The New Utopia.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume V, Issue 242, 21 December 1877, Page 5

The New Atopia.

(From tlie Iri«h Monthly.)

CHAPTER IV.— continued. Of course I learnt my catechism, my mother taught me that ; and she read me stories out of the Bible, in which I delighted : all about Jacob, and the patriarchs, and the flocks of sheep ; it seemed just like our own life in the bush, and I fancied every bushman was an Edomite. " Well, one day, as we were sitting down to supper, there came word that old Mike, the shepherd, was dying, and that Biddy, his wijfc, was at the dooi, and would not go till she had seen the master. Mj father got up and went to her. ' Oh, wirra, wirra, that I should see the day ! ' she said ; ' there's Mike dyin', and askin for the priest, and sorra a priest is there within sixty miles, and him at Ballarat ! ' "• A priest, Biddy ! ' said my father ; ' what good would he do your husband if he could see him ? More to the purpose if he could see a doctor.' " ' What good is it, your honor ? Why he*d get the rites of the Church, the cratur, and not be dyin like a haythen or a Jew.' " To make a long story short, Biddy so moved my fathers kind heart that he sent off a man and horse to Ballarat to fetch a priest, and the priest came in time to give poor Mike all he wanted, so that he died like a Christian. My father entertained the priest as a matter of course ; and, when it was all over, Father Daly said he would like to ride the country round, and see if there were any others who might chance to want him. Well, it was wonderful the number he found who were, and would be, or ought to have been Catholics ; for three days, as poor Biddy said, ' he was baptizin' and marryin' and buryin' people for the bare life,' and at the end of the third day he came to my father. ' Mr. Grant,' be said, ' I've a great favour to ask of you, which I'm sure, for these poor fellows' sake, you wont refuse.' " ' Anything in reason,' said my father ' what is it you wish for ? ' " • Why, a barn, or a store, or a place of some sort, where I can say Mass to-morrow morning.' " Well, a bam was found, aud Father Daly was at work half the night knocking .and hammering till he had got up what did for an altar. He had brought all he wanted with him ; poor enough it all Avas ; but next day he said Mass, and all the settlers within twenty miles, Catholics and Protestants, were present at it. For it was seldom enough they got a good word from priest or parson, and so, poor fellows, they cared for it when they got it ; and get it they did. Just after the Gospel Father Daly turned round and addressed us. It was simple enough, nothing eloquent, nothing of fine preaching : just a few plain words, telling us that Avhat we had got to do in the world was to serve God and save our souls — not to enjoy ourselves or make a lot of money, but to keep out of sin, and serve God, and get to heaven — very plain doctrine, indeed, Miss Aubrey, and spoken in a strong Irish brogue, very different from your friend Mr. Edward's genteel voice, that sounds for all the world like the flute-stop of an organ ; and I'm half-afraid to tell you that Father Daly was a short, thick-set man, with a face for all the world like a potato. But that is what he told us, and, my word, but it went home to the fellows' hearts ; and as to my father, he laid his head on his arm, and sobbed like a baby. After Mass was over he went to him ; I don't know how it all came about, but Father Daly stayed two days longer, and they had some longish talks together ; and a week or two later my father went down to Brisbane, and when he came back he told us he was a Catholic. "We soon saAV the change, though it did not come all at once. As brave and true, and just as ever, hut the pride was gone — and after a bit he got a priest, a Spanish Benedictine, to come and settle at G-lenleven, as our place was called. He took charge of my education, and rode about looking up the settlers, and every morning wheu he was with us, I served his Mass. Well, I've seen some of your fine churches, and they get up all that sort of thing now in tremendous style, but St. Peter's itself would never be to me what that little wooden barn was, which we called our chapel. The Mass, the diily Mass in the wilderness there, with a dozen or so of rough shepherds and cattle drivers only, kneeling there in the early morning, all so still, so humble — I tell you it was the cave of Bethlehem ! " Father Jerome did a great work among the settlers. Gradually they got to love and trust him, and he did what he liked among them. Many of them till then had lived like dogs, and be and my father just made men of them. It can be done,. sir," said Grant, looking fixedly at me, " and there is only one way of doing it. It was not law that made the change at Glenleven, but two men with lotfng hearts, who lived in the fear of God and spent themselves for thsx; brethren. " When I was nineteen, my dear mother died, and my father was obliged to revisit Europe. There was some bother about the Irish estates — well, it don't matter ; he came back to Europe and brought me with him ; he did not care to stay in England, so we just passed through, and crossed by Holyhead, and the three months, which were all we stayed, were mostly spent in the county Mayo. Before we sailed again, we came up to Dublin, and a thing happened to me there which I shall carry in memory to my grave. " There was a lad about my own age, young Harry Gibson, whom my father had agreed to take out witb him, and let him learn sheepfarming. It was a Sunday afternoon, and we two -were coming home after a longish walk, when we passed a little chapel, the door of which was open. ' Come in here,' said Harry, ' and maybe you'll see the strangest sight in Dublin.' We entered — an ugly little place enough, with an aisle divided off the Church by iron bars, behind which some old women were kneeling. They were not nuns, but as I afterwards heard, single ladies who lived here by "way of a home, in St. Joseph's Retreat as it was called.

"We knelt down and said 'our prayers, and I was wondering what Harry had brought me tlicrc to see, when there came in from the little sacristy a figure such as I had never seen before — such as in this world I shall uevcr .sec again. How shall I describe him ? An old man, stooping and beut, in extreme old age, in his black priest's cassock, bo worn it was and threadbare ; but his face, his eyes — all that was human was gone out of them, — the flesh, the body and the pride of life all gone, destroyed, obliterated. Nothing left but the ' stamp of an unutterable meekness. He walked feebly up to the altar and knelt there, such a worship iv the bend of his head ; and after a little he rose aud returned to the ssicristy, and as he passed us, those meek eyes fell on me aud penetrated me to the heart. " I was still full of the thought of it all, when the sacristy door opcued again, and a little serving boy came up to me, and whispered that ' the Father wanted to speak to me.' I went in wonder, aud there he sat, in an old broken arm-chair, with a little kneeling-placc beside him, to which he motioned me. I could not have resisted him if it had been to save my life, so I knelt and waited till he should speak." " ' My child,' he said, ' do you want to save your soul ? ' "'I do indeed, Father. 1 " ' Well then, you'll mind my words, will you ? ' I bowed my head, for my heart was beating so I could not speak. " ' You must promise me three things : that you'll never miss hearing Mass on Sundays, if you're within twelve miles of it ; that you'll never drink a drop of spirits — and here now. that you'll guard your eyes,' and as lie said it, he put his hand over my eyes, so, and as I felt the touch of those thin, -wasted fingers, I knew it was the touch of a saint-. 'Do you promise, my boy 1 ' " J I do indeed,' I said ; I promise you all three tilings.' '"Well then, if you do,' he said, 'I'll promise you something' — aud he spoke slow and distinct, — ' 1 2>row\scyou,yo»?H save your soul. And oue thing more I have to s.ay to you, and don't forget my words : If riches increase set not your heart on t/teiu ; anil mind this word, too : We omist lay down our lives for the brethren.' He laid his hand* on my head and blessed me, and somehow or other I got back to my place. Harry took my arm, aud we left the chapel. " ' Who is he ! ' was all I could say. "'A saint,' was his reply, 'if there ever was one on this earth ; that was Father Henry Young? •' I had never before heard of that extraordinary man, but Harry told me many marvellous things about him ; how, at eighty years of age he lived ou bread and vegetables, never slept on a softer bed than a bare board, and how, penniless as he was, as to private means, thousauds passed through his bands, the alms, entrusted to him. and administered with inconceivable labour. The look and the words of such a mau were not easily forgotten ; and so you see," contiuued Grant, laughing, "you sec how it is that I became a water-drinker, and why, come what will, I must go to Bradford to-morrow." '• Aud I sec how it is," thought Ito myself, " that Grant,s eyes are not precisely like the eyes of other men." But I said nothing. '• Is that all .' " said Mary. '• Very nearly," replied Giant. •' We went back to Australia, and began the sheep-farming again. As I grew older, I often went down to Brisbane and Sydney to do business for my father, and many's the time I thanked Father Young for his three warnings. My fathci 1 , meanwhile, was growing a prosperous man, and people said he was saving money. But then came the gold fever, and drew all our hands away ; his health, too, began to break ; and four years after our return from Ireland it was all over. A day or two before the end something seemed to trouble him. ' Willie,' he said, ' I don't care to live for anything else, but I wish the debts had been paid.' Now, you must know that, when he first left England there had been debts, not his own, but his father's ; a good deal had been paid, and for what remained they made a composition with their creditors. But the dream of my fathers' life had been to pay them all back in full, and not till he had done that, he used to say, could he feel himself a free man. " • How much is there at Sydney? ' I asked. " ' £7J,000. " I started. I liad no notion he had laid by so much. * Aud the debts?' " ' Well, they're over £60,000 ; if you paid them out of that, there wouldn't be much left for you, my boy.' '"' But, then, the land ?' # ' "Worth nothing now, with every fellow tliat can do a day's work off to the diggings.? " • Well it don't matter, father,' I said, ' the debts shall be paid ; so set your mind at ease about that. It shall never be said that you left the money and it didn't do the thing you wished.' " I thiuk I still see the smile on his face, as he squeezed, my hand and whispered, • Tbauk you.' •• So I left Harry to do what he could at Glenleven,anda& soon as I could put things straight, and get the money together, I brought it to Englaud. The debts are all paid off, thank God, and they leave me about £4,000 to btart with. You see," be added, laughing, " I am not iv a way to stand much in need of Father Young's last warning." " Really, Mr. Grant, it's a most beautiful story," said my mother, " and quite a lesson."

Historical ! Vide " Jurors Eeports and Awards. New Zealand Exhibition." Jurors : J. B. Ewen, J. Butterworth, T. G. Skinner. " So far as the Colony is concerned, the dyeing of materials is almost entirely confined to the re-dyeing of Articles of Dress and Upholstery, a most useful art, for there arc many kinds of material that lose their colour before the texture is half worn. Gh Hiksch, of Dunedin (Dunedin Dye Works, George-street, opposite Royal George Hotel) exhibits a case of specimens of Dyed Wools, Silks, and Feathers, and dyed Sheepskins. The colors on the "whole are very fair, aud reflect considerable credit on the Exhibitor, to whom the Jurors recommended an Honorary Certificate should be awarded. Honorary Certificate, 29 : Gustav Hirsch, Dunedin, for specimens, of Dyeing in Silk. Feathers, <fee.

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