Whose pure and soulful depths reflect 
 
 The tint of Heaven's own blue. 
 
 No passion could disturb a soul 
 
 Lit by such flames divine, 
 Where hope and beauty, love and faith, 
 
 In sweetness ever shine. 
 
 EMMA ROSENTHAL. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 42 
 
priesthood 
 
 I Essay written February 27th, 1890 on the occasion of Rev. M. King's Silver Jubilee 25 
 years' pastorate in Oakland.] 
 
 
 
 The Priest 1 Before this sublime invention of God's love for man, 
 the vaunted names of earthly grandeur fade into insignificance ; 
 the brightest lights of man's contrivance are but darkness in the 
 Heaven-born rays of so mighty a sun. To announce to a world of 
 ransomed souls the mandates of the Creator, to minister the rites of 
 Holy Church, to offer to Heaven the sacrifice of Calvary such are 
 the duties of him to whose predecessors it was said, " Go, and teach 
 all nations I " 
 
 The Priest cares for earth, only, as it holds the price of a Savior's 
 blood ; fame attracts him not, and glory cannot allure ; for these 
 are the rewards of men of the earth, earthly. Heaven alone has 
 charms for God's annointed. 
 
 Wherever we turn, these faithful workers are employed ; there is 
 no page off history which does not bear the record of their deeds. 
 Now, their voice is heard from the upraised pulpit 'neath the lofty 
 arch of grand cathedrals ; or. veiled round with floating clouds of 
 fragrant incense, Christ's minister is offering before the altar the 
 prayers of the worshipers. In the bustle and uproar of the mighty 
 city, in the crowded tenement, where the victims of poverty are dy- 
 ing in squalid misery ; in the far distant village, where privation 
 waits upon the worker ; in every circumstance, the same untiring 
 guardians of the scattering flock are patiently sustaining the long 
 and weary watch. On the blood-stained battle field, where shot and 
 shell are menacing the lives of thousands ; where the wounded and 
 
 43 
 
44 SILVER Ji: 111 LEE ME MO HIM. 
 
 the dying are strewn thickest, and in the fiercest fury of the conflict, 
 the gentle words of God and Heaven, spoken by the champions of 
 the Cross, have soothed to rest the struggling heart of many a brave 
 warrior. 
 
 No land is too remote for this Divine commissioner to proclaim the 
 Master's words ; from frozen polar regions to torrid Africa and wild 
 Australia, the same tireless toilers pursue their way. Savage hearts 
 are subdued and brought under the influence of the Great Master 
 whom they ignored, and their child-like .faith, while it consoles the 
 heart of the priest, often puts to blush the learned and enlightened 
 of our great century. 
 
 Such is the royal Priesthood ! Such the selfless existence of its 
 members ; yet, so unassumingly and silently are achieved these con- 
 quests, that the busy world scarce pauses to notice the results, until, 
 one day, when long years have come and gone, all eyes are turned 
 in wonderment to the golden harvest that the patient laborer has 
 garnered in for heaven. Then, perchance, even strange hearts must 
 needs join with those who have always been appreciative, loving and 
 filial ; and, with one acclaim, lay at the pastor's feet their heartfelt 
 congratulations. 
 
 MARY J. W 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
are\Vell 
 
 A moment, ere the day is done, 
 I pause, dear friends, to say adieu, 
 
 To bid the past a sad farewell, 
 To bid a welcome to the new. 
 
 What joy to 'scape from study's rule, 
 And launch on Life's tempestuous sea, 
 
 To fly to scenes where wonders dwell, 
 And, like an uncaged bird, be free ! 
 
 Yet, ah ! my heart why throbbest thou, 
 With feelings both of joy and woe ? 
 
 What means this mist that clouds my eyes ? 
 These tears which now so sadly flow ! 
 
 There is a sorrow in my joy, 
 
 A sadness in my ev'ry smile, 
 As thoughts of old come stealing back 
 
 And whisper, " Yet, a little while ! " 
 
 I know the cloudless azure sky, 
 
 Which hovered lightly o'er my past, 
 
 Will soon be changed to darker hues, 
 Ere long the storms will o'er it cast ! 
 
46 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Untried, I stand upon the shore, 
 
 I fain would longer here abide, 
 I dread the ocean's stormy wave 
 
 O'er which my fragile bark must glide. 
 
 'Tis'ever thus a few brief hours 
 Of happiness undimmed by tears, 
 
 Our path with flowers now is strewn, 
 With prickly thorns, in later years. 
 
 Since childhood my frail bark has been 
 
 A fairy toy, on summer's sea, 
 With scarce an adverse breath of wind 
 
 To trouble its tranquillity. 
 
 But now, 'tis gone the past has fled, 
 The future lies all veiled before ! 
 
 I bid adieu to these old halls, 
 To scenes I'll never enter more. 
 
 In later years, when Time's stern hand 
 Has laid his traces on my brow, 
 
 I'll wander back on fancy's wing, 
 
 To the loving friends I am leaving now. 
 
 Within a few fast fleeting weeks, 
 These dear old halls will ring once more 
 
 With merry voices full of mirth, 
 
 With stranger forms unknown before.- 
 
 4 
 
 In after years, strange hearts will know 
 The love and care which once was mine, 
 
 Then stranger brows will oft be decked 
 
 With crowns like these, which round me twine. 
 
FAREWELL 47 
 
 'Tis sad to part when through me steal 
 Sweet mem'ries of each treasured spot. 
 
 But sadder far, it is to think 
 
 That soon my name will be forgot 1 
 
 But though I may forgotten be 
 When from these scenes I speed away, 
 
 Still in my heart there'll linger oft 
 Fond mem'ries of this parting day. 
 
 And ere we part, with faltering lips, 
 I thank you all, dear Sister band, 
 
 And you, dear friends, with whom I've trod 
 The paths of school life hand in hand. 
 
 Dear Sisters, bless me with your prayers, 
 Keep one lingering thought for me, 
 
 They'll waft sweet mem'ries o'er my soul, 
 Consoling thoughts they'll always be. 
 
 ADELK F. KEYES, 
 
 E. DE M., 
 
 Conreal of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal., Jane 28, 1872. 
 
The fairer the beauties of earth, the more perishable are they. 
 Beauty is a flower of to-day, that to-morrow lies withered and sere 
 upon the stalk. 
 
 In the early morning, just before Aurora draws the bolts of the 
 Eastern gates, and Phoebus in all his glory mounts the distant hills, 
 in that magic hour between darkness and daylight, what more beauti- 
 ful than the crystal jewels that gem every leaf and bud ? Fresh 
 from heaven they seem to have fallen, to bathe the lovely flowers, 
 before the sun has cleared the zenith, they will have vanished like 
 a dream. 
 
 The fairest buds that bloom to-day in the gardens of earth, will 
 have passed away to-morrow. What delight it is to gaze upon those 
 fragile beauties of the field ; to breathe the sweet incense which they 
 burn, their whole life long, in the temple of Nature. The hare-bell, 
 swinging its turquoise censer to and fro in the wind ; the graceful 
 pampas lifting its head in confident superiority; the immaculate 
 lily, swaying its crested cup ; and the little blue violets nestling be- 
 neath their friendly emerald canopies, whisper sweet secrets to the 
 passing breeze. To-morrow, we will find but a few withered flowers, 
 and a sense of desolation will pervade the rural retreat. The ame- 
 thyst petals no longer nod in the sunshine ; the hare-bell droops as 
 though weighed down by some new sorrow, and the lily's leaves are 
 curled as though in scorn ; the breath of decay has blighted the 
 flowers, and naught of their beauty remains. Ah ! how sad it is 
 
REV. THOMAS McSWEENEY 
 RECTOR ST. FRANCIS DK SALES, OAKLAND, CAL. 
 
.MORTALITY AM) IMMORTALITY 49 
 
 that mortality must thus limit our every joy ! Like' the spectre at 
 the feast, it ever stands, and with warning finger points, while re- 
 peating with the Psalmist : " And this too will pass away." 
 
 I have knelt at the twilight hour, when all was hushed in silent 
 peace, and peered far into the purple distance where earth and sky 
 meet in melted harmony ; I have marveled at the beauties of the 
 western sky, bathed in floods of mellow light ; I have adored the 
 Power that wrought these beauties, but ere I had drunk in one-half 
 their grandeur, I felt chilled ; the night mists were falling around 
 me, and darkness covered the vision of loveliness. Oh ! why could 
 not that glorious vision last forever ? Why could not the 
 artist who blended and commingled those aerial tints confer 
 upon the picture the gift of Immortality ? 
 
 .Man is free, he is superior to every other created being, he is mas- 
 ter of the animal kingdom, and all its members are subservient to 
 his will ; and must he too, the noblest work of God, lie fettered in 
 the slavery of mortality ? 
 
 Man too must die. But for him death is not the final limit of 
 existence, death to him is but the threshold of eternity. For every 
 other creature death marks the goal ; the race is run ; but man in 
 this very point proclaims his superiority. The goal for him is also 
 reached, but the victor, man, is crowned with immortal laurels, and 
 the prize is eternal bliss. 
 
 The reign of death is not eternal. Immortality receives at last the 
 sceptre and the crown, and reanimates the flowers felled by Death. 
 The dewdrops that nestled this morning in the heart of the violets, 
 gleamed in tints of rose and purple from the cortege of Phcebus, as 
 he sank to rest in the distant ocean, and to-morrow they may begem 
 some fairer blossom in another clime. They have not died ; they 
 have only passed from earth to heaven to be purified, and sparkle 
 again as beautiful as yesterday. 
 
 And the flowers? Have they passed away forever? Will not the 
 lily raise again its graceful head, and the violets nod a welcome to 
 the passer-by? Aye, they only sleep, and will bloom again fairer 
 
50 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 than to-day. And man? He lies down upon the bier to rise amid 
 angels and delight. The happiest hours of life are shadowed by the 
 presence of Mortality, and the very thought, that transient are the 
 joys that to-day delight the heart, is already a drop of bitter in the 
 cup of sweet. The thought of Mortality is a source of annoyance 
 to the merry, but it is a consolation to the sad. They know that 
 death brings alleviation to every sorrow, and they welcome the grim 
 guest. Welcome or not, however, he steals as silently as the dark- 
 ness when " the day is done," and robs the dearest gems from the 
 casket of love. 
 
 The soul of the great Socrates proved its nobility when it whis- 
 pered to him that Death would only set it free. What material 
 instincts inspired those philosophers who believed that the breath 
 of God which He had infused into the clay, was nothing higher than 
 the substantial form, and with it would return to dust ! 
 
 Immortality is the great incentive to virtue. If we thought that 
 Death is the terminus of life, how hard it would be for us to conquer 
 evil and practice virtue. But with a soul, God gave us the instinct- 
 ive longing after Him, and the knowledge that He would claim His 
 own when our pilgrimage is over. Mortality should then be a cause 
 of gratitude to us gratitude that God has not placed us here on 
 earth to toil and sorrow unrecompensed forever ; but has promised 
 to share with us for all Eternity His Heavenly Kingdom, where tears 
 are strangers, and Peace and Love are the wardens of the gates. 
 
 LUCILE EDWARDS. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
How many happy hours have I spent at my window, hours of 
 rest in my joy, hours of peace and calm in my sorrow. Well may I 
 love my window ; it has been a friend indeed to me. Oft in my 
 bright, happy days of gladness, when life's waves of pleasure were 
 surging all about me, have I sat by it, because I was weary of my 
 fleeting joys, and longed for a little peace. Then my window pre- 
 sented to me earth's sights and sounds to soothe my troubled soul, 
 and when affliction and woe pressed heavily upon my heart and 
 earth's brightness seemed passing far; far, from me, then again, like 
 a sweet consoler, it led my spirit, from the inward clouds of bitter- 
 ness that wrapped it in their sombre folds, out into the sunlight and 
 beauty that flooded earth and sky. 
 
 My window is the frame of those glorious pictures that are placed 
 before my admiring eyes, and though the background to that paint- 
 ing remains the same, yet ever and anon, as the seasons come and go 
 and day glides into night, Nature changes the color of the sky, paints 
 the earth a different hue, places the golden ears of corn in the fields 
 or blots these out, and strips the leaves from the trees showing me 
 earth in all her wintry beauty. 
 
 Far off in the distance, the dark hills stand, and up their sides 
 fair mansions rise, white and pure against the sky, each one just a 
 little way nearer the summit. As the sun touches each one of these 
 buildings, their whiteness is changed into a soft glimmering light, 
 and as the windows glisten and flush beneath the touch of that 
 royal king's hand, it seems as though the angels were carrying the 
 bright records of men's good deeds unto the bosom of their God. 
 
52 HILVKR Jl'RILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 There is one hill that lies in a line with my window. Upon its 
 side no stately mansions of stone or marble are erected, for there 
 alone, lie those noble deserted temples of the breath of God, the 
 silent, peaceful dead. I cannot look from my window, but I see 
 that resting place, beautiful reminder to me, of where 1 some day 
 shall lie when life's restless waves have surged from my feet away 
 and have cast my soul from the sea-bed of Time unto the shores of 
 Eternity. The cross that surmounts that hill, stands solitary and 
 grand, alone in its beauty, above all other points of the scene seem- 
 ing to touch the fair skies above, thus again uniting earth and 
 heaven, as it did on that bitter day on Calvary's heights. 
 
 As I look through my window, my beautiful kaleidoscope, the 
 fields lie at my feet with a streamlet in their lap, hiding itself in 
 their embrace, like a beautiful boy in his mother's arms. The 
 city stands further off ; the sound of its strife and noise comes to 
 me mingled with the tender babbling of the brook, subdued into a 
 sweet, low, continuous murmur, and I think that if those sounds 
 are sweetened to me at such a short distance from them, when 
 earth's noise and clamor, its laughter and tears reach Heaven's gate, 
 they must be softened into the faintest, gentlest refrain, pleasing 
 even to angels' ears. 
 
 I have sat at my window at morn, when the grasses were 
 still wet with the drops of water that Nature has spilt in mixing 
 her colors over night and myriads of birds warbled and trilled the 
 sweet tones of their melody. The fair stream went smiling on its 
 way ; I have gazed at my picture, watching Nature paint the sky a 
 deeper blue, place a golden sun in the heavens, and then over all 
 throw a veil of glorious sunshine, thus ever changing its color- 
 ing unto sunny noon and again unto golden eve, when all the glory 
 of earth and sky seems to blend, in order to beautify the last 
 moments of dying day. These moments are ever the loveliest por- 
 tions of day's brief life. I remember one sunset of exquisite beauty. 
 
 It was summer and a soft haze filled the air like the incense 
 
MY W1MX>W 53 
 
 that we scatter round our beloved dead ; a hush was on earth and all 
 her creatures, for day was sinking, passing from time on th'e wings 
 of night into the arms of eternity. The sun was resting on the 
 dark hills like a king on his couch, sending his hand maidens, the 
 glorious shafts of color and splendor, to bid farewell to the. sur- 
 rounding hills, and to kiss the valley and the stream good-night, 
 while he, in all his royal beauty waited their return. Then the 
 golden disk was seen sinking, sinking, until only a slender crescent 
 remained, and that too vanished, but the sunset splendor remained. 
 
 The heavens were tinged with a soft, mellow, purple and golden 
 light, while here and there a faint pink flush was on the sky. But 
 over the spot where the cross marked the resting-place of those who 
 sleep forevermore, the sky was a deep, beautiful red its luminous 
 edges fringed with gold, a crown as it were suspended there, a 
 mark of God's benediction. Then the beauty slowly faded, and 
 night crept on with stealthy step, bearing in the dark folds of his 
 mantle, the beautiful moon, whose loveliness he would reveal only 
 when his sombre tapestry had been pinned securely down on earth. 
 Then when he had pushed back his dark garment, the glorious moon, 
 that fair sister of the sun, stepped forth and gazed with loving ten- 
 derness on the pale face of queenly earth. The lights of the city 
 shone out one by one, like loops of stars let down from heaven to 
 lead our thoughts, whence they came. So my window teaches me 
 each day a new lesson of love and thanksgiving to Him, who has 
 made all the beauty that floods the universe. 
 
 But too soon was my window darkened. They erected a building 
 that shut out from me one by one, each loved object of my beautiful 
 picture and with every blow of the workman's hammer, it seemed 
 as if my heart-strings were being wrenched and torn, and my spirit 
 crushed to earth, for the scenes that I love can never more be seen 
 framed by the window that has been more than a friend to me ; 
 those paintings shall henceforth exist only in the gallery of my 
 memory ; and now all that is left to my yearning gaze, is the sky 
 above, and the cross that crowns the homes of the peaceful dead. 
 
54 SILVER .ll-ltlLKK MEMORIAL 
 
 Thus it is in life. We stand in youth's bright morning, at the 
 window of hope, and gaze on a world all fair to our young eyes and 
 all that we see is beautiful, because our hearts are ready and willing 
 to receive the beauty. Earth and sea and sky are flooded with 
 splendor, the future wears a halo of glorious color on its brow, and 
 we are too engaged in looking at earth to raise our souls to the 
 heaven that lies beyond. 
 
 But soon the walls of sorrow and affliction, of age and blighted 
 hopes, rise up before us and shut out earth's sights and sounds from 
 our weary hearts, and when the future, which looked so bright 
 becomes the present, its charm is gone and " like Dead Sea fruit it 
 turns to ashes at our touch." As the wall rises higher and higher 
 around our breaking hearts, nothing is left us to look up to, save 
 the cross and heaven meet emblems of our burden in life and our 
 reward that goes beyond life even unto eternity. 
 
 CHRISTINE O'NEILL. 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 God only knows the stormy tumult of every life. His love it is 
 that calms the agitations of the human heart ; His thought that spirit- 
 ualizes the peace and joys of earth. He alone knows every mighty 
 conquest, every ignoble thought spurned, every temptation bravely 
 overcome, and it is He who makes Heaven the eternal abode of His 
 loved ones, of those who have trod the paths of the lowly, who have 
 sought the shelter of His love in their earthly pilgrimage. Kate 
 Keaney. 
 
h hf?e ibp'me f QUP fcadv f 
 
 -JK- 
 
 The slanting shadows slowly creep 
 Around this world of light and love, 
 They weave a carpet whereon sleep 
 The stars of evening's sunset hours. 
 The trembling rose leaves climb above 
 A lattice work of beauty rare, 
 Their fragile blossoms lightly sway 
 And shed sweet perfumes on the air. 
 
 The angel-lilies, fair and sweet, 
 
 A faithful vigil fondly keep, 
 
 As swinging to and fro they meet 
 
 And mix their fragrant incensed breath, 
 
 With breath of hidden violet. 
 
 The cool and palmy ferns uplift 
 
 Their tufted fronds of veined leaves 
 
 And fill, like sunshine, every rift. 
 
 Amidst these shades and balmy airs, 
 A refuge dear, well-loved by all, 
 Cross-crowned Our Lady's Shrine, appears. 
 mystic hour, of twilight dim, 
 
 55 
 
66 SILVER JUKI LEE 
 
 An added charm thou e'er dost bring. 
 To-night thou bidst me simply weave 
 A memory kept in many a heart, 
 A memory sad that does not grieve. 
 
 When first the rays of morning shine 
 And wake alike the flower and bird, 
 The ever pleasant task is mine, 
 To note the willing foot-step turned, 
 By groups of dancing children fair, 
 To pathway leading to this Shrine ; 
 The blue sky bending over all, 
 A benediction seems to fall. 
 
 At noon, the sultry rays of sun, 
 Well hid by leafy arch and bower, 
 Behold the quiet persuasive nun, 
 With humble mien and downcast eye, 
 Approach the cherished altar throne ; 
 Of loved duty 'tis a part 
 To lay each prayer at Mary's feet 
 Her arms encircle Jesus' heart. 
 
 White-veiled, like group of angels clad, 
 The novice band serene doth stand ; 
 Their pure young souls forever glad, 
 Shine through each face with heavenly glow 
 No burdens on their hearts do lie, 
 For, casting all their cares on Him, 
 Who counts the bird on every limb 
 Their souls in calm content e'er live. 
 
GROTTO OF OUR I,AJ)Y OF LOURDES SHRINE OF OUR LADY OF SORROWS 
 
 INTERIOR OF PIETA ST. JOSEPH'S SHRINE 
 
AT THE SllRIXE OF OUR LADY OF SORROWS 57 
 
 And, thus succeeding, one by one, 
 Come spirits joyous, spirits glad ; 
 Some, souls devout, at set of sun, 
 To lay their prayerful wishes down ; 
 And some, to ask the precious boon 
 That innocence may ever know, 
 The soul that now is stainless pure, 
 Rivaling in its white the snow. 
 
 O, Mother dear, Thy sorrow deep, 
 
 Is marked by eyes that ever seek 
 
 To fathom mysteries that sleep 
 
 Beneath the closed lids of Him, 
 
 Who loved the world too well, too well ; 
 
 To-night, I ask a gift of Thee, 
 
 To live, so filled with pain, for love 
 
 Of thee, that all my life may be 
 
 A ministry to thy dear Son. 
 
 AGATHA SCRIMZEOUR. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 NATURE'S palette is the earth ; her brush, God's love of the 
 beautiful. K. K. 
 
Sot for 3 M\y<?elf Jllorae 
 
 *0 oJ ) <J// 
 
 ' Not for myself alone "- 
 
 " O man, forget not thou, earth's honored priest, 
 
 " In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part." 
 
 Flower and beast and all created things proclaim the lesson, 
 the noblest lesson that man can learn to live not alone for one's 
 self, but for the world for the elevation of the human race for 
 the glory of the Creator. 
 
 Not for itself did God create the brook, sparkling and laughing, 
 now in the sunshine, now in the shadow. It must bring fertility to 
 the land, to help the pretty flowers and waving trees to beautify 
 the earth ; and the flowers, in turn, must shed their perfume on 
 the air, and the trees must spread their branches and give shelter 
 from the noon-day sun and homes to the little songsters that dwell 
 within their leafy homes. 
 
 Not for itself does the ever restless ocean roll and break upon 
 the eternal shore: deep, dark, unfathomable. It frowns upon the 
 pigmy man who has dared to find a path across its trackless main ; 
 nay, even old ocean holds within its unyielding palm the treasures 
 of the deep, and the treasures of the sky, and these latter he 
 yields to the ardent sun whose burning kiss upon his brow pleads 
 for man, whom all creation honors. 
 
 O man 1 thine is the noblest part of all! Thou art the king 
 and ruler of the earth " its tongue, its sword, its life, its pulse, its 
 heart " forget not that thou must sustain thy part. 
 
 wonderful race that since the day when Adam, fresh and 
 beautiful, a divine emanation from the hand of God, gave to each 
 
 58 
 
NOT FOR MYSELF ALOtfE 59 
 
 created thing its name and part since he stood, lord of all, within 
 the Paradise of Eden since he forfeited his birthright and passed 
 out beneath the flaming sword of the wrathful angel, even to this 
 day, when the world is transformed by his genius and all nations, 
 are as one still is he king still the ruler, glorious, compound, 
 Godlike, and yet so human. So human that often he forgets his 
 distant Home so human th'at error sometimes smothers all remem- 
 brance of it, even all belief. Absorbed with the gain and riches of 
 the world, life slips away, and heaven, God, and all his teachings 
 are ignored, forgotten! And sweetest, truest of those teachings is 
 this : " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, and thy neighbor as 
 thyself." These words embody the whole sublime doctrine of self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Give, that another's life may be sweeter ; work, that someone 
 else may be happier ; smile, and crush thy sorrow, that others may 
 not be saddened at thy pain Oh ! they are countless, these many 
 ways of self-forgetfulness ; as countless, as the opportunities to 
 practice them are frequent. And difficult as they may seem, and 
 often are, what were life without them ? It is the constant un- 
 selfish sacrifices that are demanded of the mother and are so will- 
 ingly given, that shed their halo round her name in after life, pre- 
 vent so much of evil, achieve so much of good. It is only self-for- 
 getfulness that makes home-life sweet and happy. It is only that 
 which makes a character great, a hero famous. And love itself 
 were not love, did not the heart prompt self-forgetfulness and devo- 
 tion to something ideal, and revel in the very losing of itself. And 
 the greater, the higher the object, the nobler and more heroic the 
 sacrifice must be, until life itself is given and man can give no 
 more ag life and love are given daily to God in the cloister ; as 
 they were given in ages past at the stake or by the sword, or in 
 whatever way and at whatever time Love demanded the sacrifice. 
 
 NELLIE COUGHLIN. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
60 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 " Dearest Lord, make us remember, when the world seems cold 
 and dreary, and we know not where to turn for comfort, that there 
 is always one spot bright and cheerful the Sanctuary." 
 
 FR. AUGUSTINE 
 
 Jesus dear, make us remember, 
 
 When through life "we weep and moan, 
 
 We've one Treasure, ours forever, 
 One dear Heart that's all our own. 
 
 When the world seems cold and dreary, 
 When we see friends turn away, 
 
 And the dear ones who were with us 
 We no longer have to-day, 
 
 Make us think of Thee, oh Jesus, 
 From thy glad bright home above, 
 
 Ready to send strength and courage, 
 Anxious to give love for love. 
 
 Grant us when the battle wages, 
 Fiercer and more fierce through life 
 
 Grant us Lord, sweet resignation, 
 Teach us patience in the strife. 
 
 Patience, through the hard, hard struggle, 
 Patience till the crown is won ; 
 
 Teach us Lord our daily lesson, 
 " Not my will, but Thine be done." 
 
 LAURA J. BRKNHAM. 
 Convent of the Holy Naint'x, Sim h\-nnci$co t Cal. 
 
Is it the lark's sweet hymn 
 That rings out full and clear, 
 
 Growing sweeter still and sweeter, 
 As to heaven he draweth near? 
 
 Is it the nightingale's lone thrill, 
 That cleaves the cooling air, 
 
 And tells of evening's darkened shades 
 And God's protecting care? 
 
 Is it the gorgeous rose, 
 
 With beauty rich and rare, 
 
 Shedding forth its sweet perfume, 
 From a heart divinely fair? 
 
 Is it the lily so pure, 
 
 Of which our Blessed Jesus said, 
 They toil not and they spin not, 
 
 They claim no glowing red, 
 
 But theirs is so pure a beauty, 
 
 Such loveliness portrayed, 
 That e'en Solomon in his glory 
 
 Was not like these arrayed. 
 ci 
 
62 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Is it the dark-eyed pansy, 
 
 That greets us with saucy nod, 
 
 Or the haughty sunflower following 
 The chariot of her god? 
 
 Is it the magnolia waving 
 Her snowy chalice on high 
 
 That tells in fragrant whispers 
 Of joyful summer nigh? 
 
 Yes, all these things tell us 
 That the summer now is here. 
 
 But other things there are that render 
 That summer doubly dear, 
 
 Hearken ! from over the meadow, 
 
 Comes the murmuring hum of the bee, 
 
 As he busily gathers his honey 
 From the clover-scented lea. 
 
 And list to the drone of the beetle 
 And the crickets' chirp sing-song, 
 
 And the weird tale that Katy-did tells 
 In a voice so clear and strong, 
 
 And see the lowly grasses 
 
 That cover hill and dale, 
 Wrapping the bare brown meadows 
 
 In a beauteous emerald veil. 
 
 And see the soft green leaflets, 
 That cover our stately trees, 
 
 Think you, is there no beauty 
 In humble things like these? 
 
WHAT MAKES THE SUMMER? 03 
 
 They tend to make the season 
 
 So fraught with joyous hours, 
 The cricket's song and the lowly grass, 
 
 As well as birds and flowers. 
 
 Let us then learn the lesson 
 
 Which these humble things have given, 
 
 That e'en little things are counted, 
 In the registers of Heaven. 
 
 One little deed of kindness 
 
 May withdraw a poisoned dart; 
 One word of tender sympathy 
 
 May bind a broken heart. 
 
 Then let us cherish these trifles 
 
 That we meet in daily life, 
 And strive to smooth the pathway 
 
 Of our brothers in the strife. 
 
 For we are heirs to one great kingdom, 
 
 Heirs of the self -same God. 
 Oh! let us follow the lowly path, 
 
 The path that Jesus trod. 
 
 MAMIE MCGANNEY. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
It was a bleak day in November. The chilling winds of Autumn 
 sighed about the bare and leafless trees, and swept over the withered 
 fields. Here and there a few yellow leaves might have been found 
 adhering to the swaying branches, but the ruthless blast tore them 
 from their shelter and whirled them out upon the frosty air. 
 
 In the desolate fields a rose-bush cowered in fear and trembling 
 before the wind once so beautiful, now bare and dismantled. 
 
 u Ah I" it sighed, " why did they take me from my home under 
 the sunny skies where the birds carolled forth their melodies among 
 my leaves, where the butterflies flitted to and fro around me, where 
 cold and mist were things unknown ! Why did they place me here 
 in this dreary desert to lose my beauty, and be destroyed by the 
 cruel blasts of a frigid land ! '" 
 
 And the winds moaned sadly about and tore the few remaining 
 leaves from the defenceless tree. 
 
 The snows of winter came, and the rose-bush shrank from the 
 mocking flakes, that seemed to dance in glee about its withered 
 limbs. The fierce winds roared and shrieked about it, and snapped 
 its few remaining branches off and flung them to the earth ; and 
 the rose-bush slowly drooped beneath the many miseries which it 
 bore. 
 
 God saw and pitied its feebleness ; one day, when its life was 
 almost gone, a ray of sunshine, like a heaven-sent messenger, touched 
 it and melted the pitiless snows ; the merciless winds -died down ; 
 the gentle zephyrs blew softly o'er the branches ; the warm rains 
 fell upon it ; one by one, the leaves again peeped out, and the birds 
 came fluttering to the welcome shade. 
 
 The rose-bush, all its beauty restored, grew and blossomed in the 
 sunshine of God's love. 
 
 NELLIE COUGHLIN. 
 
 04 
 
appii^ess 
 
 WERE WE BORN To BE HAPPY ? 
 
 It is an undeniable fact that in human nature there is a deep- 
 rooted and insatiable longing for happiness, and it is quite as unde- 
 niable that this craving would never have been placed in the human 
 heart to be left forever unsatisfied. 
 
 Well nigh six thousand years have passed over the world since 
 the day that witnessed its creation ; never once in all that lapse of 
 time has man lived and striven for other ends than happiness. 
 Naught else could satisfy his craving, naught fill the aching void 
 within his bosom. He felt that God had made him for a life of bliss ; 
 he realized that sin had frustrated the design ; and yet, even the 
 dread sentence of suffering and toil that drove him from his Eden 
 home could not repress the longing of his heart, nor daunt his 
 efforts to attain the end. Surely it must have been a seed of God's 
 sowing that could withstand that blighting sentence and sprout to 
 life in an outcast's barren heart. Thus within each man's soul is 
 a source of happiness. With this store of sunshine within us, and so 
 much that is good and beautiful around us to elicit its cheering rays, 
 can we doubt that we were destined to live in its presence ? 
 
 Is TRUE HAPPINESS LOST To EARTH? 
 
 Man was born free ; he might or might not accept the law of 
 his Creator ; Eden was the place of his probation beautiful as God 
 chose to make it for the monarch who came to preside there. This 
 
 65 
 
66 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 same monarch willed to deface the beauty thereof by a rebellious act ; 
 then should we be surprised if the darkness of Dante's " Inferno " 
 enshrouded it in a gloom irremediable? But God is a father, and a 
 forgiving one like all fathers ; He could leave his disobedient 
 child to work out his years of probation under a cloud as dark as 
 that which hung over the cross, when in despairing accents the 
 Crucified called out to His Father, " My God ? my God, why hast 
 thou forsaken me ?" But His heart is so tender that when His 
 justice urges Him to repel, His mercy forces Him to take the same 
 lawless creature to His heart of hearts. Consequently, He would 
 not banish all happiness from this life ; He has left glimpses of it 
 in everything that surrounds us. It shines out in nature, in religion, 
 in the domestic and social relations, upholding us and shortening 
 the hours of our exile. 
 
 Around the hearthstone man may mingle with the loved ones 
 of home ; there also, the sweet companionship of friends has power 
 to lull his spirit to repose ; even when no one is near to share with 
 him an hour of pleasure, his mind can revel in a bliss his very own, 
 and in the exercise of his intellect comes another solace for his 
 loneliness. 
 
 But there is still another and a greater happiness awaiting him, 
 to which all else is naught. 'Tis the restful happiness of a soul at 
 peace, of a duty well performed. When in his heart this conscious- 
 ness is present, all the burden of earth's anguish disappears, for, 
 in his inmost soul reigns a happiness supreme. All these pleasures 
 brighten his darkest moments and encourage him to persevere until 
 the day when he will be greeted with the words : " Well done, thou 
 good and faithful servant." 
 
 \!/ 
 /IN 
 
 WHAT Is TRUE HAPPINESS ? 
 
 As we stand at the portal of life's realities, we needs must pause 
 one moment on the threshold of the future and choose among its 
 offerings that which will make our life most happy. Some of those 
 
HAPPINESS 67 
 
 who have gone before us have chosen wealth, some, fame, some, pleas- 
 ure and gay hours of careless mirth ; who can say that their expecta- 
 tions have been fulfilled ? The history of the world proves the 
 opposite. 
 
 Our soul was never made for earth; it can not rest in this stifling 
 atmosphere : earth's gifts and pleasures are but means that aid to 
 its eternal end. Whatever raises up the soul to heaven, whatever 
 makes it more beloved by God, will be means of happiness here 
 below, for God is ever willing to bless His faithful ones and give 
 them a foretaste of the joy that is waiting for them beyond. We 
 must ever do the Master's will if we wish to live in the sunshine of 
 happiness ; only the dark shadows of sin and wasted hours can 
 make all around us black and foreboding and change the face of 
 beauty into one of misery and despair. 
 
 Yet how soon our cherished plans are thwarted, how soon our 
 hopes are crushed by misfortune or death ! Not so, when we are 
 striving for a heavenly end. Misfortune cannot dim our happiness ; 
 each new trial, in raising us nearerheaven brings us also nearer to 
 its joys ; every sorrow, howsoever bitter, has its balm ; every cross, 
 howsoever heavy, has its crown of light. Death, too, is but the portal 
 of glory, and not the end of all earth's pleasure. We need not fear 
 its chill embrace, for soon our Father's loving smile will welcome 
 us home forever, and we will know in its perfection the happiness of 
 which we have had but a foretaste here upon earth. 
 
 * 
 
 DOES TRUE HAPPINESS EXIST ? 
 
 Let me answer this by another question : Can an exile ever be 
 truly happy while he remains far from his native land ? Does the 
 little songster of the forest trill his merry notes when imprisoned in 
 a cage ? Man's life on earth is an exile's lot ; he is the wayworn 
 stranger in a foreign land. Even the wayside inn which he calls a 
 home, gives shelter only for the night of life ; when morning dawns 
 
68 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 he must hasten onward to the great end of his journey. The loved 
 companions of his wanderings ofttimes leave his side and, hurrying 
 onward into the rest from toil, reach the golden portals of home 
 long before him. 
 
 We are ever longing for our native land ; and, when a ray of 
 happiness falls across our path, it is but a reminder of the home 
 towards which we are journeying, for no earthly joy can satisfy the 
 cravings of our hearts. 
 
 The very nature of earthly happiness is a deathblow to the pos- 
 sibility of its completeness, for, unless moderated it tends rather to 
 'oppress. Again, what man is there who, in his happiest hours, has 
 not felt an indescribable dread of the loss thereof, a presentiment that 
 even while he drinks, the cup will be dashed from his eager lips ? 
 Yes, on every page of life's history is written with tears of sorrow 
 the sad tale of disappointed happiness. On the very first page, we 
 find the dead leaves of Eden's fairest flowers. 
 
 Life is one continual awakening from momentary bliss to real 
 sorrow ; many a face wears a happy look while deep down in the heart 
 is a grave, where lies some cherished hope, or some bright dream long 
 since laid away. All our joys walk in sorrow's shadow ; tears and 
 laughter follow close upon each other. " man, thou pendulum 
 'twixt a smile and a tear ! '' 
 
 But as though to urge us on and to encourage us on the long weary 
 path, it seems for a moment as though the Eternal Gates stood ajar 
 and we catch a glimmer of the glory that falls to us from that radiant 
 Home. We then experience a peace and happiness that our weak 
 human nature must call perfect ; although its gold is mingled, 
 alas I with the dross of earth. Encouraged by the beauteous 
 vision, we go on, braver and better for the foretaste of the blessings 
 beyond. Earthly felicity is to unalloyed happiness, what the 
 blossom is to the fruit only a promise, for man's inheritance on 
 earth is sorrow. Having this, he will not cease to strive and long 
 for that true Home where Mercy's hand shall brush away every tear, 
 and happiness unclouded will be his forever. 
 
HAPPINESS 69 
 
 WHY Is THERE So LITTLE HAPPINESS ? 
 
 The beautiful vision called happiness assumes many a form and 
 semblance, according to the ideal that is formed by those who seek 
 it. Sometimes it is a picture of earthly triumph and world-wide 
 fame that lures man on to deeds of grandeur and bravery ; some- 
 times the phantom is of beauteous mien ; richest robes bedecked 
 with jewels, clothe the graceful form, the dainty hand beckons 
 the deluded victim, and untrammeled pleasure claims another 
 follower. 
 
 But is not this a happy lot to follow, to overtake such dreams of 
 loveliness ? Yes, it would be bliss indeed, if attainment could sat- 
 isfy all expectation. But it is not so. No sooner does the admiration 
 of a world rise up before the conqueror, than the sickening void 
 within his bosom seems to echo the myriad voices that proclaim how 
 vain and empty is the glory that once shone so resplendent. 
 
 The very consciousness that the long-sought joy is in his 
 grasp makes the beauty that once enticed the youthful mind, a 
 source of anguish to the fortunate possessor ; he now realizes that 
 it was only distance that made the scene enchanting. The lovely 
 phantom of wealth, fame, and pleasure never is overtaken, for when 
 we reach the spot where, but an instant before, she stood, we find 
 that she has fled. 
 
 Thus all life long the chase is followed in vain, because we 
 search for happiness where it is not, like one who in the dark goes 
 round and round his destination, never dreaming it lies so near, 
 thinking to find happiness in riches, or in worldly honors, while it 
 lies quietly by his side in his daily avocations. Nor will he search 
 in sorrow's cup for the magic gift, but fly with frightened heart 
 from every shadow of suffering, forgetting that Gethsemane and 
 Calvary lay on the road to Olivet, and that God is often pleased to 
 place the most ennobling happiness at the bottom of a deep draught 
 of sorrow. 
 
70 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Ah ! if we could view life's winding vale from death's dark 
 mount, there we would see where each deceptive pathway leads, and 
 choose that which takes us straight to God. 
 
 WHICH ARE OUR HAPPIEST DAYS ? 
 
 In every life record we find days blotted and blurred with 
 tears ; but not according to these must we judge of the individual's 
 life, but rather according to those catalogued as red-letter days. A 
 red-letter day, or one of special and striking happiness, is not 
 merely a day of gay festivities or a succession of pleasurable emo- 
 tions. Such a day may be nothing more than a kind of torpor, all 
 desires and restless craving for something higher and more lasting 
 having been lulled to rest by intoxicating excitement and sheer 
 animal enjoyment, thus producing a temporary counterfeit of bliss. 
 
 Which then are our happiest days? Are they the "days of triumph 
 and of mirth" ? The days when scenes of earth's fair beauty crowd 
 around? The days when admiration wafts sweet incense to the 
 hero of the hour ? No, far from it. They are days of stillness and 
 repose, when, unnoticed by the surging throng, some deed of worth 
 in God's pure sight is wrought in secret and alone. They are days 
 when self is all forgotten ; days when a fellow-creature claims our 
 best endeavor ; days in which we experience after a duty well done, 
 that sweet calm which is the friend of a pure conscience, and which 
 surpasses all that the world can offer. 
 
 Adulations add not to this joy supreme, for when most neglected, 
 most despised, the heart may be happiest. A writer has beautifully 
 said, " In vain do they talk of happiness, who never subdued an 
 impulse in obedience to a principle. He who never sacrifices a 
 present to a future good, or a personal to a general cause, can speak 
 of happiness only as the blind do of colors." 
 
HAPPINESS 71 
 
 The pathway of faithfulness is rugged, and every step calls forth 
 a pang to compensate for every joy. But, oh ! who can compare 
 the sacrifice with the achievement, the anguish with the bliss ? 
 
 THE BANE OP TRUE HAPPINESS 
 
 Cast a glance around you and see where happiness dwells 
 not. In her place you will see selfishness sitting enthroned in the 
 human heart and keeping happiness far off, while its victim wanders 
 on, longing and searching for the magic gift. Men would enjoy 
 happiness alone, and their jealous hearts forbid others to enjoy it 
 with them. They do not see that she is. not a creature of solitude, 
 that she cannot abide in narrow hearts, but delights to dwell in the 
 large and generous soul ; with strange inconsistency, she comes to 
 us in all her charms, only when we are striving to hire her to visit a 
 fellow -"man. 
 
 The man who selfishly hoards his joys, and thinks to increase 
 them, is like one who, looking at his own full granary, which he 
 boasts of keeping from the soil and mill, marvels at his neighbors' 
 wastefulness when they sow in the Spring. The golden Autumn 
 comes, and while he has only his few bushels preserved, their fields 
 are yellow with an abundant harvest. 
 
 Our peace and joy must flow out to others like " gifts and 
 attainments which are not only destined to be light and warmth in 
 our own dwellings, but are as well to shine through the window in 
 the dark night, to guide and cheer bewildered travelers upon the 
 road." 
 
 " Live not to thyself alone," but give of the little God has given 
 thee ; then in the effort made to throw sunshine into the life of a 
 brother, our own hearts will catch the light that is reflected, and we 
 will be happy in the consciousness of making others happy. 
 
 Tennyson has said : " Dark is the world to thee; thyself art the 
 reason why." 
 
72 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 As we are each weaving our web of life, we can put bright colors 
 on Time's loom, or we can weave our web all one dull dark gray. 
 The task lies before us ; the power and the means we have. "Will each 
 coming moment beam with happiness ? It rests with us and is 
 contained in one short word unselfishness. If men were but unselfish, 
 if the rich would look beyond the narrow horizon of their own 
 bright clime to the wintry realm of the poor ; if each would give a 
 helping hand to some weak brother, this earth would soon become 
 all peace, all bliss, and naught but " good will " reign among the 
 sons of men. 
 
 * 
 
 WHAT SHALL I Do To BE HAPPY ? 
 
 We sit in the darkness and gloom of selfishness and ask this 
 piteous question with clouded face that portrays the want of true 
 happiness within our souls. 
 
 Our Divine Master Himself was our teacher when He said, 
 " Be thou faithful until death, and I will give thee the crown of 
 eternal life." Faithfulness in accomplishing our duty will win for 
 us eternal happiness; and although God promises a full reward 
 only after this life, yet every one has felt that even here the reward 
 of sweet peace and content follows a duty well performed. Duty is 
 not a meager accomplishment of our daily avocations, not the hard 
 unsympathetic meting out of justice ; but it is our every action 
 done with love. 
 
 Life for the most part is made up of little things : each thought, 
 each act, lends its aid to make up the sum of a life-time. Few are 
 called to glorious deeds, but all to do their best, however small it 
 may be. An active life, full of kindness is always the- happiest. 
 One word of encouragement that cheers a fainting brother ; one 
 word of brightness that brings a smile to some care-worn counte- 
 nance ; one word of Heaven that raises up some soul from earth ; 
 even a tender thought of pity that may not venture beyond the 
 precincts of the heart all these have power to make our lives most 
 

 5 o 
 
HAPPINESS 73 
 
 happy. And if these little things can bring happiness, how much 
 more will it follow a prayer well said, a duty bravely done, a 
 triumph over self the hardest of life's battles ! 
 
 With the impress of time we should grow more thoughtful, 
 more generous, more self-sacrificing, and consequently more ready 
 to bestow kindness upon our fellow-creatures. For we have learned 
 by experience how often we stand in need of hearing what we know 
 full well ; our own balsam must be poured into our hearts by 
 another's hand. 
 
 Let us ever bear in mind that " Happiness is a perfume, and we 
 cannot pour it upon others without getting a few drops ourselves." 
 
 No VIRTUE, No HAPPINESS 
 
 Earth with all its pleasures and its beauties, was born to die ; 
 man's doom was uttered in Eden. " Dust thouart and to dust thou 
 shalt return." Man's soul alone can escape annihilation, for it was 
 made for Heaven and immortality. It is now a prisoner chained to 
 its cell by the very life that we endeavor to enjoy. If to earth we 
 cling, with it we shall pass away. The tiny insect that loves to 
 dwell in the frail cup of the wayside flow'ret will, when the dainty 
 blossom fades, be trampled with it in the dust of the roadside. 
 
 All happiness is false that has not virtue as a foundation. 
 Virtue alone can give that peace, that rest, and that bliss for which 
 man has been created. Alas ! he has not always been consistent : 
 he has wandered into by-paths ; he has sought after happiness in 
 the accumulation of wordly goods, in the gratification of the sensual 
 appetite. But he has sought in vain, until the soul, which is a 
 breath of life from God's bosom, great, noble and expansive, has 
 become little, narrow, and craving, after the " husks of swine in a 
 far-off country," removed from God's grace and blessing, and con- 
 sequently from true happiness. 
 
74 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 How impossible for happiness and vice to dwell together ! 
 As well might the dove and the tiger lie down together in sweet com- 
 panionship. Happiness is heaven-born, vice sprang into being when 
 the bright sun of Lucifer had set forever. How can all the beauties, 
 all the pleasures of the world delight the man whose soul is hard- 
 ened with sin ? He may gaze on the loveliness around, he may listen 
 to the joyous strains of music, he may dwell in the midst of comfort 
 and luxury ; yet ever within his bosom a voice will reproach. In 
 every beauty there will lurk a mocking demon ; in every strain of 
 music there will be an undertone of despair ; in all the pleasures of 
 wealth, will lie in waiting some frightful vision to dash away his 
 dreams of happiness. 
 
 Virtue is the handmaid of Happiness ; she goes before to pre- 
 pare hearts for her reception. When all is ready, Happiness enters 
 with that " peace which the world cannot give," and the heart rests 
 secure in that joy " which no man shall take from it." 
 
 EARTHLY HAPPINESS, A REFLECTION OF HEAVEN 
 
 " We see now through a glass darkly ; but then, face to face." 
 While all our life's best efforts are made for the sole great boon of 
 happiness, the inmost soul ever breathes the same refrain, " Earth 
 cannot know happiness.'' God has given these fleeting gleams of 
 brightness to light our homeward path, and not to give us full enjoy- 
 ment while still we linger in our dreary exile. He has placed around 
 us loved ones, not that our hearts should look no further, but that 
 in their virtues we should find reminders of the Infinite Loveliness 
 beyond. How much better we will know and love them when we 
 greet them in the Home above ! Then the untrammeled soul will 
 reveal all those beauties we could not know fully before. 
 
 Life is a mighty work-room where the kind Master has hung, 
 here and there, mirrors that give to the laborer's upturned eyes, 
 passing reflections of the azure heavens. These pictures of beauty 
 
HAPPINESS x 75 
 
 are unseen by those whose gaze is ever riveted below, and only those 
 who look above in their hours of lowly labor can view the loveliness 
 therein depicted. Then, too, their designs will be most beauteous, 
 for they will work in scenes of purest beauty. And yet, look at the 
 bent form of the laborers. How few raise their eyes above ! How 
 many are seeking models from the dusty floor ! How many 
 are regardless of the Master's kind endeavor for their success 1 
 Surely they can never hope to achieve their end ; for while they are 
 wasting the precious moments in vain search for what they cannot 
 find, the twilight is closing upon them and the Master comes to view 
 the results of the day's labor. Confusion and shame are now their 
 portion, and the shadows of night bring for them no peaceful home 
 of joyful rest, but darkness and despair. 
 
 Oh ! let us ever raise our eyes to Heaven amid the toils of life. 
 Then when twilight brings the close of day, all the labor of our life's 
 hours will surely be blessed of God. 
 
 Class of '90 
 
 4,-M 
 
 Convent o/ our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
of h^e 
 
 A soft feathery snowflake drifted slowly down to earth, who 
 extended her arms and folded the pale wanderer to her heart. '' Lie 
 here, little one," she whispered low, " lie here till my fair daughter 
 Spring comes in her youthful beauty ; then shalt thou make choice 
 of a state of existence from the many that I will show to thee." 
 All through the winter the snowflake slumbered, till at last it heard 
 in the distance the sweet carol of birds, and all the air seemed one 
 vast storehouse of rare perfumes. Then it felt a wonderful restless- 
 ness steal over its spirit and said to Mother Earth : " Let me go 
 forth ; give me some aim in life, for I can no longer abide this 
 sleeping away of my time." " Thou art right, my child," she 
 answered, " 'Tis time to choose how thou wilt serve thy Maker. 
 Many are the siiowflakes that I have cherished in my heart and 
 placed at length where God needed them most. See the vast Ocean: 
 his waters like a silvery zone girdle me round ; his snow-capped waves 
 are ever saluting me as they bear in chivalric pride rich treasures 
 to my store coral that rivals the red of fairest maidens' lips ; pearls 
 that the haughtiest of my children stoop to gather ; while the shells 
 and moss that he brings to me have tints and texture so delicate 
 that man with all his boasted art can only admire equal he cannot. 
 He yields me constant incense in the vapors that are rising from his 
 waters. These float over me and cool the winds that come sighing 
 in the languishing summer time. Again they fall as gentle rain on 
 the thirsty flowers. But ofttimes the flowers have not need for all 
 that the grand and generous old ocean sends in the rain ; yet I do 
 not permit it to waste, I treasure it up. Deep in my bosom it sinks, 
 
THE MISSION OF THE KNOW FLAKE 77 
 
 and bye and bye I show it some tiny opening where it trickles down 
 through a rocky crevice. First, slowly and noiselessly it runs along, 
 but as it finds its pathway growing wider, it laughs to itself with a 
 rippling sound which the hills and Woods around give back with a 
 merrier echo, while the valley now lays off its garb of sombre 
 brown, and dons a suit of richest green with royal trimmings of 
 purple and gold. Deeper and wider the tiny stream grows, with a 
 song ever on its lips as it plays around the stones that lie in its 
 way, for now it knows it is drawing near to its ocean home. Nearer 
 and nearer it draws, now it lays aside the careless air, as it thinks 
 of its mighty origin majesty and sublimity mark its closing path. 
 The gurgling, splashing music, that accompanied the turning of the 
 village mill-wheel, and the placid waters that mirror each sweet 
 maid as she lingers on the rustic bridge to gaze with dreamy eyes 
 into the brooklet's depths, now give way to the roar and dash of a 
 Niagara's furious waters or the deep mysterious flow of a grand and 
 mighty river. At length it reaches once more the mighty ocean 
 who takes it into his arms and listens to the story of all its doings. 
 
 " I have other means of storing the beauty of the ocean. I seize 
 the rain in its passage over my mountain heights, and I turn its 
 diamonds into pearls ; then I form a cloth of these jewels and I 
 spread it over my coldest regions to warm my children beneath ; and 
 some of the moisture that ladens the air I gather in crystal drops 
 to gem the delicate flowers. On the tall fair lily and the graceful 
 bluebell I hang these jewels, and even seek out the modest violet 
 hiding away under velvety hangings to deck it with my fairest 
 gems. All this and much more do I owe to the ocean with its 
 bountiful waters, but God has added another gift to please my 
 children here, and give them the hopes of a brighter life when this 
 has passed away. When the rain falls like my children's tears, 
 God smiles a smile of comforting love and there comes in the skies 
 a beautiful bow, penciled with sunbeams and dyed with many and 
 glorious hues, and his children take jcomfort therefrom. Hope lives 
 
78 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 once more in their bosoms with strength renewed ; they take up 
 once more life's burden which before they bore so wearily. Now 
 little snowflake choose from these ; what shall thy mission be? 
 And the snowflake softly answered, " Not in the dew would I live, 
 for this passes away with the morning sun ; nor in the stream, 
 though happy its mission, but I would rise from lowly things I 
 would draw near to man's Maker. I would dwell in His beautiful 
 bow that I might give to thy children, O Earth, hope in their hour 
 of despair, and strength to carry the burden of life. But more, far 
 more than this would I do, for I would teach them to love." 
 
 KATE FITZ WILLIAM. 
 Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
JVTy 
 
 How sweet the above words sound to our ears 1 But far sweeter 
 is the blissful realization of their true meaning, for it is a home 
 worthy of the name it bears. 'Tis a lovely spot encircled by a band 
 of cypress trees, some of which rear their lofty heads toward the 
 smiling heavens and stretch out their hospitable arms, seeming to 
 invite us to rest beneath their shadows. Grand and majestic rises 
 the stately building, like some enchanted castle, with its circling 
 foliage of shady trees, velvet lawns, bright patches of smiling 
 flowers, and inviting orchards with their wealth of golden fruit, 
 made unapproachable by a green hedge over which sundry longing 
 peeps are taken by curious school girls. Overlooking all is the 
 cross-crowned tower, mounting proudly to the smiling skies. In 
 the background, peering through green arches gleaming with its 
 heaven -borrowed hues, is a quiet lake upon whose placid bosom 
 countless white sails are continually flitting. On loved holidays 
 the " Rosa," " Aloysius " and u Swan " go forth to swell the number 
 of fairy crafts, each bearing a happy freight of laughing school-girls, 
 whose merry voices float out upon the breeze as they skim over the 
 waters of the blue lake. 
 
 Leaving the happy rowers to enjoy their boat ride, we will 
 take a stroll through the grounds, and admire God's fairest gifts, 
 the flowers, which he has so generously bestowed upon this one of 
 His favorite spots. All are here, from the stately sun-flower to the 
 modest violet that peers shyly up as we pass by. There is one spot 
 carefully circled by faithful cypress, where white flowers bloom 
 untouched by childish fingers, where the drooping willow keeps a 
 
80 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 tender watch over two lonely graves. The black cross, marking the 
 resting place of one of God's chosen ones, is covered with clinging 
 ivy, twining gracefully around it as if to soften its dark outlines. 
 There the mischief-loving children are hushed in their glee, 
 hurrying feet tread more lightly, more slowly past that sacred spot 
 where reigns a holy calm like the soft breath of prayer. Continuing 
 our walk we enter the summer house built by nature herself, of 
 cypress, which is kept trimmed in the shape of a hollow mound. 
 In this shady retreat are spread, on feast days, sumptuous repasts 
 to be partaken of in true picnic style. Still farther is the Grotto of 
 Our Lady of Lourdes with roses clambering over its mimic rocks and 
 from her niche in the rock over head, our Holy Mother seems to 
 invoke a blessing on all who kneel at her shrine. 
 
 But what shady nook is that we see? 'Tis the " Rustic Seat" 
 so well beloved by all the girls. Let us rest beneath the cool shade 
 of the overhanging pepper tree and await the return of the merry 
 boaters, the dripping of whose oars is now plainly heard. 
 
 Ah! beautiful home, would that Time and Youth could ever 
 linger within thy pleasant shades! But change, ruthless change, 
 calls many from thy fold. We, too, one day will have to leave thee, 
 to leave forevermore thy sunny bowers, thy dear old walks by the lake- 
 side, thy loved haunts, thy sweet associations, thy dear and happy 
 inmates. But ever in our hearts will we cherish a fond remem- 
 brance of the home of our school-days. 
 
 KATE CORNELL, 
 Convent of our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, CaL 
 
m ij epviee of 
 
 Artists are nearest to God. Into their souls 
 
 " He breathes His life, and from their hands 
 It comes in fair articulate forms 
 To bless the world." 
 
 God is infinite truth and perfect beauty. Without the existence 
 of God as infinite truth, science is impossible, for it can never be 
 well grounded, unless it rests upon the eternal and first cause. As 
 perfect beauty, God is the ideal of the soul in every conception of 
 art. " There is in man a memory of the perfection with which he 
 was sent forth from the hands of his Creator ; there is also a crav- 
 ing to fashion himself after a picture of his imagination conformable 
 to the idea he possesses of the beautiful a type combining the first 
 and last excellence of being ; which it is his to enjoy, since he has 
 a conception of it, and to which he ought to be able to arrive, since 
 he aspires towards it. Thus from remembrance and a feeling of a 
 hereafter is born poetry, is born art ; the expression of ideal beauty 
 under a created form, either gleaming on canvas, breathing in mar- 
 ble, or speaking from the living page." 
 
 It is this ideal that wins the love of man, raises him on the 
 wings of contemplation, and bears him aloft toward the Infinite. 
 It gives to Nature its religious power over man, for this ideal is a 
 gleam from the face of God which has penetrated the clouds of the 
 
 6 81 
 
82 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 material world, and is reflected through the blue heavens, the starry 
 sky, or whatever is grand or beautiful in nature. " Man is neces- 
 sarily impressed and ennobled by the beautiful, for there is nothing 
 sensuous in the idea of true beauty. Its property is .to purify 
 desire, not to inflame. Hemfe art addresses itself less to the sense 
 than to the soul ; it seeks to awaken not desire, but sentiment. 
 Chastity and beauty see^each other. Chastity is beautiful, and 
 beauty is chaste. Therefore, art which is the expression of beauty, 
 is necessarily moral, elevating and religious." Man feels its in- 
 fluence steal over him, inspiring him with a holy longing to return 
 to that home from which he has caught one glimmering ray. 
 
 Is it not true that all the creations of art aim heavenward ? 
 Each in its own way aspires to perfect beauty. The massive Cathe- 
 dral, rising above the surrounding habitations of man, points firm 
 and fearless, straight to Heaven. Silently it proclaims the word of 
 God and the destiny of man. The marble statue is but the created 
 form of the ideal form in the sculptor's soul ; and the ideal is 
 always spiritual, heavenly. In painting, music and poetry is seen 
 the religious tendency and through them runs a vein of religious 
 sentiment. In them is an echo of the Infinite. In them are strains 
 of mortal music whose keynote is the rapturous melodies of Heaven. 
 
 The true artist seeks after beauty ; that only is beautiful which is 
 perfect, and what is perfect must necessarily be true, good God- 
 like. The tendency to the author of all perfection. 
 
 Art, I repeat, is necessarily religious. But our nature being 
 material, it is only by striking the sense that we rise to the spiritual, 
 and it is thus that art acts as a medium between the soul and the 
 body ; as a chain, a bridge, connecting Heaven and Earth.' We 
 rise by its aid, on the wings of contemplation to spirituality and to 
 God. When we look upon a lovely scene of nature, or gaze on the 
 glory of a sunset sky, the soul expands, is overcome with a sense of 
 the beautiful and is drawn irresistibly to God. It is the silent 
 homage of the soul to the Creator. It fills us with what we call 
 " inspiration," and it is in such moments that the poet pours forth 
 
ART /A* THE SERVICE OF RELIGION 83 
 
 his fullest melody of words, whose mighty thoughts roll out uncon- 
 scious from the richness of his soul. 'Tis then that the painter 
 seems to have caught a ray from the celestial sun, and the brush in 
 his hand seems to move to the promptings of some guiding angel. 
 'Tis then that the musician vents the ecstasy of his soul in showers 
 of ethereal melody. Yet in the poet, the painter, the musician, it 
 is the same angel of inspiration that whispers to their souls. This 
 joy, this exultant feeling, has the same cause ; it is the effect of the 
 beautiful, and each one gives vent to his emotions by the power or 
 gift which is prominent in his nature. For Art is an inspiration, 
 and an inspiration can come only from God. And since we love 
 God as beauty, we love God in Art, which is an expression of the 
 beautiful itself a reflection of God. 
 
 Can we then separate Art the work of the God-like nature 
 within, the incarnation of spiritual sentiment can we separate it 
 from Religion ? 
 
 What seems to prove that Art is a child of Religion, is that 
 never have its creations risen so high as when in her service. Beauti- 
 ful may be the stately mansion or gorgeous palace, they please and 
 charm the eye. But enter a temple raised to the honor of God,'how> 
 different the pleasure! Then beauty is of a higher kind. The walls 
 and arches look down in silent eloquence. A something in their 
 solemn majesty commands reverence. 
 
 Sculpture peoples the shrines of Religion with myriad saints 
 and angels. Painting grows immortal as it reveals her truths with 
 all their purity and holiness. Religion gives to music that celestial 
 voice which lures the soul to its home above. In poetry she pours 
 a language in our hearts that speaks to the ear of the Infinite. 
 
 Thus Art would ever make the visible beautiful, that we might 
 ascend to the beautiful invisible. Art and Religion must then go 
 forth hand in hand Religion as the inspirer of true Art, and Art 
 as the handmaid of Religion. 
 
84 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 ARCHITECTURE. 
 
 Foremost among the fine arts stands Architecture. Man in his 
 fallen state built a wretched hut, or scooped out a cave wherein to 
 shelter himself and his family ; but when he wished to give worship to 
 the Deity, he erected an altar, decked it with festoons and sought to 
 make it fair. And thus it is through all ages, man has ever had 
 his temples. Under the influence of Religion man has wrought his 
 grandest works ; when we gaze on some great mass of stone, chast- 
 ened and purified by the spirit of holiness that pervades it, instinct- 
 ively we feel the presence of God. The mind expands when it 
 beholds such spaciousness and strength the work of man's feeble 
 hand grown strong in faith. And what could profess his faith more 
 loudly than the grand old Gothic cathedral! There the smallest 
 ornament has its religious significance. The triple portal bids us 
 marvel at the mystery of the triune God; the iris-hued rose window 
 recalls his mystical unity. The tabernacle with its silken curtains 
 gives a hint of the sanctuaries of old. The very shape of the church 
 a cross is a commemoration of the death that brought life to 
 mankind, and which rests there as a foundation upon which our 
 Holy Religion is built. The silence and gloom of the crypt reminds us 
 of the shadow of death and of the dimness of man's soul when 
 steeped in ignorance and sin. The lofty spire seems a finger point- 
 ing heavenward and calling our attention to the glittering cross by 
 which alone victory can be obtained over the powers of hell. 
 
 "Ah! those cathedrals of the middle ages pre-eminently bespeak 
 the faith of those times. The wonders of a beauty most sublime 
 and spiritual were not wrought at the decrees of princes, but at the 
 inspiration of Faith and Charity. Entire populations toiled at the 
 sacred task. It is not astonishing that they produced uch extra- 
 ordinary results, Salisbury, Cologne, Strasbourg, Rheims, Paris! 
 On beholding such vast structures, your massive piles, one feels as 
 if the inspiration of a million religious souls had materialized!'' 
 
ART IN THE SERVICE OF RELIGION 85 
 
 Review those grand structures: Milan looms up as a glorious embod- 
 iment of Faith. 
 
 Only some angelic spirit could portray its perfection and 
 grandeur. Like some fair mirage suspended in air does it appear, 
 so ethereal and immaculate looking are its thousand pinnacles. 
 One would think that some spirit had thrown over it a veil of driven 
 snow, embroidered and begemmed with myriad jewels, for only thus 
 can one account for the richness and delicacy of this massive pile. 
 
 And what of that grandest of temples St. Peter's at Rome I I 
 shall glean a few quotations the first from that charming book 
 "A Sister's Story." 
 
 " In Gothic churches our first impulse is to kneel and bow 
 down in humble prayer and deep contrition, while in St. Peter's on 
 the contrary, the spontaneous feeling is to open our arms wide with 
 joy, and to look up to heaven with rapturous enthusiasm. Sin 
 does not seem to crush us there. A consciousness of forgiveness 
 through the triumph of the Resurrection fills the whole soul." 
 
 Listen to this eloquent stanza from Byron: 
 
 " Enter, its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 
 And why? It is not lessened, but thy mind, 
 Expanded by the genius of the spot, 
 Has grown colossal, and can only find 
 A fit abode wherein appear enshrined 
 Thy hopes of immortality." 
 
 One more quotation that very familiar one from Mme. de 
 Stael's Corinne: 
 
 " The architecture of St. Peter's is frozen music." 
 
 Ah! yes, I add, it is truly the music of a great and mighty soul. 
 I can well imagine it to be some grand triumphal hymn that has 
 suddenly been stayed in its heavenward flight and transformed into 
 a permanent hymn of praise to God. Thus tower, and spires, and 
 wondrous domes, uprise all over the earth, as silent guides 'in our 
 wanderings here below, ever pointing out our way to the home 
 towards which we, as pilgrims are traveling. 
 
86 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 SCULPTURE. 
 
 We love the marble spell of sculpture that binds the ideal of a 
 master-mind almost imperishably before us. Its fairest conceptions 
 are in the service of religion ; it is that very spirit of religion 
 breathed into them that has made them immortal. 
 
 As architecture has been styled "frozen music" so might 
 sculpture be called a "frozen poem." It is the giving of form to 
 the conception of the soul. It is one mighty thought, arrested by 
 an angel in its flight through the mind, a conception worthy of 
 being known to other minds, and revealed in all the whiteness of 
 its purity. 
 
 Pagan sculpture was beautiful indeed beautiful because of its 
 proportion, its grace and delicacy ; but that secret beauty which 
 speaks to the soul was unknown ; it seemed to lie dormant in the 
 beautiful but soulless forms, as it was in the illumined souls. The 
 Pagan sculptor has not even tasted the living waters of faith and 
 love at the ever-flowing fountains of our religion. Pagan art was 
 the work of the imagination, Christian art of the soul. Gifted in- 
 deed, was the hand of Phidias that sculptured the Olympian Jupiter, 
 but were we to compare it with the Moses of Michael Angelo, we 
 would find one lifeless and cold, the latter alive and animated by 
 the breath of religious inspiration. In viewing one we can never 
 forget that it is marble; in gazing upon the latter it is almost im- 
 possible to realize that it is merely stone, for a soul seems to have 
 been imparted to the lifeless clay. " There is something infinite in 
 that countenance. The sadness which steals over the face of Moses 
 is the same deep sadness which clouded the countenance of Michael 
 Angelo himself" the sadness of a great soul that realized in some 
 degree the awful chasm between God, in His infinite holiness, and 
 the sons of men, in their pettiness and folly an indefinable melan- 
 choly and veneration which sought no model and has found no 
 rival. 
 
ART r.\ THE SERVICE OF RELIGION 87 
 
 It was religion that inspired the Gates of Ghiberti " fit to be 
 the gates of Paradise " the Campanile of Giotto, so delicate and 
 fairy- like that it looks as if "it should be kept under a glass case." 
 
 It was religion that guided the chisel of the sculptor, as he 
 peopled with marbled saints every nook, portal and spire of the 
 vast Gothic Cathedral, until, like some holy multitude crowning 
 some fair mountain in heaven, they seemed indeed a celestial con- 
 course petrified in adoration. When Architecture had done its 
 work, Sculpture came in to throw a veil of beauty over the pride 
 of the architect's imagination. From base to finial was added vari- 
 ation upon variation of delicate stone tracery; fine embroidery was 
 tossed and strewed from pillar to vault, and niches were filled with 
 countless angels and saints. Thus in the service of Religion, 
 Sculpture and Architecture ever worked in harmony. 
 
 JK- 
 
 PAINTING. 
 
 Painting, likewise, asks to be received into the temple of Re- 
 ligion. Within the Painter's soul Religion imprints her glorious 
 ideal, and, guiding his brush across the canvas, she aids him to 
 reproduce this ideal. All nature, physical and spiritual, yields to 
 the sway of Painting; from earth to Heaven she wings her flight, 
 portraying all between. 
 
 But the painting of Paganism encompassed a far smaller 
 sphere, for it confined itself to the material; above this it could 
 not ascend, for the artist expressed no higher inspiration than that 
 afforded by his imagination, a purely organic faculty. Yes, Reli- 
 gion has imparted to Painting its fire, its soul, and within her 
 hallowed sanctuary have artists executed the world's masterpieces. 
 
 See how nobly Religion has employed this art. It is the 
 language of the church. There hung with pictures it is an open 
 book, from which even the ignorant may learn. We need not 
 
88 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 turn its pages, but only gaze and read in colors the life pictured 
 there. 
 
 " Christian painting began in the Catacombs. In the rude 
 pictures of that subterranean world we find the chief doctrines of 
 Religion represented under forms the most touching. Painting 
 there represents the Phoenix rising from its ashes, emblem of the 
 immortality of the soul and the resurrection of the body ; the good 
 shepherd bearing upon his shoulders the lost sheep, which teaches 
 with touching simplicity one of the most beautiful of Our Lord's 
 parables; the three youths in the fiery furnace, signifying the 
 Providence of God for those who fear and love him ; Pharaoh and 
 hosts engulfed in the Red Sea, proclaiming to the faithtul that God 
 is the avenger of those who put their trust in Him." 
 
 St. Basil declares that painters accomplish as much by their 
 pictures as orators by their eloquence. Indeed, the divinity of 
 Christ is as manifest in the " Transfiguration " of Raphael as in 
 the famous sermon of Massillon. His sufferings on Mount Calvary 
 are as feelingly portrayed on the canvas of Rubens as in the un- 
 equalled discourse of Bourdaloue. No one can look upon the u Last 
 Supper " by Leonardo de Vinci without being inspired with a 
 sublime conception of that holiest event. 
 
 Thus the most renowned works of the great masters were ever 
 inspired by Religion the delicate cherubini of Angelico, the As- 
 sumption of Titian, the marvelous improvisations of Tintoretto. 
 To it Correggio devoted his Cupolas, with all their grace and chiar- 
 oscuro. Therein Domenichino found his " Last Communion of St. 
 Jerome," the second painting in the world. The Christ of Carlo 
 Dolce and the Madonnas of Sassoferrato and Murillo are in every 
 household. From Religion, Raphael, that prince of painters, drew 
 the epics which compose the Vatican galleries. Not only were 
 his first essays works of faith, but also those which he wrought in 
 his zenith, such as, " The Dispute of the Holy Sacrament," " Heli- 
 odorus," and the " Miracle of Bolsena." When he preferred to fol- 
 low only his imagination, he strayed away as in the commissions 
 
ART IN THE SERVICE OF RELIGION. 89 
 
 for the story of Psyche; but later on he turned himself to the grand 
 "Transfiguration" from the midst of which he passed to behold 
 it in heaven. 
 
 And Michael Angelo? I can never cease wondering how in 
 the Sistine Chapel he has portrayed the two extreme points of the 
 life of the human race the Creation and the Last Judgment. 
 
 Music. 
 
 One step higher in the scale of the fine arts, and the mingled 
 symphony of color, light, and shade, bursts into harmony of 
 sound. Music is the voice of angels speaking to our souls. It is 
 the voice of some strayed spirit exiled from Heaven and doomed to 
 earth to teach man to love and to hope. Wandering and telling 
 of its celestial home, it goes pouring its soul in sounds that still 
 retain the heavenly echoes. Music by its nature tends heavenward; 
 we can almost see those high silvery notes stream upward through 
 the air and pierce the blue sky; then when we no longer hear the 
 strain, it has not died away, but is far beyond on its way to 
 Heaven. 
 
 The ancients were wont to say that he who cultivates music 
 imitates the divinity, and St. Augustine tells us that it was the 
 sweet sound of psalmody that made the lives of the monks of old 
 so beautiful and so harmonious. 
 
 God is eternal harmony, and the works of His hand are har- 
 monious, and His great precept to man is that they live in har- 
 mony. Did not Christ come into the world amid the choral songs 
 of the angels? We can never banish music from His church; it 
 seems to enter there like some gentle spirit, whispering the peace 
 of another world into our souls, next bearing them away on its 
 quivering strains to the throne of the Infinite. 
 
 Whoever has enjoyed the rare privilege of being present in 
 the Sistine chapel during the Holy Week when the Miserere is 
 
90 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 sung, has felt the immense power of religious music. Do you 
 know of aught more wonderful than the masses of Palestrina, the 
 " Stabat " of Rossini, the " Crucifixus " of Bellini? As music de- 
 velops religious sentiment, so Religion gives to music its highest 
 themes. To her Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, owe their divinest 
 inspirations. 
 
 This age of materialism can give but little to the other arts 
 whose inspiration is faith; but music brushes away the dust of 
 everyday life and frees our souls for at least a few moments, from 
 the sordid cares that disturb it. It lifts our hearts to God, re- 
 minding us that we will one day behold a vision of beauty and 
 hear a Celestial music, such as eye hath not seen, and ear hath not 
 heard. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 And now we have come to the last and the finest of all the fine 
 arts to Poetry, the outpouring of an inspired soul. Mighty is the 
 soul of the architect and the sculptor, beautiful and sensitive is that 
 of the painter and the musician, but the soul of the Poet far sur-' 
 passes them all. In one line he erects a temple so grand that well 
 might he exclaim with Justinian : " I have surpassed thee Solo- 
 mon ! " He sees beauties in nature of which even Claude Lorraine 
 formed no conception. Poetry and music are one; music is poetry 
 of sound, and poetry is music in word. But poetry, though less 
 sympathetic, has a stronger, more definite power than music. It 
 appeals more to the mind than to the feelings. It is the music of 
 the intellect, a music played upon the harp-strings of thought, 
 whose notes are beauty, harmony and truth, whose ringing strain 
 .is God. And what sublime music that word " God " is to the mind! 
 In its melody it could dwell forever. It could contemplate for a 
 life-time that most poetic of words, without exhausting the thought, 
 the knowledge, the power, the immensity, the sublimity there con- 
 tained. It is from that word that Poetry springs; she claims a 
 
ART IN THE SERVICE OF RELIGION 91 
 
 divine origin, and like a true child ever tends to it. In seeking 
 God, Poetry winged her flight to the skies, and when in that quest 
 she naturally soared farthest from earth and nearest to Heaven. 
 Do you wonder now that Poetry, too, wishes to find a place in the 
 temple of Religion? 
 
 In the world of books is there one grander, more sublimely 
 poetic than that book dedicated by the inspiration of God the 
 Bible? There, where God is apprehended in all His majesty, are 
 heard the voices of David, the poet king,. of Jeremiah, and of Isaiah, 
 ringing with sublimest strains of prophecy, and pouring forth in 
 poetry the messages of God upon a listening world. 
 
 Has even Poetic Greece in her glory give us poems half so grand 
 as those of the Hebrew Scriptures? What other muse than Religion 
 inspired the triumphal hymns of Miriam and Deborah! Of what 
 else did Job write in that bold imagery, that vividness of expres- 
 sion, combined with master-touches of dramatic art, that stamps 
 this poem as the greatest in Oriental literature? But though the 
 spirit of song has fled from Jerusalem it has not departed from the 
 praise of God. Generation after generation has taken up the refrain, 
 and through the misty ages of the past aye, even through the 
 dimmer ages of the future, do I hear the hymn rising in thanks-, 
 giving to God. 
 
 And the Angel of the Schools deserved from the lips of Christ 
 himself these words: " Thou hast well written of me." 
 
 Did not the privileged mind of Dante and Milton also receive 
 their highest inspiration from Religion? 
 
 And how often in the silence of his heart and when alone with 
 his own great thoughts did not the " Poet Priest '' of the South 
 listen to her holy promptings." 
 
 Before Religion lent her muse to Poetry, the art lay fettered, 
 except, indeed, among God's chosen people. Sappho sang of love 
 to the sounds of her Grecian lyre ; Alceus, of war, infusing patriot- 
 ism in the breast of his listeners ; but the Christian poet chants 
 sublimest melodies to the Creator of song, and lays his choicest 
 
92 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 gems at the feet of Religion. It was she who whispered to him 
 his theme, and he told her his gratitude when he placed on her 
 brow his nobly earned laurels. 
 
 ELOQUENCE. 
 
 Climbing the heights of Parnassus let us greet on our way the 
 golden-tongued Polyhymnia. Of her power who can relate the 
 wonders? She sways the multitude as the mighty wind sweeps 
 over the face of the waters, as it gives a voice to the leaves of the 
 forest, or as it commands homage from the undulating prairie. 
 
 True eloquence is always artistic, and we must concede that it 
 holds a high place in the Church of Christ. The Master blessed 
 eloquence and bade it convert the world in the memorable words: 
 " Go ye therefore and teach all nations." Eloquence must be 
 spoken; take from it its voice and you take from it its soul. It is 
 the cry of an impassioned nature, in which love, faith and deep- 
 abiding conviction are enthroned. 
 
 In all ages eloquence has played a powerful part in the affairs 
 of man. Demosthenes did more to stay the fall of Greece than 
 all the Athenian valor or Spartan courage. " Let us match against 
 Philip!" was the unanimous response of the people of Athens, after 
 listening to one of Demosthenes' eloquent harangues. Cicero's 
 patriotic eloquence saved Rome from the conspiracy of Cataline. 
 And what has this great gift not accomplished in the arena of 
 modern politics and for the public weal? What if Grattan, Cur- 
 ran, O'Connell had never raised their voices in behalf of the down- 
 stricken Ireland! What if Pitt had not poured forth the eloquent 
 and honest convictions of his mind in behalf of American inde- 
 pendence! What of our sympathy for Ireland's Home Rule, had 
 not the Grand Old Man stunned the world with his telling oratory ! 
 
 If human eloquence can so move the multitudes, what a power 
 must it not have, if we add thereto the purity and holiness where- 
 
ART IN THE SERVICE OF RELIGION 93 
 
 with it is accompanied when working in the service of Religion! 
 The church has given to the world the noblest examples of elo- 
 quence. With pride she points to the names of Augustine, Ambrose 
 and Chrysostom Augustine whose mighty wisdom confounded the 
 heretic Ambrose profoundly and logically eloquent held even the 
 great Augustine spell-bound Chrysostom of golden eloquence, con- 
 quering millions of hearts. 
 
 Savonarola with his crucifix held at bay the army of Charles 
 VIII. And what jewels were too precious for the grand dames of 
 Florence to sacrifice at the sound of his inspiring voice! 
 
 When luxury reigned supreme at the French Court, the stern, 
 grave oration of Bourdaloue and of Massillon caused the wicked 
 king and courtiers to tremble. Boussuet's masterpieces, grand and 
 majestic, poured forth midst the shadows of the tomb, fell upon the 
 ear of the same pleasure loving Court, sad and solemn as the death- 
 knell warning it of the final dissolution. 
 
 Aesthetic France returns to her God at the feet of the great or- 
 ators of Notre Dame Lacordaire, De Ravignan, Didon and Mon- 
 sabre. 
 
 And in our own Catholic hierarchy are there not names that 
 shine like stars in the firmament of the church voices which are 
 the outpourings of faith and love and holy ambition that the world 
 may become better and purer? 
 
 If the East is proud of her Bossuet, is not our archieopiscopal 
 city equally gifted? 
 
 Oh, for the power to sway the soul, to move it in the paths of 
 righteousness, to raise it from the mire of sin into the high, pure 
 regions of virtue. Oh! for a soul on fire to enkindle a flame in the 
 hearts of others! 
 
 O^O>- 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Thus every art, Architecture, Sculpture, Painting, Music, 
 Poetry and Eloquence, has felt and known the sweet inspiration of 
 
94 
 
 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Religion, and responded to her in purer tones than it had ever 
 known before. She has substituted for the ideal myths of Pagan 
 days the purer vision that Heaven alone can inspire; and instead 
 of restricting and degrading, as some have ignorantly asserted, she 
 has elevated and purified every branch of art. Christian art could 
 not be more perfect than it is blending all that is fairest and 
 grandest in nature, with all that is purest and noblest in Religion. 
 
 Class of '92 
 
 ;*. <Jk& 
 
 Only a glance from stranger eye ; 
 A low, soft tone as we pass by 
 A curve perhaps, an instant taken 
 By lips that we to none can liken 
 
 Resemblance, then, with instant touch, 
 Gives to us thoughts and visions such 
 As fill our souls for one brief space, 
 While the heart and its love are face to face. 
 
 For other eyes beam then on us, % 
 
 Too well are known the tones heard thus, 
 And lips that wore that curve of old, 
 Words of sweet love to us have told. 
 
 K. K. 
 
Hath time dealt hardly with thee, 
 Child of sorrow, child of tears ; 
 
 Is the weight of many burdens 
 Added to the weight of years? 
 
 Have the dreams of school days faded, 
 Leaving only memory vain ; 
 
 All the hope and high ambition 
 Given place to weary pain? 
 
 Have the weeks and months in passing 
 Left but heart throbs in their flight, 
 
 Has the dread death angel entered 
 Taking all that made life bright? 
 
 Has the world been harsh and cruel 
 In its coldness and disdain, 
 
 Going on its way in gladness, 
 Leaving to thy heart the pain? 
 
 Have thy shoulders felt the burden 
 Of the cross these seven years? 
 
 What thy answer to my queries, 
 What, my 'child, tears, only tears! 
 
 95 
 
96 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 In the language of the Poet, 
 
 " Tears, the life-blood of the heart," 
 
 Silence only tells the story, 
 
 Words but feebly do their part. 
 
 Know you not that all these crosses, 
 
 Are but shadows of the sun, 
 Whose bright ray will fall upon us, 
 
 When the long day's work is done. 
 
 Sink not by the wayside sadly. 
 
 Learn the lesson sorrow brings, 
 Raise thy heart from earthly honors 
 
 Thou wert made for better things. 
 
 Let thy girlhood's high ambition 
 
 To a nobler zeal give place; 
 All for love, and God's dear glory, 
 
 Till we see Him face to face. 
 
 " Whom He loves, He chastens sorely," 
 
 'T is enough for us to know, 
 And the word gives sweetest comfort, 
 In our pilgrimage of woe. 
 
 Courage, for the cross that presses, 
 
 Cometh to thee from above, 
 And thy Father in His wisdom, 
 
 Sendeth all these things in love. 
 
 LAURA J. BRENHAM. 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, CaL 
 
 NIGHT is the dream hour of the day. Kate Keaney. 
 
Life's slowly rising sun purples the eastern sky and tinges with 
 a rosy glow the fleecy, floating clouds. The air is alive with the 
 joyous twittering of the feathered choir; the very brooklets with 
 their sweet babble, seem to laugh and sing, as the sparkling waters 
 ripple along their pebbly beds. 
 
 Along the broad and dewy path dances the laughing child. 
 Upon her soft, dimpled cheeks the tints of morning glow. Tripping 
 along she sings sweet snatches of some bright lay. Almost akin to 
 the chirping birds is the blithesomeness of her innocent heart; her 
 light footsteps press the dainty flowers strewn across her sunny way. 
 
 I approach the laughing little one with slow and weary tread, 
 and breaking in upon her happy pastime, I cry, " Sweet child, when 
 is the time to die?" The dewy, bright eyes are raised to mine in 
 startled wonder, she seems not to know my meaning. " To die, 
 little one," I repeat. "Is this, do you think, the time to die?" 
 Then her silvery laugh rings out wild and free upon the morning 
 air: " Not yet, not yet! '' she cries, and has bounded on again. 
 
 The tints of morning have grown more vivid; Aurora has left a 
 kiss upon the maiden's cheek; her soft eyes shine with a loving light; 
 the red lips murmur some loved one's name, to whose memory she 
 is most dear. With the whispered words a flush dyes to crimson 
 her pure white brow. In answer to my solemn question I seem to 
 hear her spirit sigh, as I listen to the words she breathes: " Savior! 
 Oh, not now! not now! Youth is no time to die! " 
 
 The soughing wind fans my fevered cheek, and on its wings are 
 borne to me faint echoes of some sweet lullaby. In a little haven 
 
 7 97 
 
98 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 by the wayside, sheltered from the storms which ofttimes sweep in 
 all their fury along this path of life, sits a young mother softly 
 crowing to her babe. All her loving heart shines in her eyes as 
 they rest fondly upon the tiny, sleeping face of her cherished first- 
 born. It is with a strange reluctance that I put to her the oft- 
 repeated question "When is the time to die?" She lifts her 
 eyes, filled with love not unmixed with agony, to my face as she 
 answers "Surely, not now! God will not call me yet, I have this 
 little life to guide, so that in the end there may be added yet another 
 soul to the numberless saints above." Ah, sweet, unselfish mothers, 
 how you redeem this world ! Surely yours is such a noble cause, 
 God will spare you to fulfill your task. 
 
 The bright noonday sun is shining steadily in the far, still zenith, 
 whilst along the path with joyous steps and earnest mien, quickly 
 passes a young man in all the fire and zeal of his prime. In answer 
 to the all-absorbing question, he faces me with a look of scorn in his 
 eyes. " Time to die? " he says, while his lip curls in disdain. " Ask 
 that not of me. I have the greater part of my life yet to live! 
 Speak not to me of death, go to age, he can tell you the time to die! " 
 
 "Ah, thoughtless one!" say I, as I turn away unsatisfied. The 
 dusk of evening slowly settles over hill and valley. The parting 
 rays of the setting sun gild the distant hills with a mellow splendor ; 
 the tall trees cast long shadows aslant the path. In the distance, 
 with his face toward the fading beams, wearily plods an aged man. 
 The tender after-glow touches his flowing locks with a golden glint 
 as he leans 011 his staff for a moment's rest. He is still standing 
 thus as I draw near. " Tired one," say I, '' surely you will tell me 
 now is the time to die." He stands silent for a moment more, then 
 all the ashes of his dead dreams and hopes seem to rekindle in his 
 brightening face; clasping his trembling hands, he cries, "No, no, 
 I cannot die. I love life too well to leave it yet." Poor deluded 
 one! the words have scarcely left the withered lips, when the hand 
 of God silently touches him; a groan, a gasp, and he lies still and 
 cold in the twilight. 
 
WHEN IS THE TIME TO DIE 
 
 99 
 
 Filled with sad foreboding, I continue on my way. Forgetful 
 of all outward things, I speak my thoughts aloud. " Ah me! "I 
 sigh, " why are we all so unwilling to die? " The sound of my own 
 voice in the stillness startles me out of my despondency, and I 
 become aware of a presence near me. Looking up, I see beside me 
 one with a serene countenance and kindly, patient eyes which 
 bespeak the calmness of the heart within. In gentle accents he 
 asks if I am a- weary. What is that light which shines in his face? 
 It is as if a lamp were gleaming with steady light through the win- 
 dows of his soul. A small, bright hope warms my chilled heart 
 once more. " Thou of the serene countenance," I softly ask, " tell 
 me when is the time to die?" A soft smile passes over his lips 
 and eyes, as if an angel noiselessly floating by, had brushed his 
 face with the shadow of its wings. He lifts his eyes to the pur- 
 pling west; the mellow light seems to throw a golden halo about his 
 brow as the smiling lips answer: " My Savior's time is mine! " 
 
 ZOE CHADWICK. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 NATURE is the poem of God's love ; the stanzas are sound, color 
 and motion. K. K. 
 
In the midst of the Garden of Eden, 
 By the hands of the bright Angels built 
 
 Rose a temple of radiant splendor, 
 
 Made of jewels, and sunshine, and gilt. 
 
 And the walls were all studded with emeralds, 
 In the dome, gleamed the ruby's rich hue; 
 
 O'er the cloisters of Peace fell the soft light, 
 Through the windows of topaz and blue. 
 
 'T was a wonderful structure! this temple, 
 As it gleamed in the day's glaring light; 
 
 As an emblem of " Peace " and no Sin 
 It shone like a star in the night. 
 
 When the sun o'er that Valley of Eden, 
 In the West, at the close of each day, 
 
 Sank from sight, hand in hand our first parents 
 To this Temple, came ever to pray 
 
 And when finished- their lowly orisons, 
 
 They would walk through the bright temple hall, 
 
 Never dreaming in their sinless beauty, 
 That so soon, they would both of them fall. 
 
 Adam fell! So the"t)ld story tells us. 
 
 Then this glorious temple of worth 
 Had its walls rent in millions of pieces, 
 
 Which were scattered broadcast, o'er the earth. 
 100 
 
.l.V ARAB TRADITION 101 
 
 And thus we, from that day have been sinful 
 Yet we think that with time, and with care, 
 
 We may gather a few of those jewels, 
 That were torn from that temple so fair. 
 
 All ye lovers of gold and of Mammon, 
 
 Who have thought that these jewels so bright 
 
 Are for naught but your show, and your pleasure, 
 Or to charm you and dazzle your sight 
 
 Let me tell you a secret, I know of 
 
 That these jewels so rich and so rare, 
 Are but tokens left here to remind us, 
 
 We've a temple in Eden somewhere. 
 
 ADELAIDE C. SP AFFORD. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 A hidden act of charity sends an irresistible appeal to the 
 Celestial Court of Benevolence. K. K. 
 
iod'5 
 
 Like a glorious Te Deum of thanksgiving rose the hymn of 
 Nature to the throne of God; rose in strains of divine melody on 
 that first day, when all things were made good, and a newly created 
 world stretched itself out, decked in its rich robes so fresh from the 
 Maker's hand. A perfection of beauty existed in all things, from 
 the profusion of grasses and gay flowers that carpeted the fertile 
 soil, to the towering mountains, or the billows of the main. And 
 while loveliness smiled its thanks on the face of all created things, 
 a thousand sounds blended into one harmonious whole, and ascended 
 to Heaven. On they chimed, and still they chimed in triumphant 
 chorus, ever praising, ever glorifying the Almighty Power that 
 called them into being. 
 
 For if God's name is imprinted in tints of indelible beauty on 
 all the works of the universe, then of whom do their voices sing, 
 and whose music could they call it, if not God's ? All riound, every 
 ripple and wavelet of air, every tiny vibration, is God's music. 
 
 The universe is filled with His voice. To each of His creations 
 He has given one of His divine notes; and they repeat it so often 
 that, could we but listen as the angels do, we would hear the music 
 of His name in the rushing torrent, and in the peaceful lake, in the 
 mournful winds and in the whispering breeze. 
 
 But hush! Everything is so still that the Earth seems to be 
 holding her breath to hear some far distant sound. Ah! 'tis the 
 twinkling of the little star-lanterns as they swing to and fro in the 
 sapphire tent, which they almost hide beneath the maze of their 
 beauty. 
 
 102 
 
GOD'S MUSIC 103 
 
 We hear God's music also, when the air is filled with the 
 rejoicing hum of insects, that are drinking in the sunbeams, and 
 blowing their tiny horns, as they weave and unweave their mystic 
 dance. 
 
 Even the gentle rustle of the leaves, when caressed by the soft 
 breezes, and the sweet notes caroled from hearts hidden beneath 
 pretty feathered coats, are songs of thanksgiving to be wafted to 
 Heaven. 
 
 The ocean, the grand and solemn deep! How musical is its 
 calm and steady roar; or again, how harmonious the sounds of its 
 restless and dashing billows! List also to the raging voice of the 
 cataract, as in awful fury it leaps over rocky cliffs, while in its 
 onward rush the waters writhe and foam. How weird, how grand 
 the song of the mighty stream! No power of man ever produced 
 such sounds as these. Onward rides the meadow brook, its laughing 
 waters telling of the harmony of nature, as it vies with the inmates 
 of the forest in singing its sweet " Hallelujah." Ocean, cataract, 
 stream and brook, each fills the air with its music; and now come 
 their offspring, the rain drops. They left us unawares, these fail- 
 daughters o the Sea; but now we hear their musical sounds as one 
 .by o,ne they repent ingly return to the arms of their common mother. 
 
 Yes; Nature is all harmony, for it is all love. The songs of 
 the beautiful water, and the winds, with their minor chords mingle 
 in sweetest tones. 
 
 Joyfully these psalms of Earth rise to the Eternal Throne, and 
 He who sits thereon, though listening to the songs of the angels can 
 still bend towards Earth; can still receive these humble prayers. 
 
 But my God, there are other strains that rise to Heaven, 
 still more delightful to thine ear! They come from the heart of 
 man; they are the broken prayers he is ever breathing to his Maker; 
 and these strains, up-borne on angel wings, soar above the things of 
 Earth and enter Heaven. Such heavenly music they are that we 
 almost think the angels must have ceased playing on their harps 
 and let their own melodv waft to us from above. 
 
104 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 This is the music that the Master loves best, whether it [be the 
 strong, reliant prayer of man, the patient appeal of woman, or the 
 dulcet lisping of the infant. Rising from the earnest and loving 
 heart, it finds an answer in God's own great Heart. 
 
 Class of '91 
 
 Convent of Out Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 ]Y[y Sister ? 
 
 The golden beams of the morning sun 
 Like gladsome creatures on fairy wing 
 
 Lit up with a halo the face of one 
 
 Who knelt in rapture before her King. 
 
 I gazed ; my thoughts like a meteor sped * 
 
 To scenes of my youth on a distant shore, 
 
 Where a sister's love had a brightness shed 
 O'er my budding life in the days of yore. 
 
 Ah ! yes ; from the eyes of her who knelt, 
 
 My sister looked as when she smiled 
 With all the love that a sister felt, 
 
 On me, a happy, thoughtless child. 
 
 Again can I see my sister's look 
 
 Nor call it Fancy's ardent glow 
 She gazes, she speaks, from a precious book, 
 
 As she was wont in the long ago. 
 
 VIGIL AUS. 
 
# 
 
 It was a perfect night. Not a murmur stirred the starlit still- 
 ness, and the pale December moon shrouded in a cold embrace the 
 sleeping vale of Bethlehem. Upon a distant height rude figures 
 might be descried stretched upon the cold earth keeping their mid- 
 night vigils. Clad in coarse garments and wearing low sandals, 
 these simple-minded men were types of the Judean shepherd. The 
 hours dragged on and still they slept, one solitary figure only, 
 pacing the mountain side, and keeping faithful watch. Suddenly, 
 a soft light fell upon the heights, slowly and gently, like a loving 
 benediction it closed around them, awakening the sleeping herds- 
 men. They were not terrified they were awed. The crescent 
 moon had dipped her silver horn a full hour since beneath the 
 western horizon the stars were blotted out in the dazzling bril- 
 liancy. 
 
 They looked at each other in speechless surprise, a gentle peace 
 falling upon them, as in breathless wonder they waited for some 
 new revelation. 
 
 At length a voice sweeter than music broke the stillness, say- 
 ing: " Fear not," and then was made known to the humble shep- 
 herds the " tidings of great joy." The vision vanished. Far up in 
 the sky they heard the glad refrain, " Gloria in Excelsis Deo," and 
 long it echoed in their inmost hearts. When the golden harmony 
 had "trembled away into silence" and the gray dawn was just 
 breaking in the east, they arose from their knees, each heart be- 
 neath the rude sheep-skin mantles yearning to see the new-born 
 
 105 
 
106 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 King. " Venite Adoremus ! " they exclaimed, and left the moun- 
 tain side for the manger. 
 
 ******** 
 
 What are those long shadows darkening the desert? Three 
 strangers, seemingly kings, traverse the plain, borne 'each by a 
 huge camel. The first bears the unmistakable physiognomy of a 
 son of the Nile, his dark eyes flashing with expectancy and hope, 
 even through the dimness of three score years; there is in their 
 depths an undefmable longing and yet a holy calm. The second 
 bears the stamp of Hindoo parentage, his great folded turban and 
 white linen garments-confirm what his features attest. In the third 
 we see a face in strong contrast with its companions a face beauti- 
 ful in mold, and beautiful in the expression of wonderful sweetness 
 and faith. The features are pure Grecian, and unstamped by age 
 or care. 
 
 In their hearts these men had long felt a yearning for God, 
 and when the star of Bethlehem shed its pure gleams on their 
 souls they felt an assurance that their longing was soon to be sat- 
 isfied. A golden chain led from their hearts to the Savior's feet; 
 they felt it irresistibly attracting them nearer and yielding to its 
 sweet influence, they drew nigh unto the Crib. How gladly they 
 responded to the "Venite" that echoed deep in their souls! It 
 was like a bell of untold sweetness rung by angel wardens. The 
 harmony was as a promise of peace and light to their troubled 
 hearts groping in the darkness. 
 
 Let us stop to listen for a moment, and through the vaults of 
 twenty buried centuries we may hear sweet voices chiming " Venite 
 Adoremus," the song has not yet died away. In every age, in 
 every Christian country are these sweet words hallowed and sung. 
 Every year as the Christian festival dawns, the Bethlehem star 
 of faith sheds dazzling lustre on each loyal heart, as it once did on 
 the shepherds of Judea, and they, too, re-echo u Venite Adoremus/' 
 
 Ah! if we would always gladly respond to the "Venite!" 
 but, alas, too often we close our obdurate hearts to the blessed 
 
VENITE A DO REMUS 107 
 
 entreaty, and worship not at the Crib of Him who came to seek 
 and to save sinners. 
 
 " Venite Adoremus!" in how many care-burdened souls do 
 these words find a responsive chord, which vibrates in exquisite 
 sensitiveness to the awakening touch I For how many hearts be- 
 numbed with pain has not this peaii of gladness opened the flood- 
 gates of tears, relieving sorrow and pointing out a new and higher 
 motive for which to live and to suffer. 
 
 " As long as the heart has passions, as long as life has woes," 
 
 will this u Venite Adoremus '' bear the same sweet meaning as it 
 breathed to the Judean shepherds on the heights of Bethlehem 
 Christmas night, two thousand years ago. 
 
 LTJCILE EDWARDS. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 There are lives that bless and are blessed where'er they go. 
 They are like fertilizing streams that flow through the arid desert 
 clothing its dreary sands with a mantle of softest verdure and gem- 
 ming it with starry flowers. Laura Glenn. 
 
 There are sunbeams that owe their light, not to the sun, but to 
 some golden hearts that cast their fragrance o'er our pathway. 
 When our lives seem cold and dreary, they drive away the gloom. 
 A word, a look, a smile from those we hold dear, brings happiness 
 to many a weary heart. 
 
it the 
 
 * 
 
 Just as Time turns to bid farewell to Summer, 
 To catch the last perfume she breathes ; 
 
 Snatching stray bits of her radiance and color 
 He paints gray October's sere leaves. 
 
 Thus tenderly leaving a seal for a memory 
 
 Of beauty we would not forget. 
 Blends us a promise in Autumn's own colors 
 
 Of radiance more rare for us yet. 
 
 True ! but for Thee all had been cold and dreary, 
 
 Thou hast a mysterious chain, 
 Which links the beauties of ne'er forgot Summer, 
 
 And in thy gray shadows we live it again. 
 
 Just at Time's Turning, we linger a moment, 
 To catch the last breath of our flowers. 
 
 Take a long look into our fleeting Summers, 
 Where Memory and Promise are ours. 
 
 There, in the meadows, Forget-me-not faces 
 That bloomed in the sweet olden days, 
 
 Lovingly peep into ours, and are smiling 
 In just the same olden ways. 
 
 Then "at the Turning" the birds are all singing 
 Sweet snatches of song we once knew. 
 
 Looking just back of the Clouds of October 
 The Gray melts away into Blue. 
 
AT THE TURNING 109 
 
 Thus, at the Turning of Summer to Autumn 
 
 We look at a picture of Spring, 
 So, at the Turning of years doth our Memory 
 
 Sweet pictures of childhood then bring. 
 
 What of the promise that comes of the blending 
 
 Of Autumn's deep red and rich gold? 
 'Tis of a Summer where never is fading 
 
 Nor Songs, nor its faces grow old. 
 
 For into its meadows, Time never may trespass 
 
 To snatch away Beauty and Light 
 All the day long we may dwell in the Sunshine 
 
 For there never cometh the Night. 
 
 Memorial pictures of all our past Summers, 
 
 We love Thee ! and most would delay : 
 But at the Turning of years we're reminded 
 
 Of Summer : Just over the Way. 
 
 And as our years grow more numbered 
 
 They draw us, so gently but surely away 
 From Memory's Pictures so faded and misty 
 
 To one that is brighter than they. 
 
 Nearer and nearer we grow to that Summer 
 
 We oft hear its music, it seems; 
 And we look through the beautiful blue of its Heaven 
 
 To faces of light in our dreams. 
 
 Till at Life's Turning, we pause for a moment, 
 
 Scarce knowing a change is made 
 Loving and trusting we turn, and awaken 
 
 In Summer that never doth fade. 
 
 ADELAIDE C. SPAFFORD. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
How strange it is that man fails to see in the sky, that ever 
 broadens above him, proofs of the beneficent love of God! Is it not 
 that part of Nature that speaks most eloquently to his soul, that 
 responds best to his heart's noblest thoughts ? It is a book con- 
 stantly open for his meditation ; yet, page after page is turned, 
 glory after glory fades unheeded. But let an angry cloud steal over 
 the azure of the heavens and shroud from his gaze the genial rays of 
 the sun, then man is troubled. Perhaps it will mar some pleasure, 
 blast some hope, or even sway the tide of fortune ; his mind is full 
 of thoughts darker than the overhanging canopy. Ah ! fickle man, 
 who but an hour ago allowed to pass unadmired the glory of a sun- 
 set, now watches every movement, every fold that is gathered in the 
 heavy drapery above. But soon the sun-beams find a rift, and as 
 the clouds melt away in the mist of blue rain, man's gloom disap- 
 pears, and he smiles. A hasty prayer, and again the sky is forgotten. 
 
 We are ever awake to the beauty of the hills, to the changing 
 moods of the sea ; we trace the delicate beauty of every vein in the 
 hare-bell's cup, and strolling along the sea-shore our eye is ever 
 quick to catch the gleam of some pretty shell. But every one can- 
 not feel the breezy spray from the sea upon his cheek; to some a breath 
 from the ocean's lips would restore new life and strength. Alas ! for 
 them, they are far distant from the sound of its mysterious voice. 
 To many, the dainty hare-bells nestling 'mid waving grasses, is a 
 tiny bit of beauty still unknown ; but the sky infinite in its ex- 
 panse where will we not find it ? Where does it not smile down 
 upon us ? It matters not how poor or rich the surroundings, be it 
 
 no 
 
THE SKY 111 
 
 hovel or palace, we have but to uplift the eye to meet its gentle 
 downcast glance. There is a charm in its brightness, yet it is not 
 " too bright and good for human Nature's daily food." Ye students 
 of Nature, who love to note each changing aspect of the whispering 
 woods, ye know not what beauties unfold themselves above your 
 heads ! Look into the deep blue chasm of the air, study each pass- 
 ing mood ! Is not its soft . Summer tenderness as beautiful as a 
 mother's smile ? Sometimes capricious, sometimes fearful, some- 
 times gentle is it not almost human in its passions ? Is it not 
 almost divine in its infinity ? Yet how seldom do we heed its 
 moods, how seldom do we read 'the lesson of the sky ! We turn not 
 our thoughts thither, and when we so speak of it it is only when a 
 lull in our conversation causes us to complain of the sunless day, or 
 perhaps praise the warmth and brightness of the morning. Who 
 among the group could tell of the great white chain of mountains 
 that girded the horizon at noon, or the little sun-beam that, stealing 
 out, smote upon the melting crest ? Yet every cloud that sweeps 
 across the blue above has a lesson to convey, for has not God set 
 His bow in their folds ; does He not hide His kindness in their 
 very depths ? Each bright ray that leaves the sun bound on its 
 gentle mission is shivered into myriad beams in the misty ether of 
 the sky. Those airy mists that veil yon mountain crest will soon 
 turn to hurrying clouds that skim across the evening sky ; and when 
 the parched earth looks lovingly up to the serene heavens they will 
 join their hands across the sky, 'and 'mid the wail of tempests and 
 crashing of thunder they will drop their " garnered fullness" down 
 upon the thirsty earth. Oh ! how appalling is the majesty 
 of the sky in its sterner moods ! But as the sun smiles again 
 through a rift in yonder cloud, these cheering words come to 
 the mind : " He shall set his promise in the bow." See it arching 
 its many hues across the heavens : is it not a fit messenger to recall 
 to us God's undying promise ? Again, clouds are the ministers of 
 God, for to their care has he entrusted the glorious sun. They 
 spread at morn the golden pavement for His chariot wheels ; for 
 
112 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Him they build a temple of dazzling whiteness at noon ; and they 
 draw at evening the purple veil about the sanctuary of His rest. 
 Dancing before the radiant orb of day, they scatter everywhere the 
 sparkling gems He pours from His vast urn ; or, heaped in a snow 
 mass upon the vapory blue, they suggest to us the truth that God, 
 in His wish to be nearer to us, has set His throne in their midst. 
 
 But if we have failed to notice the sky and its beauties, others 
 have not. To them the fleecy forms of the clouds tell of Him " who 
 giveth snow-like wool, and scattereth hoar-frost like ashes." Some 
 never watch the evening sky without remembering that those ambi- 
 ent folds of clouds are like the same that enveloped the sacred form 
 of our Saviour, and hid Him from the sight of His loving disciples. 
 How consoling to think that heaven is directly over my head : at night 
 it eeems especially near, and when I look up I . imagine that the 
 starry veil of the sky is all that is between heaven and me ! But 
 full well do I know that something darker, deeper than the sky, 
 hides from my vision the great White Throne. 
 
 Ah ! how many beauties have passed us unseen, unregretted, be- 
 cause unknown I Let us not leave them unnoticed, but know them 
 every one, for there is a lesson in every leaf, and each phase of 
 Nature is the autograph of God. 
 
 ZOE CHADWICK. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 
 God alone knows the value of a kind word. K. K. 
 
a 5 
 
 
 
 I 
 
What a mysterious little word Apart is ! 
 
 It holds within its small compass a power which awakens the 
 deepest emotions of a loving heart, and yet, strange to say, it also 
 contains a depth of meaning which brings joy, peace and happiness 
 to the soul. 
 
 If we consider it as one word, what may Apart mean ? 
 
 These five little letters may tell us that five hundred miles lie 
 between us and the smiles of loved faces ! 
 
 What may apart mean ? That perhaps five minutes' distance 
 only, separates us from those whom duty keeps from our side ! 
 
 Apart ! Apart ! It whispers that an idle word, a weighty trifle has 
 severed hearts and lives that should have flowed on as one. Apart ! 
 That word which affection dreads even more than death, that word 
 which friendship is loath to pronounce ! 
 
 But let me transform its letters into a word of life " A part." What 
 care I "though leagues of land divide us and oceans roll between," 
 if I am confident that within my own breast I bear with me a part 
 of my friend's heart, that I have left with my loved one a part of 
 my own ! 
 
 What care I though I roam 'neath a foreign sky "a stranger in a 
 strange land," if my soul whispers to me that I have a part in the 
 thoughts of the friend I have left behind ? What care I if sorrow, 
 trials, misfortune assail me when I am certain that there are some 
 who will bear a part of my weighty charge, and lighten by daily 
 prayers a part of my weary burden ? 
 
 8 113 
 
11-t SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 My soul is cheered on while still in the " Valley of Tears," when 
 I think that though I may be apart from those my heart cherishes 
 a day will come when we will share together a part of Heaven on 
 that bright shore where " sorrow is no more, and parting is 
 unknown." 
 
 FLORENCE HYDE. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 Such is life, first, a greeting to earth and its joys, then, a 
 parting, a sad farewell, leaving behind naught but a fleeting memory. 
 
 May French. 
 
 0, Lone Mountain ! City of Tombs ! Well hast thou been 
 named. Densely populated as is thy area, thou still art lone, thou 
 resting-place of the dear departed. Thou art a great book in which 
 we may read the lives of the many who slumber beneath thy sod, 
 and taking unto our hearts thy lessons, wiser grow. 
 
 Mary T. Dawson. 
 
Perhaps it is a fancy, 
 
 But it always seems to me, 
 
 That little children earthward sent, 
 
 Are flowers from God's garden lent. 
 
 Just here a pansy blossom sweet, 
 And there a violet's dainty face, 
 While, pure and fair the lily tall, 
 With blushing rose, fill bower and hall. 
 
 The wayward daffodil that nods 
 And bends to every passing breeze, 
 The winsome fairies of the wildwood, 
 Who softly troop like dreams of childhood. 
 
 But thou wert Stella, e'en a Star, 
 Thine eye did ray as pure a light 
 As comes from seraph, great and bright 
 Who basks fore'er in God's blessed sight. 
 
 The One who sent thee, for awhile, 
 Kept thy dear heart all for His own, 
 He knew how soon with brightest beam, 
 Thy glance should heav'nward dart its gleam. 
 
 Earth was not fair enough, Estelle, 
 Its frame no fitting case for thee, 
 For thou wert made for nobler things, 
 A throne befitting royal kings. 
 
 , 11.-) 
 
116 
 
 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Now favor'd one, from thy dear Home 
 Where crown'd thou stands't harp in hand. 
 Look down on Mother, Teacher, Friend, 
 And strains of thy sweet music send. 
 
 'Twill soothe the anguish'd heart of her, 
 Who solaced e'er thy earthly woe, 
 Who loved thee with an endless love, 
 And longing waits her call above. 
 
 It is the hour of twilight when all earth seems wrapt in a silent 
 spell, it is the hour over which Time loves to linger and to open to 
 the longing eyes of youth the broad vista of the future, ever flavored 
 with the sunshine of happiness. A fair young girl is seated on the 
 rocks, gazing far o'er the sea ; the murmuring of the waves as they 
 break upon the strand falls unheeded on her ear, she sees not the 
 beauty of the scene, for her thoughts are far away. The eyes where 
 love lies dreaming and the blushes that softly mantle her cheek, 
 tell that she is wandering in the future's rosy path. It is with a 
 sigh she rises as the deepening shadows of night dispel her visions. 
 0, halcyon days of youth, how heedlessly are you spent I 0, child 
 of Heaven, remain not a dreamer ; why trouble yourself about the 
 future, 't is all prepared for you by the good God. Mamie Lafferty, 
 
aod Olicf^ael Clr^elo 
 
 Which of these two names shall be placed first ? It is indeed 
 hard to decide. Alike only in being great and famous. We need 
 only hear these names, and before us arise two forms, resplendent, 
 transfigured in the light of immortal fame and radiance of their own 
 great souls. 
 
 Many are the stars that shine in the vast firmament of art ; 
 many beautiful and brilliant, illuming the earth with their heav- 
 enly light ; but these two Michael Angelo and Raphael they rule, 
 they are as the great sun and the beautiful moon. When that sun 
 is in the heavens the stars are eclipsed and only his majestic self is 
 visible. But that sweeter light of silvery moon who would part 
 with it ? It envelopes the earth, and holds it spell-bound in its 
 chains of beauty. Yes, the mellow light from Raphael's brush lures 
 us away ; until, gazing deeper and deeper into his heavenly visions 
 we are unconsciously lifted far, far away, until we find ourselves 
 listening to the melodies of angels that bless the lovely Mother or 
 praise the transfigured Christ. How beautiful must have been the 
 soul that filled that mind with such heavenly images and guided 
 his hand in creating such soulful faces and angelic forms ! He must 
 have lived, not as other men, who ever turn their sight on earth and 
 things of earth, but in a realm of harmony and beauty. One would 
 think that his keen eye had even pierced the azure sky, and the 
 beauty of Heaven itself was stamped upon his soul. Yes, it is only 
 from Heaven that he could have caught so divine an expression as 
 that which breathes from the face of his Madonna di San Sisto. 
 When we look upon it, it is as though by an especial privilege the 
 curtain of earth were drawn aside ; and, behold ! in a real vision of 
 Heaven, the Mother of God radiant, almost dazzling with celestial 
 light. 
 
118 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Ever gazing on the beautiful countenance of angels, his own face 
 seems to have taken the impress of angelic beauty. And, when that 
 beauty was, in all its freshness of growth and fairest bloom ; when 
 the young artist's soul was still ardent with the love of the beauti- 
 ful, God took him where his soul would live for evermore on heav- 
 enly beauty ; and where, in youthful beauty, amongst the angel 
 faces, his would blend in the harmony of Paradise. 
 
 And yet, the prince of painters was proud to consider himself a 
 rival of the mighty Angelo, and to let the influence of this master 
 of art be seen in his own beautiful work. Yes, mighty indeed must 
 have been the man that Raphael was proud to equal. The greatness 
 of Michael Angelo is too great for the human mind to grasp. He 
 holds us spellbound and wondering ; we cannot look the mighty 
 sun in the face ; his light is too dazzling for our poor sight ; and we 
 are stunned and blinded by its strength. Like a streak of lightning 
 he flashed through the world of art, crumbling all else to dust and 
 insignificance. But, mighty as are his works, his " Moses,'"' his 
 " David," his " Prophets, " these were but a reflection of the 
 mightier conceptions that filled the soul of Angelo. Those indeed 
 must have been stupendous and too great, alas, for the touch of any 
 human hand. Yes, the names of Raphael and Michael Angelo will 
 ever echo in the world of art. It is almost impossible to compare 
 them ; both so great, yet neither greater Michael Angelo, the arch- 
 angel of painting ; and Raphael the guardian angel to the young 
 aspirant of art and beauty. 
 
 Their ardent souls at last are satisfied ; for now the soul of 
 Michael Angelo can contemplate face to face, a greatness greater than 
 his own great soul: there he can realize his ideals in the infinity 
 of Heaven, and the immensity of God. There Raphael sits, amidst 
 choirs of angels, listening to the enraptured song of his " Cecelia," 
 and ever gazing into the beauty of that divine Mother whom he 
 loved and honored on earth. 
 
 INEZ DIHHLKK. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oak/and, Cat. 
 
He who replenishes the star-lanterns and hangs them one by 
 one to light up the face of night ; He who scatters flowers abroad 
 over the earth to make it fairer and more fragrant; He it is who 
 twines the pleasant days into man's life. The Poet of our fireside 
 has said: 
 
 " Into each life some rain must fall, 
 
 Some days must be dark and dreary." 
 
 But alas if we consult stern facts, daily experience, shall we not con- 
 clude from the average life of mankind that " into some days only, 
 the sun is still shining/' ''many days are dark and dreary." 
 
 At creation's morn all days were days of happiness. Man's 
 life was to be a perpetual sunshine, as it lay untainted in the light 
 and love of the Creator's beneficence. Sin was the first cloud that 
 obscured the sunlight of that glorious day, the first pang of sorrow 
 that pierced a human heart. Ah, what a day to remember. What 
 a day for all generations to regret. And how through the long, 
 stern, penitent years of our First Parents' exile, how the memory of 
 that sinless day, " walking with God in the garden," must have 
 stood apart a thing of beauty, but no less of pain, lying in the 
 shadow of their offended Maker's displeasure, revealing a claim to 
 happiness wilfully forfeited, and forfeited forever. 
 
 Yet they had a Father to deal with, whose mercy and love were 
 not commensurate with His justice, whose Divine Heart could not 
 fail to be touched by the woes of His penitent children. He would 
 not dry up every source of pleasure, nor quench every light that 
 might brighten their pathway. Along the rugged road of life, this 
 
 119 
 
120 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 forgiving Father has strewn many a pleasant hour, and there are 
 few or none that have not to thank Him for days burdened with the 
 wealth of His gifts, as well as the perfume of sweet memories. 
 
 What are happy days? The standard would vary with the 
 capacity and possibilities for suffering and enjoying. Taste, situa- 
 tion, temperament, knowledge, the physical, moral and intellectual 
 conditions of mankind, all would tend to make the standard differ. 
 The invalid would bless God for a day's freedom from pain; the 
 man of keen moral sensibilities would look for his sunny day 
 among his virtuous and noble deeds ; while the saints would soar to 
 lofty summits in the unseen world of beauty and truth. God's un- 
 clouded smile is the sun of that Nuptial Feast in which His holy 
 ones revel eternally. The scholar would find it in the domain of 
 the intellect, midst new prospects, lofty thoughts, startling theories; 
 while the child of art would call his happiest day in which he had 
 given expression to his life-long ideal. 
 
 But a young girl's happy day, would she find it among these 
 categories? No; the latter, for the most part, lie beyond the field 
 of her experience. She must look back to the days of her child-life, 
 where pleasant hours are as many and luxuriant as the flowers she 
 loves to cull. Without a care, without a sorrow, she is the child of 
 sunshine and song. Walking hand in hand with Innocence and 
 Loveliness, Nature lavishes upon her th'e beautiful, Religion estab- 
 lishes kinship with the Angels, the Savior leaves upon this age the 
 print of His blessing, and His loving invitation: " Suffer little ones 
 to come unto me." " Oh! how we envy the children," says the Poet, 
 ignoring as they do the Past, smiling at the Present, bounding to- 
 wards the Future. What are all their days, but pleasant days? 
 Again our Poet sings : 
 
 " What would the world be to us, 
 If the children were no more? 
 We should dread the desert behind us 
 Worse than the dark before. 
 
OUR PLEASANT DAYS 121 
 
 Ye are better than all ballads 
 
 That ever were sung or said, 
 For ye are living poems 
 
 And all the rest are dead." 
 
 The first season of childhood vanishes, to make room for another 
 phase in which the development of reason tempers the glowing at- 
 mosphere, wherein the little ones delighted to bask. With the dawn 
 of this faculty and its gradual development, the struggles of the 
 child begin temper must be restrained, ignorance overcome, good 
 habits instilled, the serious work of life commences, and now the 
 bird which hitherto gladdened us with joyous song gives forth at 
 times a note of sadness; its wings are clipped, its flight impeded; its 
 freedom interfered with. Alas for the caged songster, will it carol 
 no more? Have all its happy days been counted? The child thinks 
 so in the outburst of its first sorrow, beautiful in its very earnest- 
 ness. But it is a spring-shower merging suddenly into new visions 
 of happiness, and the day is only brighter for the cloud that over- 
 cast its morning. "O man thou pendulum 'twixt a smile and a 
 tear," finds ready application in this period of child-life. 
 
 Travelling onward the child has reached a more serious phase. 
 Application and learning meet her with an ominous look. They 
 point to arduous duties, to precipitous heights, to rugged paths 
 which must be travelled over ere the goal is reached. Towards that 
 goal the school-girl must ever press press on as the soldier does 
 towards victory, as the conqueror to his hard-won laurels, for a day 
 of glory crowns the far-off summits. Yonder is her beacon; the 
 clouds may darken, shadows fall thick and gloomy about her, she 
 keeps her eye on this luminary, nerves her will, cheers her oft de- 
 spondent heart, and presses onward. 
 
 Though the journey be long and the task an onerous one, there 
 are many pleasant days strewn along the pathway of school-life 
 days bubbling over with frolic and mirth days of quiet enjoyment, 
 of sweet intercourse with master-minds, wherein lofty ideas are 
 formed and " Excelsior " becomes the life-long motto days of sweet 
 
122 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 dreaming when everything is fair and everyone worthy of love and 
 trust. Alas that the illusion should vanish, that the charm should 
 be broken. 
 
 Leaving the path of speculation and sweet reminiscence, we pass 
 into those of reality. We, dear companions, have climbed those sum- 
 mits, and the day whose light outshone that of all other days, has 
 dawned upon us. In it we see reflected all the joys of the Past, we 
 read the hopes of the Future. Let ours be the song of the vintagers 
 as the grape gives forth its luscious wine, ours the mirth of the har- 
 vesters as they garner in the golden sheaves. Whom do we find 
 here to greet us? Those who have gone before us in the race. The 
 friends of our childhood extend a welcome; the loved ones of our 
 fireside press us to their bosom; Mother Church is here in the per- 
 son of her prelate and pastors to bless us and smile their approval. 
 Oh the joy, the pride of this eventful day, beautiful as it is in real- 
 ity, will be still more charming in hours of retrospection. We hold 
 it, dear companions ; we bless God, our dear teachers and beloved 
 parents for the long-desired prize. Standing as we do on the thresh- 
 old of the future, with a pure and lofty ideal in view, we kneel at 
 our Archbishop's feet to beg a blessing that as our lives broaden and 
 sink into deeper channels, our souls may be wedded to useful and 
 virtuous deeds, and that the crown of true womanhood may ever be 
 entwined with the laurels we bear away from our Alma Mater. 
 
 FANNY WHITE, KATE WHITE. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 I 
 
 The lapse of years softens the sorrows and trials of other days. 
 
 May FrenrJi. 
 
f 
 
 In Fancy's em'rald shimmering sea, 
 There floats a fairy golden isle, 
 
 Whose banks of broider'd clover lea 
 On merry laughing waters smile. 
 
 This isle of dreams is beauteous wrought 
 With loveliness from poet's theme, 
 
 Echoing soft, sweet Music's thought, 
 Glowing with the artist's theme. 
 
 There Nature weaves her fairest charms ; 
 
 Sweet flowers adorned with iris hue 
 Do waft to zephyr fragrant balms, 
 
 While shy they droop with kiss of dew. 
 
 Tall trees their leafy tassels swing 
 'Neath gentle touch of nightingale, 
 
 Whose lute responsive wooings sing 
 To pearly fountain's murmuring tale. 
 
 There, veiled in clouds of lace, the morn 
 On azure curtained throne appears, 
 
 While round her soft, with mystic tune, 
 Doth steal the " Music of the Spheres." 
 
 Upon that isle Stern Death is kind, 
 He brings us back our loved ones gone ; 
 
 And hearts on earth that breaking pined 
 Are there no longer sad, forlorn. 
 
 123 
 
124 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 For oh ! our cherished loved ones dear 
 Are with us on that golden shore, 
 
 And joy in rapture sheds soft tear 
 
 To know we're with our loved once more. 
 
 There, cold earth fades and all is bliss ; 
 
 There, Mortal's spirit Care is Rest 
 And with tranquillity's soft kiss 
 
 It gently slumbers on its breast. 
 
 That isle I ever love to roam, 
 
 And there from earth I blissful stray, 
 
 For oh ! Love calls it: " Home, Sweet Home," 
 And there it fondly steals away. 
 
 Ah ! yes, upon that lovely isle 
 Love breathes soft mystic strains ; 
 
 No heart aches 'neath its gentle smile, 
 No silent sighs, no sad refrains. 
 
 With sweetest song she wakes her lyre 
 
 To soft, ecstatic, tender thrills, 
 Hushing every tone of dire, 
 
 In its warm heart music trills. 
 
 Then blame me not if oft from care 
 
 I stray upon that mystic isle ; 
 For ne'er Earth's sorrows could I bear, 
 
 If there I found not sweet Joy's smile. 
 
 EMMA GOETZ. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred ffearf, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 The very consciousness that the good opinions of others are 
 unmerited, causes one to resolve to be worthy of them. K. F. 
 
Chisel in hand stood the artist before him a huge block of mar- 
 ble, like a great white cloud about to assume some fantastic shape. 
 Before the sculptor's imagination was passing a long train of fancied 
 images. What a strange picture they made I And what a mingled 
 and grotesque assembly ! He must be very near Olympus. See ! 
 the form of beautiful Venus following that of a vestal virgin ; an 
 inspired Pythoness led by a fearfully beautiful Medusa ; a dying 
 gladiator and a lost Pleiad. What mean these varied forms ! The 
 sculptor knew not what scene to carve from on the waiting marble. 
 He called upon the gods of Olympus to inspire his heaven-born 
 genius. He prayed ideal creatures to speak to his listening soul. 
 Did his soul catch the answer ? Not from Olympus, for the Olympus 
 of Mythology was but a dream. As he stood breathless, expectant, 
 his listening spirit caught the sound of a chant from the ivied clois- 
 ter on the bluff. He strained every nerve to hear the whole-souled 
 harmony he felt it thrill through him ; he felt the depth of its 
 music ; he felt the inspiration it spoke. It told him of a dying 
 Saviour, a sorrowing mother, a repentant Magdalene Angelo carved 
 his Piela. 
 
 " Sculptors of life are we 
 As we stand with our lives uncarved before us' ' 
 
 waiting pure and fair as the sacrificial mists that rise from the altar 
 of earth to greet the morning, are our lives, as yet unscathed by sin 
 and sorrow, unliiied by care. AVhile we are standing, chisel in hand, 
 to shape the marble before us, false dreams of earth's delusions, 
 bright visions of pleasure, of delight, fairy fire-flies of fancy, spark- 
 ling for a day, float in the vista of our imagination. 
 
126 
 
 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Let us seize not these delusive charms, but wait wait, with 
 listening soul, for the psalm of destiny. The zephyrs of prayer will 
 waft to our soul its mystic music ; we will catch the strain as it 
 floats from heaven. Upon the waiting marble let us chisel with a 
 firm and steady hand the outlines of true and noble lives. Let us 
 be faithful to the divine inspiration, and upon the yielding stone 
 trace a form that we will be proud to submit to the Master Artist. 
 
 " Let us carve it then on yielding stone, 
 
 With many a sharp incision : 
 Its heavenly beauties shall be our own 
 
 Our lives, an angel's vision." 
 
 LUCILE EDWARDS. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 We are cradled in the star-hung world, watched and warded by 
 angels, bearing the image of God, and preparing for a destiny, of 
 whose glory thought has no image and language no name. 
 
 Lulu French. 
 
> pi city FPeVealed 
 
 AVhen Almighty God placed us on this earth as at a resting-place 
 on our way to our heavenly home, He spread over and around the 
 stern realities of this transitory life a bright veil of delightful mystery, 
 implanted within our souls the desire to enjoy its fascinations and 
 gave us the power of instructing ourselves in the ways of the Creator. 
 Nature is a book open to all, no blank pages do we meet when per- 
 using it, but pages closely written. In it we read of God, of His 
 goodness, His power, His perfections, His love. It is so related to 
 the mind of men, that it is evident they were made for each other. 
 The greatest, the purest pleasures we derive here below are from the 
 contemplation of Nature ; but a higher purpose than present pleasure 
 is accomplished; entering life as a germ the soul expands into intelli- 
 gence, virtue and knowledge through the teachings of Nature, the 
 wisest, gentlest, and holiest of teachers. Creative wisdom never 
 works in vain or in sport. Even the flying cloud has its mission; its 
 fantastic forms and gorgeous colors are divinely appointed. The 
 hills and valleys, mountains and dales, which seem scattered in 
 accidental confusion, have received their contour by design ; con- 
 sequently, each stone and mineral composing these hills was also 
 the work of special direction according to ends foreseen. In the 
 living kingdom of Nature, too, there must be an adequate purpose 
 and end accomplished by every movement, and in every creature of 
 the Divine Hand. 
 
 Hence, the study of Nature does not only please, but it instructs, 
 as it enables our intelligence to recognize Divine Intelligence. Nature 
 is all luminous with the Divine Presence. It brings the operations of 
 the great Architect almost within the grasp of human intelligence, 
 
 127 
 
128 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 revealing the conceptions of His Mind before they were embodied in 
 actual existence. We hear His voice in the rolling thunder, contem- 
 plate His immensity in the vast ocean, feel His power in the mighty 
 torrent, and adore His love, beauty and goodness in the surpassing 
 wonders of Nature. Nature is a limpid stream which reflects in all 
 its favored loveliness, the most glorious of panoramas. Shall we not 
 gaze into its pearly depths, and read with rapturous admiration and 
 deep reverence the grand secrets which none but the Creator can 
 communicate ? If some in the contemplation of its beauties have 
 been unfortunate enough to forget their Author and wander from 
 the path of truth, can we blame Nature for it ? No, certainly. 
 For Nature, with her waving forests, verdant hills, fertile valleys, 
 and countless rivers, stands as an image of its Creator and this 
 picture is one we see in almost every substance, animate and 
 inanimate. 
 
 It is not my object now to speak of the relations between God and 
 Nature, to define the Trinity, or to explain this first mystery of our 
 Holy Faith, for I have not the capacity required ; moreover, the doc- 
 trine of the Trinity is such an incomprehensible mystery, that the 
 more we meditate on it the more wonderful and inexplicable it seems. 
 It is a most sublime revelation, solving the numerous difficulties 
 against which the ancient philosophers struggled in vain. The great 
 St. Augustine, who has written fifteen books on the subject, says in 
 the Conclusion : " But among the many things I have now said, 
 there is nothing that I dare to profess myself to have said worthy of 
 the ineffableness of the highest Trinity, but rather confess that the 
 wonderful knowledge of Him is too great for me, and that I cannot 
 attain to it." Then he concludes by a prayer, beginning with these 
 words : " O Lord, our God, we believe in Thee, the Father, the Son, 
 and the Holy Spirit, for the Truth would not say, Go, baptize all 
 nations in the name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy 
 Spirit, unless Thou wast a Trinity." In his work on the " City of 
 God," Vol. 1, Book xi., he consecrates several chapters to this sub- 
 ject, to which we may refer if we wish to study the matter. 
 
THE TRINITY REVEALED IN NATURE 129 
 
 Every effect has within it some degree of perfection which gives 
 to it a certain resemblance to its cause, at least analogically. As the 
 artist seeks to leave on the canvas an image of what exists in his 
 mind, so has God left in Nature an impress of the Trinity. Bourda- 
 love, in one of his sermons, said that " there is no mystery where 
 God is more incomprehensible than the mystery of the Blessed 
 Trinity. " At another time he said : "I have said it, and again avow 
 it, that the act of religion by which we confess that three persons 
 make one, is the greatest effort of faith." This every one will admit, 
 but we must also acknowledge that no truth is so frequently and in 
 so fascinating a manner presented to us. Almighty God, knowing 
 the pride and stubbornness of man, who will seldom admit what he 
 does not understand, has like an indulgent Father placed before our 
 eyes proofs, as it were, of the Trinity. With wonderful love He 
 smiles on us at every step ; we can not even speak, think, or act 
 without being ourselves images of the Trinity. No teacher is so 
 successful 'as he who lets his pupils believe that they have the merit 
 of having discovered what his teaching alone has accomplished. So 
 it is with Almighty God ; He has everywhere placed before us images 
 of the Trinity, that we may have the pleasure of discovering these 
 types of their Author. Father Faber says : " As the image of God's 
 perfections, Creation was the faint shadow of that most gladdening 
 mystery, the Eternal Generation of the Son." As the communica- 
 tion of His love, and the love of His own glory, Creation also dimly . 
 pictured that unspeakable necessity of the divine life, the Eternal 
 Procession of the Spirit. " Perhaps all the works of God have this 
 mark of His Triune Majesty upon them, this perpetual forthshadow- 
 ing of the Generation of the God and the Procession of the Spirit, 
 which have been and are the life of God from all Eternity." Nature, 
 grace and glory may thus perhaps all be imprinted with this mark 
 of God, the emblem, the device, the monogram of the Trinity in 
 Unity. The natural joy of beautiful scenery, the strong grace of 
 Christian holiness, and the thrill of glory which passes from our 
 souls from the unveiled face of God, all draw us home to the Blessed 
 
130 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Trinity, our last End and First Cause. " A triple cord of His pres- 
 ence is bound round all things, and penetrates through substance 
 by essence, by presence, and by power." In the kingdom of Nature 
 there are three separate worlds, which are full of exquisite enjoy- 
 ment : the physical world, which is an emanation from the ever- 
 lasting and inexhaustible gladness of the Most High ; the intellectual 
 world, with its marvelous shadows of the incomprehensible joys of 
 God himself ; and the moral world, representing Him who is the 
 co-equal limit of the Godhead, the third person of the Blessed Trin- 
 ity, and yet these three worlds, the physical, intellectual and moral, 
 are one world, a most striking picture of the Trinity. The three- 
 fold heavens proclaim the Trinity. The earth, the sea, and the air 
 form a temple by means of which we are to mount to that glorious 
 kingdom where reside the blessed. Our sources of light are three : 
 sun, moon and stars, that in obedient and majestic harmony tread 
 the path which God has appointed, and move as one, never sleeping. 
 Every great thing is triune. Of intelligent beings there are three 
 orders : God, angels and men. Of created beings, three more : 
 angels, men and brutes. Man is triune in almost every respect. 
 First, his mind "The mind of man," says St. Augustine, "who 
 knows himself and loves himself, and the mind that knows itself, 
 through itself is another image of the Blessed Trinity. These three 
 are one and also equal, viz., the mind itself, the love, and the knowl- 
 edge of it ; they exist substantially, are predicated relatively, and 
 are inseparable." There is another trinity in the mind of man, 
 which appears much more evident than the former, viz., his memory, 
 understanding and will, which are not three minds, but one mind. 
 The body of man consists of three parts : head, trunk and limbs ; 
 each limb-three members, also three joints. In his face, three features 
 of sense : eyes, nose and mouth ; and three other features ; fore- 
 head, cheek and chin. Our lives consist of three stages : youth, 
 manhood and old age. Living creatures are of three kinds : birds, 
 beasts and fishes ; they move in three ways : walking, swimming, 
 flying ; and have three modes of subsistence : carnivorous, herbiv- 
 
THE TRINITY REVEALED IN NATURE 131 
 
 orous and omnivorous. There are three classes of savors : bitter, 
 sweet and sour. Actions are of three classes : good, bad and indii'- 
 ferent. Truth also has three divisions : metaphysical, logical and 
 moral. And so on throughout all the universe. 
 
 Almighty God has, indeed, everywhere so written the proofs of 
 the Holy Trinity, that he must be very stupid who does not see them. 
 The philosophers have divided philosophy into three parts : physi- 
 cal, logical and ethical not, however, with any allusion to the 
 Blessed Trinity ; but it is certain that in these three great general 
 questions all their intellectual energy was spent. Again, there are 
 three things which every artificer must possess in order to effect any- 
 thing nature, education and practice. Nature is to be judged by 
 capacity ; education by knowledge ; practice by its fruit the nat- 
 ural having respect to Nature ; the rational to education ; the moral 
 to practice. 
 
 St. Augustine finds a picture of the Trinity in love he that 
 loves, the object loved, and love ; one also in sight ; another in the 
 holding, contemplating and loving faith temporal ; besides many 
 kinds of trinity, too numerous to mention. In the kingdoms of 
 Nature, animal, vegetable and mineral, we have a trinity connected 
 by another, sponges, zoophytes and diatomes ; the mysterious chains 
 which unite them add a new chain to the study of Nature. In many 
 plants we also find a picture of the Trinity. St. Patrick found one 
 in the shamrock, and used it to instruct the natives of Ireland in 
 that mystery. No number is repeated oftener in the Holy Scriptures 
 than the number three. There have been three dispensations of 
 truth : the patriarchal, the Jewish, and the Christian. There are 
 three divisions in the Old Testament : the Law, the Prophets, and 
 the Psalms. St. Paul mentions three heavens. Adam and Noah 
 each had three sons. There were three great patriarchs : Abra- 
 ham, Isaac and Jacob. The camp of the Israelites was threefold. 
 Moses appointed three cities of refuge. Three orders served in 
 the temple : high priests, priests and levites. The high priest wore 
 a triple crown. The levites were of three classes. The Israel- 
 
132 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 ites had to assemble in the temple three times a year. There 
 were three great religious festivals. According to Holy Script- 
 ure, God has regulated all things in measure, number and weight, 
 thus revealing another Trinity. In the New Testiment, three wise 
 men came from the East to adore the Infant Jesus. The child 
 Jesus was found in the temple after three days. Three apostles 
 were with our Saviour at the Transfiguration, and three in the gar- 
 den of Olives. There are three that give testimony in heaven : the 
 Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost, and these three are one. 
 There are three Theological virtues : Faith, Hope and Charity. 
 While remaining in this world we have three important duties to 
 perform: to God, to our neighbor, and to ourselves. Three emi- 
 nent good works: almsdeeds, prayer and fasting. Three evan- 
 gelical counsels : poverty, chastity and obedience. In the Church 
 of Christ, three orders : militant, triumphant and suffering. Observe 
 a triplicity in rational speech: the voice, the word, and the breath. 
 See it again in human existence : to be, to do, to suffer. Matter is 
 disposed in three states : solid, liquid, and aeriform. There are 
 three primitive colors: yellow, red and blue, for by the mixture of 
 these all others are produced, and when blended they form clear 
 white. In the human act there is a triplicity: thought, word 
 and deed. In every syllogism, three parts. Three is an emblem 
 of strength a threefold chord is not easily broken. The triangle is of 
 the utmost importance in mathematics. Time has three divisions : 
 past, present and future. Our day is composed of three parts : 
 morning, noon and night. The poets take cognizance of the num- 
 ber three. Milton speaks of "three-bolted thunder, 1 ' and his 
 expression " thrice happy " has a superlative meaning. " In all 
 religions," says Brownson, "in all philosophies, in all thought, in 
 all speech, we find asserted in some form the essential Triad, or 
 the mystery of the Trinity." Even in the fables of Polytheism we 
 find numerous traces of the Trinity. There were three principal 
 deities Jupiter, Neptune and Pluto. The Greeks divided their 
 gods into three classes celestial, terrestrial and infernal. They 
 
THE TRINITY REVEALED IN NATURE 133 
 
 often represented their animals as having three heads. There were 
 three Graces, three Gorgons, three Fates, and three times three 
 Muses. The Romans formerly sacrificed three victims at the 
 establishment of leagues and truces. The Celts and Goths had 
 their triads of gods. The Druids found a trinity in the mistletoe, 
 because its leaves and berries were formed in clusters of three 
 united in one stalk. The divine triad of the Persians was repre- 
 sented by a large circle, in the center of which was the upper 
 part of a human figure joined to the body and wings of a dove. 
 The circle emblem of eternity represented their supreme being; 
 the human figure and the dove, thought, word and action. The 
 Chinese attach a mystical importance to the number three. The 
 Egyptians also had a notion of the Trinity. The Magi were a sort 
 of trinity. Plato seems to have had some idea of the Trinity, as we 
 see by his second letter to Dyonisius. The doctrine of the Trinity 
 is knowh in the East Indies and Thibet. Many missionaries state 
 the infidels whom they instructed had a faint knowledge of the 
 Trinity. Thus it is at every step, in every clime, and at all ages, 
 Man has lived, and is now living in the very shadow of the Trinity. 
 Let the so-called scientific men of the age deny the existence of the 
 God who created them ; let them lose themselves in the labyrinths 
 into which false science has led them ; they can not, no, they can not 
 help feeling in their inmost souls the impenetration of the Triune 
 God. His presence is proclaimed in every particle of matter around 
 us. The bright spark of Intelligence within us is but a ray thrown 
 off from the glorious refulgence of the Almighty. Ah! then, let us 
 not forget our omniscient origin. While wandering among Nature's 
 treasures and blissful meads, let us remember the Invisible Cause, 
 and wait patiently for the time when the mysterious veil will be 
 thrown aside, and we will find ourselves in the ever-shining, gladsome, 
 loving, eternal splendors of the Divine Trinity. 
 
 KATIE A. CARR. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
This little poem is supposed to have been drifted from the blue 
 above, where a loved soul has found anchorage. 
 
 ho 
 
 o 
 
 If thou hadst known, loyal heart, 
 That soon, so soon, the shadows fell, 
 Thou couldst not then have played a part 
 More kindly just ; the thought still lives, 
 Through all the days remembered well, 
 Within the sacred guard of one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
 Whom though hast known, yet scarcely knew, 
 For all the tenderness that dwelt 
 Beneath the outward calm so true, 
 Told naught of hidden depth, so felt 
 That slightest tone, or speech of thine, 
 Had power to stir the soul of one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
 No matter where thy pathway hies, 
 To strange, mysterious land unknown, 
 Or full in God's bless'd presence lies, 
 Thy thought will linger round the Throne 
 And there 'twill be my sweetest prayer 
 To link thy name, with that of one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
AN ANSWER TO CHRISTIAN REID'S "REGRET" 135 
 
 For loyal e'er I've been, and long 
 And constant still my heart shall be ; 
 No earth-born chains are half so strong 
 As links formed by eternity. 
 Now, all the years which love may give, 
 Thy mem'ry sweetens for the one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
 friend, look up, and mourn no more, 
 The whitening clouds that o'er thee roam, 
 Are but the snowy, golden floor 
 That hides from mortal gaze the dome 
 So steadfast blue that bends and bids 
 Thee smile and comfort find, in one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
 For hearts grow strong through grief and pain, 
 The mystic crucible is this 
 That purifies from earthly stain, 
 And love grows fair and does dismiss 
 All dross ; it brightens in the light 
 That shines on thee and on the one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
 Thy hand across the gulf of years, 
 A pledge of thought that bridges space, 
 A token now that knows no fears, 
 That thrills our souls as they embrace. 
 Awake to knowledge of the truth, 
 That I am still the faithful one, 
 Whom thou hast known. 
 
airjorja 
 
 *' O south -land, O dream-land, with cycle of green 
 
 O moon-light enchanted by mocking-bird's song ; 
 Cool sea-winds, fair mountains, the fruitland between 
 
 The pepper trees shade, and the sunny days long 
 land, of my love, in thy heart may I rest." 
 
 The very name brings a perfume of almond and orange blos- 
 soms while one sees clinging to each support the tender grapevines, 
 festooning themselves in a thousand fantastic forms away in the 
 distance stretch the thickets of wild mustard. 
 
 Look at this beautiful picture of that Home so graphically 
 described by Helen Hunt : " Its windows open on the garden, and 
 the doorway faces the east." " Between the veranda and the river 
 meadows, all was garden, orange grove and almond orchard ; the 
 orange grove always green, never without snowy bloom or golden 
 fruit ; the garden never without flowers, summer or winter ; and the 
 almond orchard in early spring a fluttery canopy of pink and white 
 petals. On either hand stretched away other orchards, pear, 
 peach, apricot, apple, pomegranate, and beyond these, vineyards. 
 Nothing to be seen but verdure or bloom, or fruit, at whatever time 
 of year you sat on the south veranda." 
 
 Does not this vivid picture portray the features of every land- 
 scape throughout the magnificent Southern valley which yields 
 with the luxuriance of the fabled age fair Garden of the Hesperides 
 with its wealth of magic golden fruit, guarded not by the dragon of 
 old, but by myriads of angels hovering with a special delectation 
 o'er the valley of Los Angeles. 
 
 136 
 
W - 
 
 -> O 
 
 fc O 
 
 O tn 
 
 tft W 
 
 w H 
 
 a 
 
 S3 
 
 w < 
 
 s g 
 

 
RAJ10NA 137 
 
 A thrilling sadness lingers round thy name Ramona, causing 
 one to pause and wander back to the early days of California, when 
 the dusky sons of the forest were rulers of the sod. Scarcely a tract 
 of land that does not teem with reminiscences of this period ; like a 
 chain, the Missions link themselves through the land; each in itself 
 placed where Nature's smiles are fairest. 
 
 Just within call of the silver chime of the old San Gabriel, a 
 new city has risen, bearing the name of Ramona, her highest emin- 
 ence crowned by a Convent, filled with busy workers courageous 
 successors of the toilers of old. Yonder San Jacinto lies purple and 
 hazy in the distance, while snow-capped "Baldy" keeps constant 
 guard over the peaceful valley so quietly resting below. 
 
 Fair Italy with her far-famed mountains and picturesque sites 
 is alone a rival of this gem of our Californian land 
 
 But fairer than the blossoms of the south are the souls of little 
 children, and our clime so favored in every respect lacks not this 
 crowning. Guide then these little feet, sister -band, that they falter 
 not lead on to the portals of Heaven, and this our Home, will truly 
 be the vestibule of Paradise. 
 
 I often wonder if after all old memories have more of joy than of 
 pain? 'Tis sometimes hard to revisit scenes of happier days. 
 
 K. F. 
 
Festival m 
 
 Never did a more promising day rise on Ramona's fair brow. 
 Never did her verdant fields, sunlit hills and hoary old mountains 
 appear more exultant than in the glow and beauty of her first relig- 
 ious festival. Heaven's blessing and Earth's loveliness blending in 
 one jubilant harmony, over which floats the grand voice of the 
 Catholic Ritual which makes of this a day of golden memories 
 which will ever be sacred to the pupils of this school and to the 
 inhabitants of this part of the valley. For the first time the repre- 
 sentative of Christ stands with uplifted hands, as the Savior of old, 
 to call down blessings on the little ones of the flock ; that was a 
 hallowed festival which dawned in the Jewish heavens eighteen 
 centuries ago, and now Christ's prelate has repeated with heart 
 and voice the Master's wish that the lambs of the fold should 
 be guarded from all contaminating influences. For what should 
 our children be, but angels with upraised hands, calling down 
 heaven's graces on the family ? And what greater power is there 
 with God than their childish innocence ? The philosophers of old 
 called a man great, when, with his gray hairs he had preserved all 
 the freshness and beauty of his childhood's heart. So our girls and 
 our women will be great and their influence will be ennobling, if, from 
 their pious teachers in the cloister they learn, notwithstanding the 
 corrupting influences that vitiate the atmosphere which surrounds 
 them, to keep their hearts and mind unsullied. 
 
 Echoes of the Past ; how harmoniously they blend with the 
 realities of the Present I Looking back through the vista of years, a 
 quaint but hallowed picture meets our enraptured gaze, in the sim- 
 ple, zealous Padre, the untutored Indian, the quiet grazing flocks 
 
 188 
 
THE FIRST RELIGIOUS FESTIVAL IX RAMON A 
 
 139 
 
 all making a strange contrast with this busy, progressive age of 
 ours. Yet, the grand Catholic principle, the yearnings of dear 
 Mother Church for the salvation of souls, underlie all this rustic 
 simplicity. 
 
 To-day we ascend to a higher plane. Forms have become more 
 refined, culture more sought after ; still we cling to the teachings of 
 the old faith, that Religion and morals are the basis of the social 
 fabric, without which education is a mere sham, and without which, 
 woman, who has such a grand part to play in the regenerating of 
 society and in the raising of tbge moral standard, utterly fails in the 
 task which has been allotted her by Divine Providence. 
 
 We trust, therefore, to realize this ideal } in the young ladies 
 who go from beyond the portals of this Institution. 
 
 We thank your Lordship most heartily for the high solemnity 
 you have lent to this festival. We thank the generous donors who 
 have contributed to the building of this Institution ; the Rev. 
 Clergy, friends and acquaintances, who have enhanced the impor- 
 tance of this occasion by their kind and friendly encouragement. 
 We thank one and all for this lovely day on Convent Hill, which 
 will ever be " a thing of beauty " in our reminiscences, and there- 
 fore, in the words of the poet, " a joy forever." 
 
 Read by Miss EDITH SHORE, 
 On the occasion of the Dedication of the Ramona Convent. 
 
Pray tell me, philosopher dreaming, 
 Or scientist learned and wise, 
 
 "What is the wonderful beauty 
 That shines in the baby's eyes? 
 
 We all love the little darlings, 
 And none of us know just why, 
 
 I fear you lovers of learning 
 
 Are too wordly to guess if you try. 
 
 And rocking the tiny cradle 
 With a lullaby soft and low 
 
 The answer came like a whisper 
 To the secret I longed to know. 
 
 The depths of the wee eyes vision 
 A glimmer of turquoise blue 
 
 A patch of heavenly brightness 
 Dipped in heavenly dew. 
 
 The baby's smile is surely, 
 
 A beam of the sunshine of love, 
 
 Caught in its wings as it fluttered 
 To eatth from its cradle above. 
 
 The meaningless lisp of the baby, 
 
 Is all it remembers quite, 
 Of that story of peaceful promise 
 
 It sang the first Christmas night. 
 
 140 
 
I WONDER 141 
 
 I know now why these spirits 
 
 Of wonderful baby-land, 
 Creep into our hearts and boldly 
 
 Their tenderest love demand. 
 
 You are dear little cherubs of Paradise, 
 
 Lost in a world of sin ; 
 And our truest peep of God's glory, 
 Is the glimmer that you bring in. 
 
 LUCILE EDWARDS. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 Behold the mother surrounded by her children, these golden 
 links in the chain of Love that bind her to the earth, but the fetters 
 are pleasant and not again for wealth untold would she be free. As 
 she and her little ones watch the dusky shadows of night falling 
 upon the earth, I mark that the mother keeps the thoughtful eyes 
 of the maiden and the happy smile of childhood's bright day. As 
 they gaze upon the stars that come forth one by one and she tells 
 them of that Home beyond the skies, the little eyes are filled with 
 wonder and the little hearts with awe. Later with unutterable ten- 
 derness and a silent prayer for her darlings, she bends over them as 
 they lie in the slumbers of innocence, then kneeling, how fervent is 
 her prayer! Self is forgotten her only cry is for her children. 
 How steadfast, how tender, is a mother's love. Truly has it been 
 said "it is like no other love." How patient with us in sickness, 
 how true in misfortune's dark hour I Her heart is our asylum in 
 our troubles, her counsel is as balm to the heart seared and scorched 
 by passion's stormy breath. ye Mothers, shall your Children ever 
 know the tears that you have shed for them, the pains you have 
 endured for them, or the swords of sorrow they have plunged into 
 your hearts! Ah, never! God alone knows and to Him your suffer- 
 ings are as pearls beyond price. Mamie Lafferty. 
 
rr-*> 
 
 ^spiders 
 
 ^ . 
 
 When Summer comes, and the days are warm and dreamy, 
 perhaps you will decide to go to the arbor and be lazy. You 
 acknowledge that you have an especial fondness for this arbor so 
 shady and quiet, and apparently the Spiders are fond of it, too; for 
 there are thousands of them there, with whole villages of their 
 webby homes stretched in the foliage around you. 
 
 There happens to swing amid the shadows of this peaceful 
 arbor, quite the dreamiest of hammocks, and, as you lie entangled 
 in it, looking like an entrapped butterfly in a colossal spider-web, 
 you slowly, half unconsciously begin a mute friendship with those 
 queer, black, ugly things that everyone abhors the Spiders. Soon 
 you begin to " weave a web of similes "about them, and in that web 
 they grow like so many things, and take so many forms, that you 
 almost doubt whether they will ever appear to you again the plain, 
 old', ugly things that you went through childhood fearing. 
 
 Now and then you feel quite compassionate toward Spiders, 
 and think them abused and ill-treated far oftener than they deserve, 
 though you acknowledge that at times, they certainly look and are 
 most villainous. You are even quite prejudiced against a certain 
 class that live in those irregularly pitched, dusty, cat-a- 
 cornered webs, for these Spiders always seem to be making eyes at 
 passdng flys, and plotting murderous assaults upon them; or plan- 
 ning schemes for kidnapping young and innocent insects. To this 
 despicable set, also belong what you call Witchspiders, for there 
 are some that look wonderfully like witches, as they sit at the door 
 of their little round cells, with their weird fingers stretched out 
 over their webs, in which you think they must weave strange 
 stories, fates and fortunes, which they spread out to tempt the un- 
 wary winged traveler to pause and read. Alas for him if he does, 
 for he will never go forth again to reveal them I 
 
 142 
 
SPIDERS 143 
 
 But the other Spiders! those that build fine skeleton webs, 
 round in shape, which they generally weave over open spaces. This 
 class you are sure must be of higher instinct. You love to watch 
 their lovely webs so patiently, skillfully and beautifully woven. 
 You look up and see them now stretched over bits of light that seem 
 to be condensed as they pass through the thick foliage, and grow 
 brighter, so bright, that they seem to your fancy, miniature suns in 
 a sky of green ; and the Spiders like mimic transits, as they move 
 in their webby orbits over the suns among the leaves. You certainly 
 take great pleasure in watching these spider-transits, and you are 
 always calling these leg-radiating stars, "queer things." You have 
 just turned and made yourself quite uncomfortable in your hammock, 
 to get a better look at one of the " queer things," that is languidly 
 strolling over the woven floor of a web quite close to you. What 
 mute enjoyment he seems to be taking in the gauzy perfection of his 
 " web-spun castle in the air." You feel quite sad when you think 
 of some thoughtless wind, or heedless hand ever destroying it ; 
 and yet how many webs just as beautiful, seem ever doomed for 
 destruction : but soon the patient Spider will weave a new web over 
 the ruins of the old. Ah, this is a long, long thought for you, so 
 long, that though the shadows have begun to lengthen, they fall upon 
 you unheeded ; nor do you see them weave themselves into a criss- 
 cross web upon the ground, and in that web they play with your 
 shadow image entangled there. Still you look as if you felt the 
 influence of some binding charm, you are so quiet, so thoughtful. 
 
 You may have finished your long, long thought, perhaps only 
 to begin another. bewildering Spiders! they are a puzzle of legs 
 and webs, but you are determined to solve it. But not now, for 
 the twilight has come and is quickly putting away the webs and 
 shadows into the dark, and your thoughts about to finish their ram- 
 ble, have come home like tired birds from their fancy flight among 
 the webs and Spiders, weary, silent. Ah, they will be wiser birds 
 to-morrow and stay at home, and then perhaps they will sing you 
 an oft repeated song of "hopes and fears'' which will bring you back 
 
144 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 to Reality, that you may there recall that half- forgotten, half- woven 
 web, your life. Sacred web of thoughts and acts, is it ever to lie 
 tangled with hopes and fears? Is there no moral Spider within you 
 to smooth it out, no patient will to weave a better web to-morrow 
 than the one that was woven to-day? Perhaps to-morrow will tell, 
 but before then you will have blessed the Spiders, and slowly made 
 the confession that they were wonderfully wise old teachers when 
 they gave you their web for a lesson. 
 
 CONSTANCE MCKEAND. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal. 
 
 Courage I faint heart, fear not the burden 
 
 That is laid on your soul to-night ; 
 A comforting angel is near you 
 
 Who will pity and make it seem light. 
 
 For with looks uplifted to Heaven, 
 
 His home and yours too, you know, 
 He is asking the Master to strengthen 
 
 The soul He is striking so low. 
 
 He hears the heart moan, and wonders 
 
 That such should be thine to bear, 
 Ah ! the thought comes quickly after 
 
 His Son did a thorn-crown wear. 
 
 Then, never more seek to wander, 
 
 Be cheerful in sunshine and rain, 
 Content that the -Father looks on thee, 
 
 To see if His child thou'lt remain. 
 
 Courage 1 then, faint heart, never despair ; 
 
 Courage I and wait for the morrow, 
 When the dull clouds of care shall vanish away, 
 
 Thou wilt wonder what wa^ thy sorrow. Kate L. O'Neill. 
 
pielal \?eil Pall, 
 
 I saw it when the moonlight kissed it 
 
 With pensive beam and fair, 
 Weaving with bright noiseless fingers 
 
 Diamonds in its flowing hair. 
 I saw it when the moonlight crowned it 
 
 With a halo soft of light, 
 While its gentle voice sang softly 
 
 Love songs to the peaceful night. 
 I heard its voice far in the distance 
 
 Murmuring tenderly and sweet, 
 Echoing through the lonely mountains 
 
 Like the tread of fairest feet. 
 
 Sweetest waters of the Valley! 
 
 Is thy source far in the skies, 
 In some cloud that crowns some mountain 
 
 Rising vast before mine eyes? 
 Ah! methinks the angels passing 
 
 Drink beside thy limpid wave, 
 And from their bright lips thou stol'st 
 
 Thy love songs tender and grave. 
 Ay! methinks their lips have taught thee 
 
 The restful song thy sweet voice sings, 
 And thy glistening, fleecy whiteness, 
 
 Thou didst steal from their white wings. 
 
 JOSEPHINE HALE. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cal, 
 
 10 145 
 
Down, down comes the light-footed snow, covering a green 
 California landscape. Nearly fifteen years have I lived on the smil- 
 ing Pacific Coast and never yet has the soft, feathery, dove-like snow 
 visited us. It vests our trees and shrubs in a light glimmering 
 mantle, and completely envelops the long cypress hedge in a pure 
 valenciennes-lace, looped up here and there by a refractory twig 
 that has protested against this new suit of white so strange yet so 
 inexpressibly beautiful. It is an Eastern picture causing all our 
 thoughts to fly to the home of our youth, and making our fingers 
 tingle for a snow-ball frolic. Eastern I say, yet not so, because the 
 jolly snow-elves have come on a surprise-party and instead of cloth- 
 ing bare branches, they try to hide the emerald perennial verdure 
 that peeps out everywhere and laughs at them. The haughty ever- 
 greens and everlastings repel such liberties and rise out of the snow 
 carpet. Here is a patch of lovely green grass softly kissed by the 
 fleecy crystals. 
 
 And the flowers, oh! the sweet flowers! There I spy the red- 
 hooded nasturtiums hiding, not under the smooth coverlet, but 
 peeping out on the world at large. Here that creamy beauty, the 
 tea-rose, inclines its head under the great load, and the sweet little 
 buds that had mistaken winter for spring will not believe their eyes. 
 In every direction the trailing vines shake out their long tendrils in 
 the snowy air. The scarlet flowers of the passion-vine on the grotto 
 of Our Lady, lay their cheeks on the white stones. How sweet the 
 statue of the Virgin looks in her cloak of blue 'mid those immacu- 
 late surroundings. Every one exclaims: "Oh! I hope the snow 
 will keep till to-morrow "I We are even afraid that some stray sun- 
 
 146 
 
LIVE XOT TO YOURSELF ALOM-: 147 
 
 beam will come and destroy our glimmering treasure. Alas! alas! 
 it will soon disappear. I see it already losing its hold on the roofs 
 where it lies so secure and smiling. The weather has commenced 
 to drop tears over our disappointment. Thus with all our earthly 
 joys ever pleasing and ever-fleeting. 
 
 May the New Year bring us no deeper sorrow. 
 
 Oakland, Dec. 31, i88/. 
 
 t 
 
 Swaying in the soft gentle breath of morn, with the sunbeams 
 glinting o'er its frail form, a blushing rose sang with the early 
 choristers, sang in the voice of perfume : " I live not for myself 
 alone, but even my little life has a loving mission to fulfill in God's 
 great field of labor. I live to flood the atmosphere with my sweetest 
 incense, and to speak and bring happiness to man's immortal soul. 
 In the sunny tresses of the maiden I quietly nestle, and softly blush 
 on the heaving bosom of the bride. Pale and silent 1 kiss the 
 coffin-lid of the dead, or pleading at Our Lady's feet, I breathe a 
 prayerful incense. Into my dewy depths the fairy humming-bird 
 dips its dainty bill and darts on its gleaming way, refreshed with 
 the nectar of my sweets. To the toiling bee I give the cloying honey 
 with which he delights the taste of man. My odorous beauty breathes 
 forth bright, gentle, holy thoughts, like a wreath of sunshine on life's 
 troubled hours. Thus ever is my mission unselfish, thus ever do my 
 delicate petals and dewy cup speak of God's goodness and beauty ; 
 
148 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 and, whether born in the tender sunshine or in the sombre shadow, 
 not for myself alone do I bud and blossom here, but to brighten 
 this tear-dimmed earth. 
 
 High up on the bleak mountain-side, dim in the purple-blue 
 distance, towers, lone and sad, an old oak-tree, waving its leafy 
 banners to and fro. As it stands in the midst of desolation with 
 nothing in this barren spot to which it can bring joy, something 
 within you whispers that surely this tree lives to itself. " Not so," 
 indignantly rustles the oak, " God never made me for a purpose so 
 small. Four score and ten springs have smiled upon me, four score 
 and ten summers have danced lightly o'er my boughs, while full as 
 many autumns have touched my mantle with softest tints of crim- 
 son, gold and purple, and died into the bleakness of- winter. 
 Through all these years I have stood firm and undaunted, welcoming 
 to my heart all who sought a refuge there, and into my arms each 
 night I gathered the noisy birds and rocked them to sleep. In the 
 still summer days when the sun casts its fevered rays upon the 
 parched earth, the panting flocks fly to me and fall at my feet in 
 the grateful shade which my waving branches cast upon them. In 
 my bosom the soaring eagle builds his lonely nest, and when wintry 
 storms shake me to my very roots, the proud bird rests secure in 
 the shelter of my strong arms. In the dreamy summer-time 
 the gauzy-winged butterfly flutters through the lace-work of my 
 leaves and floats away again like a bright-colored blossom of the air. 
 When the angry elements have united in war against each other, 
 thunderbolts have burst at my feet, while my bosom has been seared 
 and pierced by the lightning stroke which otherwise would have 
 destroyed the weary traveller. The shrieking winds wrest from me 
 my wealth of acorns and strew them over the earth. Years roll on, 
 and what were once those tiny cups are now countless groves of trees 
 which claim me as their parent. When God wills that I shall stand 
 no longer, I shall fall by the hand of man and I will go to strengthen 
 his ship which makes him lord of the ocean. And when the howling 
 winds moan across the dreary moor, I will crackle upon the ample 
 
LIVE NOT TO YOURSELF ALONE 149 
 
 hearth and cast a ruddy glow upon the happy faces grouped around 
 me. Now tell me, thoughtless one, if I live for myself." 
 
 Speak to the rushing streamlet that, blithe and boisterous 
 dances adown the slanting hill. Now sparkling in the light, now 
 sombre in the shadow, ever it bounds on heeding naught. But its 
 merry voice rings out on the air, and as it bubbles over rock and 
 pebble, kissing fern and blossom, its sweet song comes to me: "Mid 
 snow-silvered precipices I found my icy course; but tired of my 
 useless life so far above the earth, I broke my chilly fetters and in 
 the quiet of midnight I plunged down the snow-mantled crags. 
 Along my winding way I scatter life and health on every side. I 
 ripple through the grassy meads and leave them gay with flowers. 
 I meander through the pleasant valleys and sweeten the languid air 
 in dreamy June, while trom the rustling grasses that line my 
 margin, the lark soars to greet the rising sun. I cheer the drooping 
 summer flowers, refresh the thirsty cattle and weary birds, and 
 sprinkle with modest daisies the golden corn fields. The sun loves 
 me and draws me to him in waves of feathery vapor, and in the 
 fresh spring days I float in great fleecy clouds through the blue 
 expanse above. A chilly wind disturbs my garnered drops and lol 
 abrupt and loud I fall as glistening rain. I jewel the dainty blue-bell 
 with my sparkling drops, and at sunrise, behold I have begemmed 
 every blade of the lowly grass. Thus ever will I comfort man, and 
 I will rise and fall, rise and fall till my loving mission is over." 
 
 Walk forth in the still calm night beneath the great dome of 
 the sky; gaze upward upon that deep-blue expanse gleaming with 
 color and brilliancy; see that distant star which beams tranquilly 
 and softly upon you; whisper your question upon the midnight air, 
 and the answer comes down the path of light: " Not for myself 
 alone do I rise and set and sparkle in the diadem of the night. I 
 have a wondrous work to perform the holding together of a myriad 
 of shining worlds. My rays beam alike on the great and the lowly, 
 on the rich and the poor, bringing comfort to all. Many a time 
 have I guided the poor lost sailor, from a hopeless realm of waters 
 
150 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 to his home and waiting mother. I am a mighty world supporting 
 upon my bosom countless immortal beings worshipping the same 
 Creator as you. Within my tiny zone I will ever linger, and with 
 my bleak mountains and shadowy valleys, will ever sing my part 
 in the harmony of the spheres. I do not merely gem the sky, but 
 my far-off lights are a constant reminder to man of his heavenly 
 home which waits ever ready for his coming. Upon the jetty 
 coronet of night I write in letters of gold the power and goodness, 
 and majesty, of Him, who formed me and my myriad sisters, for the 
 service of man.' ; 
 
 For Him was created every little tlower that blows, every breeze 
 that carries its sweet burden of incense over the earth, every tendril 
 of the clinging vine, every dewdrop glistening in the blue-bell cup: 
 and the lesson they teach is one of unselfishness and duty. 
 
 Ah! man, " thou who art earth's honored priest," thou the chief 
 guest at love's ungrudging feast of beauty, canst thou live blindly 
 to thyself alone? Spurn self, put it aside, and live only to God 
 and thy neighbor. 
 
 NELLIE WHITE, ZOE CHADWICK. 
 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heart, Oakland, Cat. 
 
 \\l<z 6ifh of a gmile 
 
 Have you ever known what it was to feel the influence of a 
 smile? Surely you have ; and not knowing the workings of your 
 young, tender heart, could not guess exactly what it was that gave 
 such happiness. Yes ; smiles are truly as the breath of heaven, 
 when given to some sorrow or care-worn heart. In school, dear 
 children, has not your teacher's smile of approval sent a thrill 
 
THE LOST CHORD 151 
 
 through your soul more precious than all rewards, and have you 
 not gone home with a heart full of content and peaceful joy ? Let 
 me tell you a little incident of recent occurrence. Death had 
 touched the brow of a young girl of some thirteen years. Into the 
 crowded room where the dead child lay, came a girl of about the 
 same age ; her face bore the look of those who carry sorrow even in 
 the heart of their youth. She handed a little bouquet to one present, 
 saying, " I am sorry I could not give her more ; although we never 
 spoke, yet she always smiled at me so kindly that I brought her 
 this ; I am so sorry she is dead;" and left as quietly as she entered. 
 If you could know how much this " gift of a smile r cheers a heart, 
 you would be more generous with your smiles, particularly to the 
 poor and unfortunate. Let not riches buy your smiles, but remem- 
 ber Jesus smiled on the unfortunate. You do it in His imitation. 
 
 MARY J. DOLAN. 
 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 Somewhere in the vast expanse between heaven's blue and the 
 chaos of earth, there is a chord trembling and lone; it is in vain 
 we search for it, we hear the faint tones murmuring through the 
 long crystal corridors of space, but it is only an echo, and then the 
 melody is gone. The great harp of the universe, whose strings 
 were once tuned in perfect harmony, now gives forth only un- 
 finished melodies, since the rude hand of Sin broke the chord of 
 obedience to the Creator; but far away in remote space, that one 
 lost chord ever faintly murmurs its repinings for its golden sister 
 strings. 
 
152 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Every day, and in every stage of life, from the rosy-tinted 
 dawn of childhood, to the heavy-clouded mid-day of manhood, 
 and still farther on to the days colored by the last mellow rays of 
 the setting sun of life, poor mortals search in vain for this lost 
 chord which would render complete the harmony of their life. In 
 infancy, the soul's young harp, twined with Purity's fairest flowers, 
 vibrates with the music of innocence, but some careless hand 
 snaps one of the delicate strings, and, alas ! the harmony is broken 
 and the chord is lost. Yet despair not, fair child, some day when 
 the harp of life is silent, back from its mystic wanderings will 
 come that absent string and the soul will vibrate with heavenly 
 music. 
 
 In the happy circle that lingers round the fireside, we miss a 
 tone from the sweet song of happiness, one tone which is wanting to 
 complete the rich harmony. The vacant chair murmurs in sad, 
 minor notes of one who has crossed over the silver bridge which 
 spans the dark waters of Eternity, to the heavenly shore from 
 which, through the azure corridor lighted by the glittering gems, 
 comes the faint echo of the missing chord. It is in vain we try to 
 catch it, it is gone like the shadow of an angel's wing, and we only 
 know that some day our harp will be completed. 
 
 Later on we meet a seeker for the missing link to the chain of 
 harmony, in the silver-haired man, whose harp is now bathed in 
 the rays of light from the heavenly shore, as his bark gently glides 
 down the ebbing stream, but from among its golden strings one is 
 missing. Soon, ah! soon, will angel hands replace the missing 
 chord, and tune again the soul's rich harp to breathe newer, rarer, 
 sweeter tones. 
 
 Sometimes when from the dusky hand of night, the shadows of 
 Twilight are softly falling, and the heart's secret cares and sorrows 
 are wooed to rest by the mystic voice of Peace, as the blossoms are 
 caressed into slumber by the evening breeze and all Nature seems in 
 one sweet dream, strains of music greet our ear, and our spirit 
 soars away on Fancy's wing to seek the lost string which breaks the 
 
I-I M 
 
 < 
 
 o 
 
 o5 a. 
 
 q o 
 
 5 5: 
 
 -- f-i 
 
 2 w 
 
\) 
 
 It 
 
 NO\S 
 
 5 
 
 ii>* 
 
 
THE LOST CHORD 153 
 
 harmony. In rapturous dreams we find seraphic beings, bearing 
 from the realms of bliss the missing chord ; but it is only a phan- 
 tasy, and we wake to find, as before, the soul's secret harp murmur- 
 ing for the missing link of harmony. 
 
 How beautiful is the idea of the "Music of the Spheres!" 
 Imagine each of the gems that appear as mere glittering points, 
 giving forth melody of divinest nature, and all blending in harmony. 
 That is a concert fit only for the pure ears of angels, it is far too 
 heavenly for the gross ear of man. Yet here too, one tone of har- 
 mony is gone, for the rude touch of Sin on our earth has broken 
 the chord which should render perfect the music, and not till it be 
 restored by the all-powerful, all-merciful hand of God, will the 
 melody, which now sinks of its own heaviness, rise through the 
 azure curtain in purest praises to the Eternal Throne. 
 
 Some day when all earth's weary wanderers shall stand with 
 their broken harps on the brink of Eternity, they will see gleaming 
 through the opening portals, the lost chord which has rendered 
 the harmony of their lives incomplete, and when the past years 
 float. like a dreamy panorama before their eyes, they will then know 
 that 
 
 " It may be that Death's bright angel, 
 
 Will speak in that chord again, 
 It may be that only in Heaven, 
 They shall hear that grand AMEN! " 
 
 A. Proctor. 
 
 FANNIE CARROLL. 
 Convent of Our Lady of the Sacred Heatt, Oakland, Cat. 
 
on a Fea^b J)av 
 
 -#- 
 
 A time-stained volume, quaint and old, 
 
 And musingly I turn it o'er, 
 Perchance those pages dark with mold, 
 
 Strange stories tell of days of yore 
 Are gemmed with words and thoughts of gold. 
 
 Vain is the hope ; all interest lost, 
 
 The gray leaves flutter to and fro ; 
 But ah ! a perfume rare is tost, 
 
 That scents those dismal pages so 
 A faded bloom with memories fraught. 
 
 So in the volume of the year, j 
 
 There hidden lies a fragrant rose ; 
 Over the gloomy days, and drear, 
 
 The sweetest of incense it throws 
 "A day of days " to us so dear. 
 
 Our cherished teacher's feast day fair, 
 
 Kich with fond memories of the past, 
 Of tender words, and loving care, 
 
 Of golden hours too bright to last 
 vanished days, so sweet and rare! 
 
 ANNIE CAREY. 
 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San /'"rancisco, Cal. 
 
JL 
 
 ih v/a< COR he rated 
 
 (i.e. ce- 
 
 Look upon the sea at the dawn of a summer's day. The pale 
 blue waves, tipped by the rosy hues of the morning light, are sing- 
 ing their hymns of praise in tones of sweetest music. The golden 
 beach is their altar, it is here they come to sing and pray, and then 
 go back into the sea to come again and go once more, for, to and fro, 
 has Heaven marked the pathway of the waves on the avenues of 
 time. And when the sun has set, and the sable shadows have fallen, 
 and myriads of stars are crowning the brow of night, behold those 
 children of the deep, clad in dark blue garments and decked with 
 the jewels that Heaven has lent themj and listen to their glorious 
 chant. How sublime! how seemingly unearthly! can it be the 
 echo's own refrain of the immortal Te Deum of Paradise? 
 
 beautiful waves upon a summer sea! ye are the image of sin- 
 less hearts singing in grateful accents at the Feet of God the prelude 
 of everlasting life. 
 
 But the sea is not always tranquil, for it is a mirror of all 
 men's hearts, and these differ as the vicissitudes of light and shade. 
 
 Watch the birds with snowy wings flying westward over the 
 waves into the evening sun. In the east hear the muffled sounds of 
 the tempest's roar. Suddenly the sky grows dark and great winds 
 come. Huge billows rise and dash angrily against the cliffs in cries 
 of wildest agony. It is the fury of a storm. It is the picture of 
 another storm upon the ocean of life, when the winds of passion 
 arise. There are hearts which like the birds fly unto the Light 
 
 155 
 
156 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 when the threatening sounds are heard afar, but alas ! there are others, 
 impetuous as the waves, that strike against the rocks of despair, 
 and fall like their foam into the sea. 
 
 Let us leave the surface of the deep and descend, where the 
 tumult of winds and waves is all unheard, into that mysterious 
 region where perpetual silence reigns, and where untold beauty lives 
 unseen by human eye. There in some fair garden or in some jeweled 
 cave lies a shell filled with pearls of rarest lustre. It is the book in 
 which God has sweetly written the simile of a faithful heart's life 
 and recompense. He breathed the parable into the ear of some 
 Persian poet who wrote it thus in his book of meditations: "The 
 shell was not filled with pearls until it was contented." It pictures 
 the home of a tiny life whose vital spark is now extinguished. It 
 tells its years of continuous labor and of patient endurance, gather- 
 ing grains of sand and intruding fragments, perhaps of rock or of 
 some other shell, which caused it pain, and how it ceased not from 
 unrest, until of each it had formed a pearl of purest splendor. 
 
 O happy the hearts that on life's great ocean gather golden deeds, 
 afflictions and sorrows! In a few short years when the work is 
 accomplished, what joy when God shall open the shell and find 
 it filled with pearls; these alone are the earthly treasures that can 
 purchase immortality. 
 
 ELIZA OVIEDO. 
 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
ho fUppil aod .Welcome h J%\y 
 
 Farewell ! wayward, laughing April, month of smiles and 
 tears. We had grown to love you, when you ceased to be; and did 
 you not love us, too? Yes; for when May was ushered in in all 
 the dreamy newness of life, tears of regret, I ween, at leaving us, 
 still lingered, sparkling like so many diamonds on the flowers. 
 But while we say, " Vale, dear April," we would thank you for the 
 many joys and pleasures you brought us; and, although other 
 months may bring us like happiness, like joys, like pleasures, still 
 yours will ever smile with softer glow; around them ever shall 
 circle a halo of wondrous beauty, studded with rarest gems the 
 halo, a sunny smile, the gems, sparkling tears. What crown more 
 bright ! what gems, what jewels more precious ? 
 
 Will our hearts thus eulogize you, sweet May, when your 
 course is run ? Oh ! yes"; for what heart that loves our Blessed 
 Mother, can fail to love her month ? What poet has not sung the 
 praises of this month, and of her whose name it bears ? What a 
 month of song, of pleasures and of smiles! What a joyous time for 
 heart and soul! How happy, how light-hearted we feel as we 
 wander through the meadows and fields of clover, or climb the hills 
 and from each sunny slope cull the brightest, fairest flowers ! How 
 our souls rejoice, when, in the sweet even-tide, we gather round her 
 altars, and sing the hymns of praise and love to our Mother ! 
 
 Charming May 1 Each year we welcome her just as heartily, 
 even though the rose color of our lives be blanched to snowy white- 
 ness, and a shaft of marble records a grave in the cemetery of our 
 souls. Sweet herald of approaching summer, we hail you I We 
 welcome you with your birds, your flowers, your soft winds. Your 
 birds we shall teach to carol the praise of our Queen; your choicest 
 
 157 
 
158 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 flowers we shall lay at her feet; and your winds sweet with 
 much kissing of the roses, shall waft fragrance to her throne above. 
 Oh, how happy we shall be, if, when death's cold lips have 
 touched ours, whether it be in the May of lives, or in sullen, dark 
 November, we shall go straight to Mary's feet, there to sit and listen 
 to her gentle voice, as she tells us how much she has ever loved us ; 
 how much she has longed to have her children near her. Oh, hap- 
 piness untold thus to be with Mary ! Oh, quick, the hour that 
 will cut the moorings of our life-bark and set it adrift on the home- 
 going tide. 
 
 NORA FITZGERALD. 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Ftancisco, Cal. 
 
 Many an nge has been prolific of great minds and lofty geniuses, 
 but the age of Elizabeth surpasses them all, not only in the number 
 and variety of the master-minds of that period, but especially in 
 this: that it included within its charmed circle, the greatest genius 
 of his time, and it may be of all time. For of all the stars in that 
 bright galaxy which clustered round the throne of Elizabeth, 
 Shakespeare shines resplendent and solitary. 
 
 Ages had come and gone, before Shakespeare was, and ages have 
 passed since Shakespeare has been, yet, not one has produced a 
 single spirit, so lofty in genius or so transcendent in glory. Not 
 one is there fit even to touch the hem of the peculiar robe, with 
 which he has clothed himself in his immortal conceptions, and by 
 
SHAKESPEARE 159 
 
 which we, at all times recognize our own Shakespeare: namely: his 
 power of depicting human life and human affairs and all their ac- 
 companying cares, passions and fancies. 
 
 Some poets, as Milton and Dante have taken grand and awful 
 themes for their songs. They ascend into the very heavens and 
 describe the scenes thereof; they hold converse with both angels and 
 demons. But there is a limit. Their genius exhausts itself, and 
 when they would approach the earth, they stumble and totter as 
 though they did not know their way amid such lowness. 
 
 Others "of the earth, earthly" have not the wings wherewith to 
 soar to higher spheres, and nobler climes. They find in the good- 
 ness and beauty of earth, something of that greater beauty which 
 attracts their brother spirits and which floating, like a seraph, twixt 
 heaven and earth, whilst it eludes, still leads them on. For poesy 
 though a captive here below has its true home above, and in the 
 hearts where it makes its abode, it must ever create that longing for 
 the higher beauty beyond. Ah! far beyond the conception of those 
 "lesser lights," but which leaves them ever watching and waiting 
 and striving to catch the "lost chords" of the heavenly alleluias, 
 amid the lowness of earth. 
 
 With Shakespeare it was different, nothing was so high that he 
 could not reach; nothing so low that he could not fathom, nothing 
 so subtle that he could not grasp; nothing so grand that he could 
 not comprehend; nothing so beautiful that he could not portray, and 
 nothing so complex, that he could not divide and make clear and 
 commingle again into one gorgeous whole, and drape and fashion it 
 with the diverse fancies and creations of his fertile brain, until 
 naught was left untried that could be done, and naught was left 
 unsaid, that could be sung. 
 
 Nothing daunted, nothing repelled him. He handled spirits 
 and mortals with the same vigorous grasp, and they danced or 
 moped in mirth or melancholy, obedient to his powerful will, por- 
 trayed with such consummate art as to have made the world look on 
 in amazement and wonder for more than three hundred years. 
 
160 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Hideous witches, wrapt in air, taunt and prophesy; spectral 
 forms appear to affright, and instruct unto vengeance and death; 
 heart-withering visions with their dire signs appear, to torment or 
 predict, whilst fairies gambol and revel to their hearts' content in 
 sunlit glade or moon-tipped grove. 
 
 But it is especially in depicting all that pertains to man and 
 humanity that shows forth Shakespeare's greatest powers. He 
 becomes as it were, each of his different characters in turn. He is 
 at once the parricide, the jealous husband, the trustful woman, the 
 conspirator, the spy, the fickle prince, the crafty statesman, the 
 faithful friend, the noble lord, the mindful servant, the supercilious 
 knave. They pass before our minds in ever lengthening procession; 
 and Shakespeare stands guard over all, for was it not his immortal 
 pen which has called them all into being? Truly is he great in 
 their greatness. Once known we associate with their vice or their 
 virtue, the vices and virtues of their kind. 
 
 Wolsey and Macbeth are synonyms of ambition; Othello and 
 lago, of jealousy and deceit; Portia, of prudence, discretion, and gen- 
 erous love; Bassanio and Antonia, of faithful, noble friendship; 
 Hamlet, of indifference and indecision ; Ophelia of despairing love. 
 Shylock and his merciless greed of gold, Brutus and his ingratitude, 
 Katherine and her untamed anger and Cordelia of dauntless truth 
 and noble mind, these are names, which are blended so thoroughly 
 with the aims and passions of the characters represented that it is 
 impossible to separate the one from the other. They serve as land- 
 marks, as it were, showing forth the forms of that greater beauty, to 
 be found only as the whole grand vista unfolds before us, with all 
 its diverse scenery, and all its glorious hues and images. Each step 
 discloses new beauties, until, almost inebriated, we stand and survey 
 the whole, and with all the fires of enthusiasm kindled within us, 
 we must needs cry "enough! " 
 
 One is overwhelmed when contemplating that grand mental 
 power, which reflects, as in a mirror, the manifold passions and 
 emotions, the heartfelt joys and sorrows of the human heart, for all 
 
CARMELO 161 
 
 time is enshrined in these immortal plays, which have served to lift 
 their creator to the very skies, above all other men and leave him 
 there in solitary, unique, delightful grandeur. 
 
 KATE L. O'NEILL. 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 The quaint old town of Monterey contains many objects of 
 interest for the student of the past. There, on the golden shores 
 of the Pacific, are ruins that speak eloquently of devoted zeal and 
 charity relics of a departed race among them, the old struc- 
 ture known as Carmel Mission. Around each crumbling wall cling 
 memories of the days when the good Padres struggled and toiled 
 in enduring patience, conquering with the cross, long before General 
 Fremont raised the American flag on the heights of Monterey. 
 
 A pleasant, yet mournful feeling is aroused when gazing upon 
 a ruin; lessons on the mutability of earthly things, the littleness 
 of man, come to us as we observe that every effort to make himself 
 immortal only mocks him, telling forcibly of his passing existence. 
 
 When we gaze on the Missions, thoughts of the great, the good, 
 the noble awaken within us, and when we see these relics of love 
 and tireless zeal shattered, our admiration is more deeply excited. 
 
 The Missions of California stand in humble silence as monu- 
 ments of the devotedness of the beloved Padres. They are found 
 along the coast from San Diego's shore to San Rafael's forest; their 
 fallen walls and crumbling towers speaking pathetically of days that 
 are no more. 
 n 
 
162 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Carmel Mission was erected in 1770 by Junipero Serra; it is 
 situated in the fertile Carmel Valley, a short distance from the bay 
 of the same name, and about five miles from the historic town of 
 Monterey. The Mission is built of sandstone and concrete; the 
 roof was originally made of tiles, but is now replaced by one of 
 shingles. The structure was raised by the Indians under the guid- 
 ance of the Fathers, and shows signs of skilled workmanship com- 
 bined with patient toil. Before reaching the Mission one passes 
 through grainfields and orchards put under cultivation by the 
 Padres, thus showing that they did not neglect to till the land in 
 their efforts to convert the heathen. 
 
 The ruins of adobe buildings once occupied by the Indians, are 
 to the front of the church. The church itself faces the northeast, 
 and on approaching, one sees the arched facade on either side of 
 which rise towers, the larger one surmounted by a dome. In this 
 campanile hung the silver-tongued bells of the Mission, which for 
 years pealed so sweetly, proclaiming peace and good will to the 
 Indian. Above the entrance is a star-shaped window; in the belfry 
 are three windows, two facing the north, one the east. 
 
 For many years the building was crumbling rapidly to decay, 
 and relic hunters took away tiles, portions of woodwork, in fact, 
 anything they could secure. Father Cassanova, Pastor of Monterey, 
 was grieved to think Padre Serra's work was being so despoiled; for 
 years he had his heart set on preserving the last resting place of 
 this venerable priest and his co-laborers. Thanks to his zeal, it is 
 now partially restored to its former condition. 
 
 Once inside the church a deep reverence fills the visitor ; we are 
 carried back to the past ; the church seems filled with its swarthy 
 worshippers, and we almost hear the choir chanting its weird vesper 
 hymn. There is the same pulpit from which Father Serra preached 
 to his flock; some of the stained glass windows, representing Christ 
 and the Blessed Virgin, also remain; the wooden altar is now re- 
 placed by one of marble ; near by is a small slab with the inscrip- 
 tion: "Fundata A. D. 1770; Restorata 1884." Sleeping near the 
 
CARMELO . 163 
 
 altar with his fellow laborers lies Junipero Serra. Resting there 
 is he who in life guided his children so well, and in death still 
 seems to watch over his faithful Indians, who sleep in a neighboring 
 cemetery. 
 
 The Indians have a beautiful legend which tells how on Christ- 
 mas of every year Padre Serra rises from his tomb and celebrates 
 midnight mass. 
 
 The only ornaments left in the church are an old plaster statue 
 of the Blessed Virgin, about a foot in height, a few old paintings of 
 our Lord and the saints. To the left of the church is the baptistry, 
 which contained the baptismal font, now restored. On the walls of 
 the baptistry was a prayer once recited by the Indians, but it has 
 been so defaced by relic hunters that its meaning can scarcely be 
 ascertained. Some kind lady has had^ the words re- written and 
 framed. Among the other relics are the records of the church in 
 Serra's own handwriting; a rich and rare old Bible bearing the date 
 1589, which was used by the Padres; Serra's confessional, a splen- 
 didly carved piece of work; a painting of St. Rose of Lima, and other 
 paintings, are still in a good state of preservation, and are to be seen 
 in San Carlos' Church in the town of Monterey. They were taken 
 there before Carmel was restored, as it was not deemed safe to leave 
 anything of value within its tottering walls. 
 
 Thus are scattered the mementos of the happy days that are gone 
 forever, but none can touch the wooded hills, no human finger limit 
 the boundless sea. As in the days of the " black-robes/' the " mur- 
 muring pines " still sing responsive to the dirge of the ocean a re- 
 quiem chant they ever, while the slumbering land awaits a new 
 resurrection to the busy scenes of yore. 
 
 NELLIE FEEHAN. 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
A well-known author has written ; "to call up our old days 
 shall be a solemn pleasure yet," and the words can hardly be more 
 fitly applied than to looking backward on our school life, overflowing 
 as it is with tender memories and useful lessons ; lessons that were 
 learned for Time, and lessons bearing fruit for Eternity. 
 
 Years have gone by, and the mist of time has gathered between 
 the present and the past, but even as the last rays of the setting 
 sun fall athwart our path, and seem all the brighter for the dim even- 
 ing light, and before the twilight shadows creep about us, so the rec- 
 ollections of our school-days come to us now with a more tender and 
 grateful affection, when we have borne for awhile the burden and 
 heat of the day, in our life in the world ; the life that looked bright 
 and fair when we knew it but in our dreams, and the reality of 
 which has been a stern awakening to many. 
 
 ^ \Vhatchangeshavetakenplaceinthesefewyears! How many 
 breaks in the little circle to which we look back, and call fondly 
 t( Our Class" or " the girls in our room." 
 
 The Angel of Death has entered and breathed on the fairest 
 flowers. The Angels of Love and of Prayer have whispered to others 
 calling them to a nobler and a higher life. And the Angel of Duty 
 stands by the rest, pointing with unerring finger to the path that 
 ends in peace ; now leading us gaily onward in the joyous freedom 
 of children doing their Father's will, now gently chiding when our 
 footsteps are too hasty or too slow, and ever and anon, pausing before 
 us and with sterner mien, demanding some hardly wrought sacrifice. 
 
 And in the highest Heaven of the favored few, in the seclusion 
 of the Cloister, as well as in the walks and avenues of our daily 
 life, the Convent lessons bear their fruit. For some, a glorious 
 
 164 
 
WITHIN A SOUL 165 
 
 reward : for others, the peace of lives " hidden with Christ in God;" 
 and for us, who will say that in the hourly struggle with the world 
 without us, and the world within, the lessons of our earlier years do 
 not give strength to our weak hearts, inspire us with higher motives 
 and nobler aspirations, and so lead us ever onward and upward. 
 
 Tenderly we look backward, and beg a blessing on the generous 
 souls who have left all at the voice of Heaven, and devote their 
 lives to enlightening the minds, and guiding the hearts of children. 
 
 Softly we breathe a prayer for those who have gone before, and 
 bow our heads in humble submission to the Providence of God. 
 
 And for ourselves we plead, oh, so fervently! for grace to be 
 faithful to the teaching of by-gone days, that the tiny seeds sown 
 long ago, growing and flourishing with time, may at length put forth 
 flowers that will bloom in the Divine Garden, and exhale forever 
 the perfume of virtues taught us in our days of innocence and 
 
 childhood faith. 
 
 LAURA J. BRENHAM. 
 
 Convent of the Holy Names, San Francisco, Cal. 
 
 a 
 
 Man has an unquenchable thirst for the unknown. Since Eve 
 listened to the voice of the Tempter ' ye shall be like Gods' the 
 curiosity which prompted her to know what she should have ignored, 
 descended as a legacy to the human race. 
 
 The Unknown what a promise for the cravings of the mind, 
 anxious to hoard up new stores of knowledge, and what obstacles 
 will arrest man on his unexplored pathway? Is it appalling dan- 
 
106 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 
 
 ger? Is it heat or cold, misery or famine, disease or death that 
 cause him to tarry in his eager pursuit? . . . See him 
 searching into the bowels of the earth, turning up the dust of ages, 
 ascending the current of Time, clasping hands as it were with his 
 prehistoric brethren deciphering barbaric symbols until the Past 
 almost ceases to be. A quarter of a century ago vast unexplored 
 areas covered our maps these hidden and almost inaccessible regions 
 have echoed and re-echoed the civilized voice-, and the veil is rent, 
 behind which was sequestered the great Unknown. From Polar 
 regions to Africa's burning sands and Antarctic snows, man has left 
 his trace, and ofttimes his bleaching bones tell us, both of his 
 struggles and his failures in his persistent research. Into the realms 
 of space Science has led him until the orbs above have been brought 
 into close proximity with the ever-searching mind of man, and 
 there seems little left to surmise. This active, seething, craving 
 spirit has anticipated ages ahead, and to-day we find ourselves face 
 to face with such a state of progress that the mental stature of the 
 19th Century will be comparatively lilliputian to the enlightened 
 races of the future. 
 
 Is there any hidden recess left which man's restless mind has 
 not penetrated? any stronghold which he has not taken by storm? 
 Ah, yes! there is a world around us, which the keenest eye fails to 
 penetrate a realm so subtle, so spiritual, so guarded from all 
 encroachments, save the all-seeing eye of God, that we hardly divine 
 its existence. 
 
 We live with bodies, see the actions of men, listen to their 
 speech, but can we safely affirm that all these manifestations are 
 but so many reflections of the spirit within? 
 
 There are natures so constituted, that through their transparency 
 are revealed the workings of the soul. Yet, even these have their 
 own inner sanctuary in which God walks alone, as with our first 
 parents before the fall. 
 
 Others are clogged by the body, as by an iceberg ; the fire within 
 burns fiercely, but like the pent-up volcano, finds no issue. The 
 
WITHIN A SOUL 107 
 
 reticent man, shut up within himself, bows under the humiliating 
 verdict of being soulless, when the very fact of his having so much 
 soul, makes him the most unfortunate of beings. 
 
 The wary and deceitful plays his part so skillfully that no sus- 
 picion rests upon his base motives, so secure is he behind the barrier 
 of the senses and what marvel at this security? since it has been 
 his life-long study to make this barrier impenetrable to the eye of 
 his fellow-beings. 
 
 Indeed, so subtle are the workings of the spirit within, that the 
 most honest and upright are often at a loss to account for the 
 intentions which underlie their seemingly best deeds. 
 
 Some there are, again, who abhor publicity, and make to them- 
 selves a dwelling apart ; so isolated are their lives, that only a 
 restricted circle of friends are admitted to their intimacy, and even 
 these are excluded from the inner chamber, into which no human 
 eye is permitted to intrude. 
 
 " God breathed into man the breath of life" this is His own 
 Image. No human effort can reproduce it, no power annihilate it, 
 no eye search into the depths thereof, save the Creator Himself. 
 
 True, Science as with all unknown truths, gives principles, by 
 which the faculties of this spiritual part of our being are analyzed ; 
 but how much is left unexplored! Let us take an individual soul 
 'tis a world by itself, in which the passions, sensibilities and emotions 
 are playing the most wondrous drama that was ever enacted. It is 
 also a battlefield, upon which the man of flesh and the man of 
 spirit are contending for the mastery. Each has its champions, and 
 little do we know of the fierce contest, otherwise we would be less 
 hasty in bestowing blame, more merciful and forgiving yea, little 
 do we know of the onslaught of the foe of the long and weary 
 resistance, of the bitterness of defeat. The battlefield is a bloodless 
 one, but forth from the arena, come body and soul, gray with the 
 struggle. 
 
 Turning from so painful a prospect, let us fix our eyes upon a 
 more consoling one. We would see the soul, with God-like aspira- 
 
168 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 tions, cherishing the good, the beautiful and the true victorious 
 over the ignoble passions, growing in wisdom and godliness. Ah! 
 this is a temple in which God finds His delight ! The Saints and 
 the Just have told us their experience, in these regions away from 
 the haunts of worldiness and sin ; but with eyes of flesh, we are 
 blind to such spiritual beauties, and it will be given to us only in 
 the glories of the Resurrection, to conceive the greatness of this 
 immortal spirit, and its capabilities of assimilating itself with the 
 Almighty Being that brought it into existence. The Spouse in the 
 Canticle calls the soul of His beloved, a sealed garden, in which 
 bloom myrrh, spikenard and all precious ointments. All the glory, 
 the beauty, and the fragrance of the world of flowers can give us no 
 idea of this garden of the Spouse ; of its loveliness, its variety, its 
 inebriating fragrance. The world catches but faint glimpses of what 
 the saints have told of themselves. The Spouse has His hidden 
 recesses, which are veiled to mortal eyes, His own secrets with His 
 beloved. For the beauty of the daughter of Sion is all interior, 
 saith the inspired volume. Therefore, we know little of souls, and 
 of the Holy Spirit's operations therein. 
 
 Beginning at the lowest degree of human life, and ascending 
 the scale gradually, we marvel at the workings of Divine Grace 
 in the babe merging from the baptismal waters ; in the predestined 
 child, who has escaped all contaminating influence, and the purity 
 of whose soul makes it less a thing of earth than of Heaven ; in 
 youth, and at a maturer period, as well as down the slope of years, we 
 see the faithful observer of God's law on his silent round of duty 
 garnering in a golden harvest, of which human statistics take no 
 account, until this grand tableau culminates in the hoary-headed 
 sire, standing in the glow of the Eternal Summits, yearning daily 
 for the final merging of his soul into the bosom of that Being Who 
 created him. Ah! if we lived in this world of souls, how much 
 more beauty we would discover in our surroundings, how much 
 more hallowed the ground upon which we tread ! 
 
 Touching upon these souls as it were at every turning point, 
 
THl-:\ -I.V/) .YOU 169 
 
 should it not strike awe into our hearts, knowing all the wonders 
 that God is working therein? Physical defects which give birth to 
 petty dislikes and repugnances, would disappear in the overwhelming 
 moral greatness of these godlike spirits for, says a noted writer, 
 " It is the soul shining through the face that makes one beautiful." 
 
 \Vhat a panorama will be unveiled to our gaze on the great day 
 of the revelation of souls ! and, like the disciples 'mid the unexpected 
 glories of Thabor, we will then have no aspirations beyond that 
 Tabernacle where God and His dearly bought souls have met, in an 
 everlasting embrace of love and peace. 
 
 Therefore let us love souls, live with souls, study souls; it will 
 make our lives better, purer, holier, "until this corruption puts on 
 incorruption, and this mortal puts on immortality." 
 
 A LOVER OF SOULS. 
 
 ' -:- > 
 
 aijd ^ 
 
 The years have passed, and flown apace, 
 
 As summer birds do fly, 
 That cast their shadows as they flit 
 
 O'er earth and field and sky. 
 
 Those shadows which must turn to gold 
 When veined by heaven's rays, 
 
 If good and noble deeds are wrought 
 Within the fleeting days. 
 
170 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 Now, Mem'ry lift on high thy rod 
 
 As Moses did of old ; 
 And bid the waves of Time roll back 
 
 And show thy strand, unmarked, unscrolled. 
 
 Canadian shores gleam fair and bright, 
 
 And Nature smiles on all, 
 When from the far-off western world, 
 
 Sounds forth a bugle call. 
 
 A call to dutyl Rise and come, 
 
 Ye daughters of the King! 
 He calls to ye, and shall ye wait 
 
 Or from ye nobly fling 
 
 All thoughts of self, of home and friends, 
 
 Who only know His Will? 
 Ah ! five and twenty years have passed. 
 
 And yet they serve Him still! 
 
 Gaily as bride unto the feast 
 Where love doth shine on all, 
 
 Go forth that band from Canada's shores, 
 To hearken to the call. 
 
 Courage and strength and faith had they, 
 
 Those chosen of the Lord. 
 And conquerors they stand to-day, 
 
 Who preached not by the sword. 
 
 But by the kind and loving care 
 
 They gave to all who came, 
 For knowledge, consolation, love, 
 
 And asked in Jesus' Name. 
 
 For by that Name, before whose might 
 Earth, heaven and hell must fall, 
 
 And by sweet Mary's tender Name, 
 Have they accomplished all. 
 
THEN AND NOW 171 
 
 And that small band, led on by one 
 
 Well formed by grace to guide, 
 Has grown and flourished day by day, 
 
 Its works show far and wide. 
 
 A structure grand on high is reared, 
 
 And lifts to heaven its dome, 
 As if to show the careless eye, 
 
 That there above is Home. 
 
 Religion, Science, Art here meet, 
 
 And flourish 'neath the care, 
 Of those who many years ago. 
 
 First sowed the seedlings there. 
 
 And now the bearded grain is ripe, 
 
 And she who sowed so true, 
 Has come to gather in the sheaves, 
 
 And take in love her due. 
 
 Then side by side, and heart to heart, 
 
 We welcome her in glee, 
 Our souls glad hallelujahs sing 
 
 In love's mute minstrelsy. 
 
 And while we send on high our voice, 
 
 On high too speeds the pray'r, 
 That God our Mother's heart will fill, 
 
 With sweetest love/ore'er. 
 
 And he whose voice sent forth the call 
 
 AVhich reached the distant land, 
 Has Father, Brother, friend long been, 
 
 To his devoted band. 
 
 Ah ! come, sweet Peace, and crown his days, 
 
 Who all his days has spent, 
 In "strivings oft, in perils deep;" 
 
 And hope and courage lent, 
 
172 SILVER JUBILEE MEMORIAL 
 
 To all who claimed a Father's care ; 
 
 And none e'er asked for aught, 
 But it was given in joy. Ah ! come 
 
 Sweet Peace the crown is sought. 
 
 And our own Mother, whom God has given 
 Sweet womanhood's true grace, 
 
 Whose mother soul doth bend to all, 
 AVho well doth fill her place, 
 
 In truest worth, in guidings wise, 
 Whose rule is love's own sway ; 
 
 Ah! long may she be ours to love 
 Long may she point the way 
 
 To higher things, and nobler far, 
 Than this world e'er controls ; 
 
 So may our lives meet here through God, 
 In God, above, our souls. 
 
 Now, Time, who in thy flowing tide, 
 
 Dost bear all onward still, 
 Let not the Future mar the Past, 
 
 But fairer, brighter still, 
 
 Ah! may the round of Duty, wrought 
 In faith and hope and love, 
 
 A guerdon fair on earth e'er be 
 A fadeless crown above. 
 
 KATE L. O'NEILL,