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Vol. XI.—
THE CATHOLIC HERALD
18 PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY BY
M. FITHIAN,
No. 61 North Second Street, Philadelphia.
Terms.—Two Dollars and Fifty Cents, if paid
in advance, or Three Dollars, payable half yearly
No paper discontinued until all arrearages are
settled.
All Communications,except from Agents or Sub- ny
geribers enclosing remittances, must be post paid,
and addressed ‘To the Editor of the Catholic
Herald, Philadelphia, Pa.”
By permission of the Post-Master General, any
Post-Master can frank a letter containing a remit.
tance, for a Subscriber.
SS
Poetry.
ee,
—————————————
For the Catholic Herald.
SUNDAY.
Lines suggested by the eloquent and impressive Ser-
¥ ing the Sunday holy, preac
ight Rev. Bishop Kenrick,
September 24th., 1843.
All hail, sweet Sunday! welcome blessed day !
To thee, my lowly muse would gladly pay
A tribate of affection and of love,
Of prise and gratitude, to God above.
$
Not as the Sabbath of the scribe or Jew,
Do we our joyous, holy Sunday view,
Nor yet as rigid Puritan give in,
‘That smile, or laughter, e’en should bea sin.
To hold communion with our friend.
Perhaps to strife or coldness put an end;
"To soothe the troubled, and the sick to heal,
To pray the hardoo'd may God's grace yet feel.
Surely it cannot be such works as these,
‘The God of boundless Mercy would displease,
And yet be glorified and praised by those,
Who think ithomage, when their hearts they close.
To all that make the Sunday one of love,
‘To youthful hearts, already raised above,
Their earthly sphere, by early training given,
To look for Sunday, and its peace in Heaven!
RT
From the (London) Catholic Magizine.
THE ANGELUS.
«Oh Mary, conceived without sin, pray for me,
eh who have recourse to thee,””
) ‘There are few things that strike a thinking
Protestant more, upon his first sojourn in a
Catholic country, than the spirit of perpetual
prayer by which the Catholie church is espe-
cially distinguished. In England, one day of
the week is set apart for the holy duty of
prayer, and having spent almost the whole
Sunday in the churches, the congregation dis-
perse, the gates are locked, and for the rest of
the week Almighty God seems forgotten in
the more exciting duties of pleasure or of busi-
ne! In Catholic countries, on the contrary,
rsligion seems to mingle in every pursuit ; ‘it
is the first recollection of the morning, the la-
test memory of the night, and if ever such fa-
vours are granted, there best could a manlearn
sensibly to feel the perpetual presence of the
Omnipresent God. Scareely has the sun be-
gun to rise upon the world, ere the churches
ase crowded by men, who give gladly to God
the first moments of the new day He has
vouchsafed to their prayers, And while the
feeble dawn but barely suffices to chase the
shadows of the night, the divine sacrifice of
the mass is offered up for the benefit of the
poor, who flock here to assist at it before the
labours of the day begin. The later masses
are attended by the prosperous and tich, who
have lingered on their pillows, until the sunis
high in the heavens. After the services of the
day are over, instead of churlishly closing its
gates, the temple of Goi is left open to a
who come hither to pray, and seldom indeed
is it wholly deserted. ‘Phe rich man enters to
thank heaven fur ils favours, the poor man to
beg a blessing on his daily toil, ‘The mother
to pray forherchild, the wife for her husband,
the virgin for a safe retreat in some eloistered
solitude, the unhappy and injured, often for
the foe that has caused their misfortunes.
Some for themselves, others for their friends,
each and all have some petition to make, and
eee reece
oes i
Philadelphia, Thursday, October 5, 1843.
thus they learn tolook upon Almighty God as
the immediate dispenser of all good gifts.
There at least pride is forgotten, and the gifis
of fortune are of no avail. ‘The noble kneels
by the side of the beggar, the prince ofien
prays amidst the lowest of his people. ‘The
high-born dame, whom scandal dares not open-
ly assail, prays near the reclaimed and weep-
ing Magdalen of the streets, the spotless in-
nocence of an Aloysius, by the repentant ago-
of an Austin, Well does “the Catholic
church teach both by precept and by practice
that spiritual equality which brought the blind
and the lame to the feast of the Lord, which
admits no distinction of rank or pride, and
which makes the right dispositions of the heart
the sole prerogative of the children of God.
Even far from the churches, the piety of the
people has frequently provided some memo-
rial, by which in the midst of their worldly
affairs their hearts may be reminded of the
“one thing which is necessary’’—salvation.
The streets, the erowded thoroughfares, the
marts of business, ever contain some monu-
ment of religion, rude indeed, and such as the
eye that looks to the execution of the work,
and not to the pious intention of the artist, will
turn away from in disgust; but which the pious
children of the soi, thinking of Him whom
it represents, rather than of the representation
itself, gaze upon with feelings alike of respect
and love. In the lonely ways of the moun-
tain, by the river side, in the gloomy forest,
everywhere you meet with some religious em-
blem to remind you that these are the works
of the living God. tis lovely while wander-
ing among scenes, where each siep you take
tells of the might and power of Him who
framed them, and while your mind is exalied
to the plation of His ‘ip and
you pause in your silent admiration—when a
rude cross strikes the eye, a Madonna perhaps
with the infant Saviour, and you suddenly re-
member that He who piled mountain upon
mountain, who scattered His magnificence over
the desert plain, was once an infant weeping
for your sakes in the stable of Bethlehem, a
man expiring for your salvation on the altar of
the cross. Often also in the silence of the
night (Lspeak of Lisbon) you are awakened
by strains of music that move the very soul to
tears, they are so plaintive, and so touching
in their devout simplicity. You listen for a
moment, and then you know,.that while you
are pillowed on the couch of luxury, and health
and happiness are handmaids to your repose,
the priests are bringing the adorablesacrament
to some poor dying wretch, who has no long-
er any consolation except in religion, no long-
+ any hope exceptin him who thus comes to
meet him in the hour of his utmost need !
You mutter a prayer, perhaps, and once more
sink into slumber; but the piety of the Catho-
lic inhabitant is not so easily satisfied by a
passing prayer; herises from his pillow, and
laces a candle in the window ; whilst those
who meet the procession in the streets turn
aside from their own destination, and follow it
for a space, joining their voices in a hymn of
gratitude to the good Jesus who thus comes to
visit them lowly and disguised from all save
those who see Him with the eyes of faith,
‘Three times in the day the bells toll the *An-
then every head is bared,
ice is joinedinprayer. And this
brings me to a story. Whilst residingin Lis-
bon, I became acquainted with a friar, whom
to know was to love as a man, and to venerate
as the faithful servant of his Heavenly Master,
Being frequently in his eompany, I could not
avoid remarking that the tolling of the **Ange-
lus” always produced a singular effect upon
him. Ifhe were inthe streets, it mattered
not who were his companions, or what might
be the weather, he paused until the bell tad
ceased to toll, and bared his head while he re-
peated the prayer of theehurch. Ihave seen
him standing thus, alike when a burning sun
darted fire on his head, and when his grey
hairs were tossed by the pitiless storm, tears
streaming from his eyes, and his face bearing
such a look of mingled agony and love as St,
Peier’s might have had, when he first wept
over his three-fold treachery to Jesus, I have
always observed that for a long time afer his
prayer was ended and his tears had ceased to
flow, he would remain silent and abstracted,
and when be spoke again, conversation would
invariably assume a sadder and more serious
tone than it possessed before. I had one day
wandered farther than } was usually in the
habit of doing, and I came to a spot Jovely as
2
any that ever smiled beneath the, sweet skies
of the south. ‘There orange trees had formed
their fragrant groves, and acacias mingled their
graceful foliage with myrtles rich in the con-
trast of their dark green leaves and countless
multitudes of showy flowers. Amidst them
rose an ancient building, a church dedicated,
as I afterwards learned, to our blessed Lady of
Mercy. A fountain, bright as the ** diamond
of the desert” sprang up close at my feet, and
like the guardian genius of its clear cold wa-
ters, an old grey cross had been raised beside
them. It was very old, part of ithad already
crumbled into dust, and among these fallen
stones a rose had grown, and was blooming
brightly above iis ruins. Fiuing type, I
thought, of the hope which Christians hold,
and which blooms the brightest amid the ruins
ofthe tomb.
The sun was bright in the heavens, the air
was full of sweetness and of balm, not aleaf-
let stirred, not a blossom fell from the heavy
boughs, the very voice of the fountain came
in a lazy murmur to the ear, as if italso shar-
ed in the calm of that noontide hour. While
I paused near the old cross, and loved the pie-
ty which had placed it among the beautiful
works of the Almighty, I saw an old man ap-
proach it, whom I instantly recognised as my
friend father Fran e looked around—
there was no one in sight, for the dark boughs
of an ilex hid me from view, and he knelt be-
fore the cross. At that moment, the bells of
the neighbouring church tolled out the Ange-
lus. Involuntarily I held my breath, for the
sweet sounds lingered for a moment on the
air, as if held there by some invisible sympa-
thy, and gave the last link to the spell that
bound me. By an unconscious movement of
the soul, I turned to the old grey cross to prays
and there was the old man prostrate on his
face, while in the stillness of that still hour
his stified sobs reached my ear as I stool, the
unbidden witness of his secret sorrow. I
know not How long I stood gazing on the form
of that woe-worn man. It might have been
a minute, it might have been an hour; I had
no note of time; my thoughts were half in
heaven, where time is not, half with that poor
wretch, whose woe was so deep it might have
been deemed despair, save for the hopeful
glance which he gave to Ileaven, save
for the blooming of that solitary rose, which
shed its beauty and fragrance above his old
grey hairs; suggesting sweet thoughts of that
crown of immortal bliss which Angels love to
weave for the brows of repenting sinners,
aod which might one day encircle that head,
now humbled to the dust in sorrow and shame,
At last, he rose; and heart-stricken as he
seemed to be, there was yet a look of peace in
his eyes of which the purest of earth's crea-
tures might have envied him the possession.
He sat down upon a stone and bent to the fra-
grance of the rose, and then I ventured from
my concealment and advanced to greet him.
He seemed surprised to see me there, and
then he spoke of the beauties of that lovely
spot, and I told him how sweet had been my
feelings during the tolling of the Angelus. His
answer suggested some of the reflections with
which I began this tale,
“Yes,” he said, “in this happy country re-
ligion is everywhere. It is nota business set
apart for any particular day,—it mingles in the
toil of every hour,—it is, as tought to be, a
part ofthe daily occupations oflife. ‘I'he pea-
sant sanctifies the day in church, before he ap-
plies to his daily task; the bells remind him tc
pause in his noon-tide labours for one short
moment of fervent prayer; and when he goes
to his humble home, and sits to partake of his
evening meal, the Angelus is rung once more,
and he thanks God for the favours of the day,
and implores Ihis protection during the hours
of the night. How often throughoutfihe day,
do the convent bells remind him that others
have devoted their lives to prayer, and incites)
him to. Jiftup hisheart in secret to Ged.
Should he wake in the night, often the tinkle
of the bell tells him that the blessed Sacrament
is being brought to some departing brother,
thus reminding him ofhis own mortality, and
of the hopes that await him beyond the grave.
Does he climb to the mountains? On some
Spot that almost seems inaccessible to the foot
of man, he meets the holy symbol of his re-
demption, or the form of that sweet Virgin
Mother, who is the successful advocate for all
who implore her aid with her Son. Does
descend to the plain? In the fertile valley,
where the flowers bloom wild, and the trees
Whole Number 560
statue of the Mother who stood atits foot. In
the one case heis admonished to thank God
for Lis mercies, in the other, to implore Ilis
protection from danger.”
* Yet how few people think upon these
crosses as other than a picturesque addition to
the landscape; or upon the rude statues and
pictures that we meet, a8 anything buta dis-
gusting attempt to pourtray the human ferm ;
and, alas! how many make them the subject
of an accusation of idolatry against the Caiho-
lic Chureh,’”
‘You are wrong,” he answered. quietly.
‘** lowe my holy profession to a most rude re-
Presentation of the crucifixion; and nota pea-
sant but bares his head as he passes this cross.
And for your other apprehension, the day has
gone by when such tales were believed; and no
person thinking seriously on the subject, will
ever confound the honour that we pay to the
cross, to the images of the Madonna, or of the
Saints, with the homage which we render
alone to God. Seeing that my curiosity was
roused, the good father added :
a moment of despairing crime, I once
found myself at the foot of a cross, and was
awed into an almost instantaneous repentance
In your cold, Protestant England, I am told,
I should have been more likely to have found
myself at the foot of a finger post to pointout
the road,—a very useful thing in its way, cer-
tainly,” he added with a quiet smile, which
had something of satire in it, but rather less
calculated, I should imagine, to lead the soul
rom the contemplation of crime to resolutions
of penance. Yet your people object to all re-
presentation of the God-man, while they erect
in high places the statues of their kings and
greatmen. Strange inconsistency of human
nature! ‘hey honour the effigy of the mon-
arch, and turn aside in disgust from the figure
of the Saviour!”
“Cold, Protestant England” was not my
country, but I only answered—
“If you would honour me by your confi-
dence” —
“TL have but little to tell,” he answered with
asmile. ‘ But if you have any curiosity you
shall hear my story. By a series of unfore-
seen events, my family was reduced to pover~
ty, and arich relation refusing to assist us,my
sister and myself retired to a little cottage
among the mountains, and there we lived for
some time humbly, but contentedly. 1 was
by nature passionate and proud ; she was, in
some things, ofthe same disposition, but all
the young fervour of her feelings had been.
long engaged in the service of religion. Mine
had been suffered to run riot among the hopes
and wishes of this world. She had resolved
to end her lifein the cloister. I was engaged
to marry one too good and pure for such a
wretch as Iwas. ‘The convent to which
my sister retired was not far distant, and after
she had been there some time, she became so
delicate that she was obliged to return to her
old home for change of air. She laid aside
her convent dress, but still retained the cross
and veil. ‘The people knew her by her ch
ities, and she was revered as an angel dedica-
ted to the service of the Most High. ‘Time
passed away: ina few days 1 was to be mar-
ried, and then Bianca was to return to her con-
vent, and her old place to be filled up by the
presence of my bride, A few days,—but a
few days more, and then how different had
been our fate. Blessed be God for all His.
mercies, and chiefly for this one by which my
crime was pardoned, and by which the gift of
a religious life was conferred upon me, the
mostunworthy that ever was called to its sa-
cred duties?’ It was a festal day ; my sister,
as was usual with her, remained at home, but
1 went forth to meet my fair Benita.
(To be continued.)
5
———+e.
From the Catholic Advocate.
Madison, Sept. 10, 1843.
Mr, Editor,—Av the requestof Rev. Mr.
Delaune, pastor of this city, the following is
forwarded to your address,
Catnoticus.
Rev, Sir: On Wednesday, ih inst., our
Bishop and Dr. Spalding, with others of our
clergy, arrived in this city.
Dr. Spalding commenced a course of lec~
tures on the subject of the Catholic Religion,
he| in St. Michael's Church, before a large and
respectable assemblage of our fellow-citizens
of every denomination. The learned genile~
man stated his intention to be, to give a clear
are borne down by their weight of fruit, he
finds once more the cross of his Saviour, the
view of the principles of the Roman Catholic
