THE LITTLE CHOIR BOY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIX, Issue 51, 19 December 1901, Page 24

THE LITTLE CHOIR BOY.

THE first time I saw little Patsy Morgan was one clay when I visited the infant school. A bright little fellow of six, with flaxen curls falling on his shoulders, bright hazel eyes, and lemarkably intelligent, teutiues, was introduced to me. 'Well Patrick, my littlo man/ T said, ' where do you li\c ? ' Please ' he answered, ' my mi mo ain't Patrick but Patsy, and'l ain't a little man, but my father says I'm his little nipper.' Then he informed, me where he lived. Patsy and myself became great friends. llis parents had seen better days, and he was their only child it was the same old melancholy tale. Drink, was the root of their misery, and as time went on things drifted from bad to worse. At times — now and then, — these people pulled themselves together, and for a space all seemed well Little Patsy developed a great taste for music 1 found him one day seated at the piano in the infant school playing from ear one of the .school Jivm/is. lie had an exceedmgiiy sharp far, and a nice little voice , and when he passed into the boys' department he was taken into the choir. It was a labor of love for the little fellow. lie was indeed an apt pupil, a good, sweet-tempered boy ; and lie lo\ed his church and his school, and lie never seemed to get tired of singing our beautiful church music. Christmas came round, and Patsy was 10 years old : lie had made his First Communion almost a year previously '1 he poor little fellow was 1 underfed and scantily clothed. it was a case of hopeless neglect which was telling fearfully on his delicate frame. The meals and comfort we gave him -it school were cruelly undone by his parents. Many a night the child spent in misery on the dark stairs, or in the cheerless cold of a neglected room, when the drunken frenzy had seized Ins parents it was a bleak, cold, snowy Christmas Eve. The church was crowded, the altar and the sanctuary were bright and festive, the choir liled into the stalls, followed by the ofh- (■< tin;'; pi lest The ert,an ]Mvled through the --acred building Then the Midnight M.i.ss began. They wete singing that grand Mass of Gounod, the ' 'Messe Solennelle ' r l he pathetic "-trains of the ' Xviie 1 «ia<l died awa\ 1 liud intoned the opening words <>f the - Gloria ' '\ hen In the accompaniment of the harp and the closed lips chorus, the beautiful sweet sopiaio voi ■<: «,i" litile Patsy thrilled out the wondrous words of the Angel s song ' Gloria m excelsis Deo, et in terra pax hommibus bonne \ oluntatis ' The soul of the little flushed-faced chorister went out With that beautiful music There were tears m the eyes of many as they listened to thu child's voice that night Now and again mere came a cough oli so hollow, from the choir, and 1 knew it was Pats\ 1 saw the choir taking their coffee after Mass ' Father.' said Patsy , ' may I stay m the .sacristy till the High Mass ">' Clod help the poor cv 'd ' i know wn.li ne L'vnt 1 made him up a ni<e warm couch on some cushions, near the hot water pipes, and covered him over with a warm rug " Ah, Ibis is nice ! God bless you, Father ! ' lie said When 1 \\ent into the church to prepare for the ear]> Mass in the morning, 1 found him still sleeping peapefully. And there by his side were his worn and broken shoes — on the sanctuary he had worn his cloth slippers Poor boy ' no wonder that he coughed even in his sleep The music of the High Mass was somewhat florid, but little Patsy seemed to surpass himself in the correct .md sweet rendering of the score. When we got into the sacristy, the choirmaster said to me : ' I'm afraid

Patsy is very ill ; he nearly fainted during the last Gospel.' The poor child was coughing, and I noticed a great stream of blood on his white cotta. Then came a bright scarlet stream. He had broken a blood vessel. We tended him carefully, and as soon as possible he was removed to the hospital. A week passed. Tt was New Year's Day. My dear little choir boy, I knew was dying. I had given him all the last rites. When I entered the ward he was unconscious, but he was sitting up in bed, and his large, lustrous eyes looked steadily into vacancy, the light that shone from them seemed preternaturally bright. Then the thin little fingers began to beat time. The lips parted, and the sweet strains 'of the introduction of the Gloria of Gounod's ' Messe Solennelle ' echoed through the still ward. Every sound ceased, every ear listened eagerly to those wonderful notes of joy of the angel's song as rendered by that child's marvellous voice — ' Gloria in e^celsis Deo.' And then the voice stopped. Once moii the eyes lit up with a radiant light, and the little chorister sang the opening stanza of the ' Adeste Fideles ' :—: — ' Rcgem Angelorum . . . Venite adoremus Dommuin ' The child's voice was silent. Patsy fell back ; the lips and clothes were stained with bright crimson spots. The little choir boy had gone to join the angels in their never-ending song of praise — ' Catholic Truth Society.'