THAT WICKED PARAGRAPH.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XV, Issue 28, 4 November 1887, Page 25

THAT WICKED PARAGRAPH.

(By Maurice F. Egan in the Aye Maria )

VI. " Tou say the phenomenon 1 mentioned in my last letter, dear Kid is not uncommon, and that catholic young ladies are frequently as devoted to their religious duties as the one I have mentioned. Perhaps so. It strikes me as siranee in this mocking nineteenth century that anybody can take religion seriously. It makes me uneasy. I have seen the old gentleman. The amiable Is adlady came up and asked me if I co ul d play whist. I said I could, and, as his daughter has gone to New y ork fop a few d j. Q intQ his room for a game occasionally . It will amaze you wneQ : l ay that he is the man I pulled from vn der' the borgeg, feet oa Broadway , The young w7w 7 lb t7J nk"oon.w n. His name is Veinon. He is good-tempered, but rather sad and re Uc Something aeems to weigh on his mind His daughters name isAoJta looks hk W<lS 0^ ttiat last *me s^ie came nome *n tne coach —it V P au am ance — which brings passengers from the station. a". •,w, w. eu ow n-stairs with a newspaper in my hand. 1 had promised to give it to Mr# VcrMOllf As \ v£ a3 aboiu' to kllock at hia wa°B there a ht rustle r ear me ' aQd I turQed- The y°ung lad 7 t _. °- w ant to see father ?' She asked, looking at me frankly trom a pair of ye t "'I catat - v earnest eves- « ghe c^iour lye Mr< Vu>rDon this newspaper,' I said. newsDaoer to mcd slig'atly and hesitated. • Will you pease give the , . » ju , c? I always look over any newspaper intended for &1& 1 !d 'said - 6 l^at 'oo'ie(^ surpiised ; sbe coloured more vividly, dreadful shoek ou uo doubt lhink tbis BUaDSe- My father had a , , frum a newspaper once, aud I am always very careful f hrnf aV6 er tDe newspaper, and she thanked me. She had an air °r c. ,-. ing digmiy, aid of —l don't exactly know what to call it, but H " ve ry pic i-,ant tj lojlc at her." VII. "You accuse me, A.nita Yernon, of having forgotten you, Anna Arthur. How unreasonable 1 I have thought of you every day, and I am sure I've written m.iro letters to you than you have written to me since we left the convent. We have been at this dear, delightful place for over five weeks. At first the wind was awful ; the bky was the grimmest expanse ot gray clouds 1 ever saw, and the sea roared like a monster. I assure you I have often come back from early Mass dieuched with the spray, which was fluog almost in to the very city itse lf. " I told you that the only guest at the cottage is a young man from New York, Mr. Weston Lee, who is a writer, It turns out that he is tue gentleman who saved father's life on that awful day in Broadway. He plays whist with p.ipa, and I have acquired a habit of sitting with them. He certainly is nice, but hopeless. It is the saddest thing to htar him speak of the weariness of life. He has high viewir, too ; and, in speakiug of the journalistic life yesterday, he €he had never written a liae that he would want to blot. It is a it thing to say. Father—you know how he loves me, and thinks , everybody else should be in love with me, —warned me to-day that I was becoming too friendly with Mr. Lee. Hr says that I ought not to encourage him. Tnis warning was founded on the fact that I let him walk to Mass with me four morniDgs last week. How queer of father 1 " p.S. —As I was going to the post-office to mail this, I met Mr. Lee. He is generally very self-possessed. He seemed nervous, aud he asked me if he might walk back with me to the office. I was glad to say jes, for I do like him. He said he was about to leave, the office wanted him, and he would have to go to-morrow. I felt all of a sudden that I should niiss him very much. Returning alung the beach we were both silent. We seemed to be walking oj a glass floor coloured with the glow of a million rubies. The &uns°.t was magnificent, and the wet beach reflected it until both earth and sky were on fiie.—Well, my dear, he asked me to be hit- W/f 1 told him that I would never marry a man outside the Catflcltz, Church. He tried toaigue, and then I told him that I would ii^ar marry at all, that —and you how ha.d that was —my fathers ijaine was tarnished in the eyes of the vvoild, and that his daughter was too proud to take to her husband a tarnished name as her only dowry. 0 Anna ! how sad and astonished he looked, and how wretched I felt 1 I began to sob in spite ot myself, and rau ahead of him, though 1 heard his vo.ee asking me to pause. Don't try to comfort me, Anna ; I can find comfort only at the foot of the Tabernacle. Ab, Anna, it is baid to do one's duty sometimed.

" You know thit I have not known him long aud it may surprise you that I should suddenly have become conscious of so great a regard for him. He has been so very kind to my father, and so reverent when any Fubject connected with our holy religion was brought up. I could have cut out my tongue for having spoken of my father's misfortunes, but I felt as if I must tell him the truth. He naturally cantiot comprehend my reasons for refusing to marry anon-Catholic. He might persist in his attentions if he did not know there were other reasons for my refusing him, Aa it was he joined me near the cottage. ' Let me add one word Misa Vernon,' he said. • I will even" join your Church for your sake. Forms make little difference.' " ' JSo,' I eaid, ' you must not think of such a step. The barrier that separates us is* no mere form. Your conversion for my sake would neither satisfy God, yourself, nor me. It would be the most empty ot iorms. Good-bye.' " VIII. " Well, my dear Redmond, you know all that occurred during my last day at Atlantic City from my last letter, I have been, deeply impressed ever since by the thought that there must be something under all your Catholic ceremonies when a young girl can act as Miss Vernon has acted. I give no weight whatever to her words about her father's ' tarnished name.' I find out that Mr. Vernon failed in business because of bad debts, and that he honorably discharged his obligations as far as possible. I do not imagine that I shp.ll ever meet her again, but I will never cease to remember her sweet womanliness, her patience, her regard for duty, and the serenity which seemed to emanate from a heart filled — yes, I will say it, though many of my friends would call it cant— with the love of God. Oblige me, my dear boy, by sending some books to me, — books that will answer why Catholics believe so firmly in these days of doubt. I cannot get rid of the influence of Miss V^rnon's daily example." IX. "Dear Lee -.—There is an acquaintance of yours on a visit to my mother. It is Miss Vernon. Will you run down to Sawmpscott with me ? Meet me at the Grand Central Station oa Saturday. " Redmond O'Connor." X. " Dear Redmond : — With pleasure. Ex-Governor Jinks is there just now, too. I will mix pleasure with business, and interview him at the same time. lamto be baptised conditionally to-morrow. It is sudden, but, you see, I bad prepared myself for it uncousciously. It may amuse you when I say that Mallock's ' New Republic' had as much to do with it as anything, except Miss Vernon's beautiful example, and, above all, God's grace! I have always worn that medal since I received it. I can't understand why the author of 'The New Republic ' does not enter the Church I can say honestly that the hope of one day marrying Miss Vernon has had nothing to do with this change in my belief — or, rather, my adoption of the only belief possible tor a logical mind ; but, as I have said, her example was my first impetus towards the Faith." XI. " Dear Anna : — Father and I were surprised to meet him " (" him " is scratched out ia the original letter, and " Mr. Lee " written over it) "at Mrs. O'Connor's. He looked happier, and I soon discovered the leason. He has become a Catholic. He told me so as we stood in the little parlour waiting for the others to come down. And then I had to listen to a new proposal. I told him that, although I it made me happy to hear that he had entered the Church (and you | know, Anna, I prayed for it very hard), I could not be his wife. I jepeated that we were under a cloiid. My father had been branded as worse than a thief in a public print. We had sought refuge from the ' sneers of the world in quiet places, and that I would never marry any j man with a load of disgrace on my father and me. " He seemed amazed at my vehemence. "' I know all about it. The world does not sneer at your father. I He is much respected, notwithstanding his misfortunes.' '"You don't know,' I answered, wishing from my heart that I could have been saved from this cruel ordeal ; and then I drew from my pocket-book th3t cruel, cruel article, the sight of which in a New York paper gave papa his first stroke of paralysis. ' I will show you, Mr. Lee, what the world says of my father. And then I will ask whether you can marry a girl whose name has been dragged into the j mire, and whose father you would have to call father.' "He started at thisand turned paler. I gave him that heartcrushing paragraph. He started to read, and turned it over. ' I think I know this type,' he said, ' it's a bit out of our paper '; and then he read sotto vnce : " • Mr. Vernon — carelessness— criminal to reduce working-men to despair by taking the bread out of their months — ' " ' Tnat was said of my father— my father, who reduced himself to poverty, who knew ihem all, who never refused to help them !' I interrupted, tears coming to my eyes. ' 0 Mr. Lee 1 why did you force me to show you this ?— why did you 1 Look in his face and sea ' whether he is capable of defrauding labourers of their wages. He failed, it is true ; but he has left no man worse by his failure. My mother's property has gone to pay bis debts. His creditors have 1 shown their appreciation of this, and allowed him enough for li •» m [ ! age. But tell me, Mr. Lee, if you would marry the daue v it j r '>• » m.i i whose name was tarnished by such astain ? Hehas-ulr.n -dsih ntly : for when he recovered from the blow that those cruel wowls gave In ■■ it was too late to meet the charge. Let us say no more of marriage , Mr. Lee.' "He tried to take my hand, bui ■ would not let h'm. ' Yuii cannut comfort me iv any way. I mu^ oear my burden.' "He read the paragraph to the end, colouring up to the eyes. I could not help thinking that men are not like u-.— constant to those I we love in all darkness and storm. I, in Ln place, would not have 1 Llushed for the woman I loved

" ' If,' I added, as I saw that he was not about to speak, ' you •hould ever meet the editor who wro c that article, ask him not to be •o ruthless the next time. That priuted calumny is w rse than mnrder. I could more easily forgive a murderer. And now, Mr. Lee, let us be merely polite to each other while we are here.' "Ec went to the window iv silence. I noticed his head trembled. He turned to me aB if to speak, when my father and Mrs. O'Connor came io. During his stay at Swampscott I did not again see him alone. Imagine a woman acting like that 1 Love I These men may talk of love, but no woman would ever desert one she loved because the world spoke ill of his father. lam almost ashamed to admit even to you that I thought him the bravest of men." XII. " O Anna, Anna 1 what am I to do f He admits in a note I received this morning that he wrote that wicked, wicked paragraph The wretch, the dastard, the calumniator — and yet he seems so nice V XIII. " In answer to my letter asking for an explanation, he says that he can give none, except that he is a journalist. Journalists are worse than brigands, Anna. The former take our good name, the latter only our monay. Does 'lama brigand ' seem sufficient excuse for highway robbery ? And yet he asks me to accept ' I aia a journalist 'as an excuse for worse than highway robbery. How I dislike him and his — occupation ! " XIV. " Dear Bed :— lt is all up Jwith me. What endless evil I have done I How lightly words roll from our pens, sometimes crushing hearts and blasting names I I have at last come to realise this. I will never — so help me God I— write another line thoughtlessly or under the pressure of opinion I know to be false. I will not write again for a long time. I can give ML-8 Vernon no explanation that would not seem to make my weakness more pitiable." XV. In spite of this last line, there must have been some explanation ; for I find a wedding-card in the bundle, but no note fuither explaining it.