THE POWER OF KINDNESS.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXX, Issue 35, 28 August 1902, Page 23

THE POWER OF KINDNESS.

It was late in March. Everything was dreary in Lennox street ; the •ky was leaden ; the air was damp with a chilling fog, and one could hardly see 20 feet ahead. The light grocery waggons scurried by, and tho shrill voice of the news boy called out, ' Telegram ! Morning Telegram ! '

But in spite of all discomforts the poor must go to their work. Through fog and slush, past newsboys, a thin struggling lino of operatives wended their way to the street car, which was to carry them 10 miles down town to their daily work. Down in the morning, back at night, day after day, year in and year out, Sunday sometimes excepted, sometimes not — such was their life. Holidays had often no other meaning to them than extra or special work. If they fell sick, well, there were others to take thoir places. They were cast aside as broken parts of the great human machine. Other workmen stepped in , the broken parts wene forgotten, and the human grind went on and on, with never-ending clocklike regularity.

At No. 507 Lennox street dwelt one of thoso poor wonking people. Tho building at this number was a narrow three-story wooden house of a dull red color. On the ground floor was a grocery store ; on the second floor lived the proprietor of the store, and on the third floor, a poor working girl and her widowed mother. Tho third story was reached by a covered stairway on the outside of the building. One glance at the house would have told the most careless observer that its inhabitants wero tho poorest of the poor.

It was sadly in need of repairs. Broken window panes, rag-stuffed sashes, rickety stairs, rudely fitting) doors, crumbling gables-^all these make us certain of this ; no need of entering the placo to assure ourselves of tho fact. But) to see its 1 misery wo must.

On the thind floor in one of the small dingy rooms — the dining room, if such we may call it — sat a pale, emaciated girl of some three and twenty years, eating her breakfast. A oup of weak tea, a crust of bread and a bit of dry cheese comjposed her meagre meal. Her mother hustled about the room, busy preparing a lunch for her daughter. The mother was as thin as her child, but more wiry, and with all her bustling work, she never ceased to look at the sickly girl and urge her to eat her breakfast.

' Don't be in a hurry eating your breakfast. You've lots of time. Won't you have some more tea. No.'

Hero Stella burst out coughing and it was some minutes before she was quite recovered. Her mother looked at her anxiously and sorrowfully. ' I must get something for that cold,' she said to Stella. ' I must do it to-day, because I have delayed it so long already. I'll get ' She stopped abruptly and her eyes became moist, fon she recollected that she had only 33 cents in the house, and Stella would need ten for her car-fare.

' Oh, never mind, mother,' answered Stella ; 'if will soon be warm weather, and then the cough will leave, and I'll be better.'

Having finished her breakfast, sho roso and prepared to go. She kissed her mother, and taking the small lunch, went down the creaking, rickety stairs into the cold, foggy air, tx> tako her place again as one of the wheels in the great grinding ma r chine.

At the factory door she entered— one of three hundred — and was registered by the recorder 'in the hall. At seven o'clock work began, and con-

tinued without cessation till noon ; then time was given for dinner ; aften this work was resumed till six o'clock.

The factory in which Stella worked made men's clothing. Stella's particular work was cutting. She had formerly been an expert at this sort of work, and earned high wages, but lately, her health failing* she had not been able to do nearly so much work, and consequently did not receive so high a salary. In fact at times, her harsh and unfeeling overseer had threatened to discharge her on account of her ' laziness,' as he termed her inability to do more. The damp weather of March had brought on her coughing fits very frequently, and to the annoyance caused by the dampness was added that occasioned by the fine, penetrating diust that is often present in a large factory. The overseer had inhumanly reprimanded her for delaying, by her coughing, thoso next her. This day she was coughing almost continuously.

' Miss Margrave,' said the overseer to her, 'if you don't work as you should, I'll discharge you. I'll not stand it any longer. Remember.'

Poor Stella almost sobbed aloud, but, exerting herself with a heroic effort, she managed to brace up sufficiently to avoid being discharged, though she still received some severe and menacing glances from the foreman.

Coming home in the evening, she passed the parish priest's house. Father Prince was standing at the top of the flight of stone steps that led to the front door. He was affable to every one, and no deserving man over turned away from the good priest's door with an empty hand. Stella glanced up at him as sho passed and was greeted with a friendly ' Good-evening ' that went straight to the girl's heart. It was tho first word of true friendship she had heard since leaving home that morning. It greatly gladdened her poor soul, aud made her feel that after all, life co,uld have some soothing balm in it if people would only be kind. Sho answered ' Good-even-ing,' and walked ou with a lighter step.

As she opened the door of the house, her mother was sitting near the little stove and sewing away, thus helping to eke out the small doit that her child earned.

When Stella entered the room the good mother immediately rose ami took a bottle from the shelf above the stove.

' There's the medicine,' she said, joyfully ;> ' I told you I'd get it today. You must take some right away, and then you'll soon bo better."

Stella smiled and_ looked around the room anxiouslyT Her quick glance soon told her that thero were only three .chairs in the room now, whereas in the morning theno had been five. She said nothing, but she felt her heart sink as she realised how poor they were fast becoming. In silence she took the medicine her mother held out, thanked her sweetly, and then, recollecting the * Good-evening ' of the priest, she said :

' Oh. mother, I saw Father Prince this evening, and ho spoke to me. Ho is the only person besides you, dear mother, who ever speaks kindly to me. 1 don't see how his religion can bo bad and wicked us we are told. Anyhow, I know it hasn't made him bud yet.'

'No telling what if may do, my child,' said her mother. ' Those Catholics aren't to be trusted. I've hoard awful stories about thoso priests, that don't say anything) good about them.

' But, mother, do you think all of these stories are true? You know, people tell such lies sometimes. They've told frightful ones even about us\, and surely we don't harm any one.'

' No, no, my child „ God knows we haven't. But these Catholic ' Here she shr.ugged her shoulders and was silent.

' I don't think,' remarked Stella, ' that wo really ought to believe what people say of Catholics. I know some Catholic girls who work in the factory with me, and thoy'ro just as good as the other girls. Annie Hanin, a Catholic girl, gave me half her lunch the other day, when I forgot mine. They don't hate us ; they can't. I don't believe it and when 1 get a chanco I'm going to ask Father Prince about his religion. I'm sure we can believe him.'

Mrs Margrave answered nothing, but busied herself preparing their scanty supper. This eaten, they sat down near the little stove, and by tho aid of a yellow flickering light, endeavored to piece out their poon income by sewing till ton o'clock. Thus we have seen the daily monotonous life of this little family. Day after day, Stella went to her work, while Mrs. Margrave stayed at home and sewed. The good priest's kind salute was almost the one ray of bliss that shone in this humble household.

As summer drew nigh, and the weather became warm, Father Prince used to sit outside under a maple tree on the lawn. Here he read and spoko in his kindly way to the pas-sers-by. Little did he know what an instrument of grace these words wero destined to become. But as with him, so with us, the littla things we think not of ore often the means employed by the Almighty God Co spread abroad the light of faith and to lead wandering soula into tho sheepcot of His Divine Son.

This is what we so often forget— the power of little things. A tiny drop of water is indeed small and innocent looking ; yet drop upon drop forms those huge billows that you see rolling in from the ocean, and that mock tho power of man Man's genius has wrought great wondens ; it has piled stone upon stone till that huge pyramid of Cheops stands forth the wonder of man's power ; it has dyked the ocean back from the land till fontile Holland looks up to tho sea o'ertjoppling it and smiles ; it has fathomed the secrets of the ocean's depths and soared aloft into spaco— but it never could and never shall, of itself, escape from that fell shadow which broods over every human soul. Yet one tiny, insignificant drop of crystal water does that which man's genius is unable to do — it cleanses the spirit of man till that spirit is as white and chasto aa the unsunned snow.

Summer came and went , autumn succeeded with its falling leaves dank woods and chilling fogs Stella's cough had left hen in peace during; the summer months, but when tho raw, damp weather returned, it camo again, and worse than ever. She felt that she could not stand it much longer, and her loving mother sought in vain for means to allay jt.

Finally Stella had to give up her work. Cough, weather and overseer had reduced her to a pitiable state. Tho world was fast gliding from her. k She was obliged to remain in bed. Her weekly wages ceased, and of an evening she could sew no more. She and her mother wero in dire straits. Stella lay on her bed coughing from morning till night, from night till the morning. Her mother sewed and sewed, but she could not earn *uO"u O "£ l \ to * k £ ep even tho B <>ul and tho body of herself much longer together. Death from starvation and from cold stared them in the face. I hey had no friends— no one cared tor taem.

When Stella had been in bed about three weeks, she felt that she could last but a few days if help did not come. Sho dreaded death; she knew not what it meant. She had never been taught to look beyond this life to look for something higher and noblen. She had, indeed, heard of a life beyond— a life of happiness or of misery ; but she never had realised what it all meant. Others had told her that death is the last of us, that after it all is silence. She had heard several ministers preach, but they had given fonth no definite, tangible belief on life beyond the grave. They had spoken on ' The Fellowship of Man/ on ' Character/ on ' Anti-Christ at Home/ or on some similar subject. But what did these subjects teach her ? What did they tell her of a life to come ? They, did not tell her how io gain it. The vitality of a true spiritual life was lost in vague and formless assertions.

One morning she called hen mother and said, ' Mother, I would like to see Father Prince. Please go and ask him to come and see me. I'm sure he will if you only ask him.'

■Mrs. Margrave demurred at first, saying that no good could ever come of it ; but seeing the earnestness of her daughter, and hoping to please hen, she went to get the parish priest. Father Prince was not at home, but the servant promised to tell him when he returned in tho afternoon that she had asked for him.

When told about the old woman who had come for him, Father Prince wondered which one of his parishioners lived at 507 Lennox street. He could think of no one ; yet, since he was called, he must go. As he clambered up the crank stairs ho knew that it must be a poor family that lived in so tumbledown a place. When he knocked Mrs. Margrave opened the door to let him in. A glance at the room he entered confirmed him in the estimate of the inmates' condition.

' Good evening, ma'am,' said Father Prince ; 'so you sent for me this morning, and what can I do for you, my good woman ? Do you go to St. Anne's ? ' ' No, sir , but my daughter, who is sick, wanted to see you. She knows you,' said Mrs., Margrave, as she led him into Stella's bedroom.

The priest at once recognised in the sick girl the one who used to pass his place so regularly in the stunmen. He recollected that he had not seen her lately. ' So, my child, it is you,' he said, holding out his hand to her. 'You look very sick. I know your face, but what is your name ? '

' Stella Margrave, Father,' answered the sick girl, already feeling ■better at the kind manner of the priest. 'It is so kind of you to come and see me. I was almost afraid to send for you.' " Afraid ? Well, well ! Afraid of a poor old man like me ! Am Iso very dreadful to look at? ' asked the priest, laughingly.

' Oh, no, Father, I didn't mean that,' said Stella. ' I mean that I didn't like to ask you to come to see me.'

' Well, now, my good child, what can rt do for you ? Are you a Catholic ? ' asked Father Prince.

' No, Father ; mother and I don't belong to the Church, but I feel I would like to become a Catholic before I die.'

' Very well, and why do you think that ? What put such a thing into your head ? '

' Oh, Father, you've been so kind to me that I thought if your religion made you so it must be good,' answered Stella.

' I kind to you ! ' said the priest. 'My good girl, you must be mistaken. I never did anything for you in my life.'

' Oh, Father, don't you remember hlow I used to go by your house every evening ? ' asked Stella.

' I do ; but wtxat has that to do .with my kindness ? '

' And you remember how you used to say " Good evening " to me each time ? '

Father Prince nodded.

' Well, that was the one kmd word that a stranger spoke to me the livelong day. I" used to feel happy when I found you sitting on your lawn, because I was sure'of receiving a kind word and look. When you were not there, I came home with a heavy heart and could not feel happy. Did you notice how I used to cross over the street before I came to your house ? ' ' No, I did not,' said Father Prince.

' But I did, in order to get your kind word, though it would have teen shorter for me not to have crossed the street in coining home.' ' I am glad I caused you some small joy, though it was very small, indeed/ said Father Prince. ' But now, are you really sincere in your desire to become a Catholic on this frail reason ? '

' Yes, Father, I am truly sincere/ replied Stella. I feel that I could bo happier if I were a Catholic, like you, and I wish you to tell me about your religion. I've heard some things about Catholics, but I don't see how they can be true. Can I become one ? '

' Certainly, my child,' answered tho priest ; ' but first I'll have; , 'to teach you the truths of our holy religion. Were you ever baptised ? ' ' No/ said the sick girl.

' Do you know anything about the Catholic religion at all ? ' asked Father Prince.

' I have heard some things about it, but I don't think half of them can be true. Won't you have time to teach me all, Father ? ' asked Stella, looking wistfully at him, for she began to think it would be impossible for him to waste so much time on her.

' Oh, yes, my good child ! ' answered the priest ; ' I'm only too glad to do so. I'll come every day to teach you, and then in a few days you'll become a Catholic'

' Oh, thank you, Fathen ! ' said the poor girl, now in tears. ' I'm sorry to give you so much trouble.'

Father Prince, seated upon a box which Mns. Margrave had brought him, be#qjn to tejl the sick giri ofl tho religion she longed to know and to mako her own. The mother, with pinched and hunger-worn face, sat on tho opposite side of the bed, and both mother and daughter were attentive listeners to the explanation. Having thus begun the instruction, Father Prince promised to come every day.

Whilst in tho house he had noticed the dearth of everything needful to to life. Tho stove was cold from lack of fuel ; tho poor patient had nothing but a bnoken glass partly filled with water, and standing beside her ; she had a thin quilt over her ; in the corner of the room lay a straw mattress — evidently the bed of the mother. In the dining-room, or sitting room, were three boxes, but no chairs or table. He knew it was useless to ask whether they had a doctor. At the thought of all this he felt sorely grieved, and resolved to do something at once.

He went into the store on the first floor and ordered a supj^ly of groceries. Taking them in his arms, and ordering the clerk to follow him with a bucket of coal, he went upstairs again. He lighted a fire, told the shivering mother to get herself something to eat, and said that he would send some more groceries, aifd that ho would also send a doctor to see her daughter.

Tho doctor came, but gave no hope of final recovery. Stella rallied, however, under the influence of the food and warmth, and was able to listen with a small degree of physical comfort to the instructions. Mrs. Margrave soon became as eager a catechumen as Stella, when she, too, began to feel the kindness of Father Prince.

In three weeks both mother and daughter were baptised, and then Father Prince brought Stella her first Holy Communion. She received this with fervent devotion and before the priest left ihat day she thanked him with tears in her eyes for all his kindness to her mother and herself.

As the cold weather came on Stella grew worse and it was soon evident that she could last but a few days. Accordingly she received Holy Viaticum and Extreme Unction.

' I'd "bo happy to die now/ said! Stella, after receiving the last sacraments. ' God has been so good to me and given me such hope. Mother and I had to bear much in our poverty and sickness, but it is worth all these troubles and trials, and a thousand times more, to be brought so near to God in the end ; and I'm sure,' continued Stella, turning to the priest, ' that you will take care of mother when I'm alone.'

It is seven o'clock on the morning of the 22nd of November, eight months since the day we first saw Stella Margrave going to her work The manning is as foggy as it was then, but underneath it is dry. The door of No. 507 opens, and four men, carrying a narrow deal coffin, issue forth. Regardless of these, the thin line of wohking, people make their way through the fog. The newsboy still calls out ' Telegram ! Morning Telegram ! ' Grind — grind — grind— the human machine runs on. A wheel has been broken, cast asdde, replaced. But amidst all this din and turmoil, amidst all this human surging to and fro, the Almighty God reigns supreme. By ways unseen and unthought of the grace of tihe world's souls from the darkness of joyless Redeemer is spread abroad, leading error into the light of the living faith, whence they are wafted on the wings of eternal love to the realms of everlasting joy and peace on high.— The ' Carmelite Review.'