THE ROYAL ROAD OF SACRIFICE

New Zealand Tablet, 14 October 1909, Page 1605

THE ROYAL ROAD OF SACRIFICE

The matins of God's feathered worshippers proclaimed the advent of glorious day. Soon the great hell of St. Andrew's College tolled as if conscious that it was the twenty-first of June and the last of the scholastic year. The dormitory of the school was a scene of hilarity. The prefect of discipline was nowhere to be seen. No gentle whispers were heard. Loud, healthy voices rent the air. Through the din arose, ' Jack, let's take a tie, will you? Mine are all in my box.' ' Sorry, Bert, that's where mine are, except the one I am now wearing, and my dress tie for to-night.' ' Here is one you may have,' called out a voice from the far end of the room. .. /> ' Say, kid, this isn't St. Patrick's Day,' returned Bert' as he was presented with one of gorgeous emerald hue.. ' You don't need a tie, Bert ; let us get into our uni- * forms and have a game with the juniors.' 'Right you always are, ."Doc"; come on, boys; Jet'shurry and make the youngsters kiss the ground.' With more noise the room was vacated with the exception of the two young men. Edward (better known as ' Doc ') Burton and Albert Kirns. Both were good-looking and seniors. They hurried down, upsetting a youngster coming up. 'Look out, Frank; what's the matter?' said Doc. . Frank tried to brush away his tears, ,and presented a" hand covered with a handkerchief through which the blood was oozing. ' I was looking for you, Doc; I cut my hand.' ' Say, Frank, you had better go up to the "infirmary. Doc is going to play ball,' said Bert. ' Let me see your hand, Frank, 'Doc said heedless of Bert. Frank slowly xmcovered the wound. ' I should say you did cut it. How did you do it?' 'I fell on a piece of "glass. 5 Doc examined the hand . carefully. ' That is an ugly cut, Frank ; you had better see Brother Felix; I'll hurt you more than he will.' 'Oh, you fix it, will you, Doc? Brother told me to keep away from the place, and he'll be cross.' ' Well, then, come up stairs, youngster. Bert, I will be out in a few minutes.' Bert mumbled something and walked away with an air of disgust. Burton's kind action delayed- him about ten minutes; . then he ran with speed to his place on the diamond. One by one 'the juniors fanned in their vain attempts to connect vijith. his pitched balls. . . • The morning passed quickly and the noon Angelus „ marked the ending of all athletic sports at Sf. Andrew's for the term. The material things of life claimed their attention and the refectory would not delight the heart of any hungry persons -after their appetite had- been .satisfied. Express men were persons of importance for that day »t least; trunks, bags, and boxes of every description

were placed at their tender mercy. The campus was vacated. In -all parts of the college rehearsals were the rule. Each year the faculty of the college had been successful in obtaining ,a celebrated speaker to mark tho commencement This year "the young .Governor had promised to- attend, 'but-- at the eleventh hour sent his regrets. A venerable priest, Father Higgins", who had spent -years in the Far East," gracefully came to the rescue, and promised a short address. The hall was filled Avith the parents and friends of the yoxing men-, as the orchestra began the assembly march. ' The doors were thrown open and the aspirants for honors marched into the hall. ' - . . ' Doc ' and Bert headed the line. - Their, generally ruddy faces paled somewhat- from the excitement and" the glare of the many lights. After a chorus, a poem, a symphony from the college orchestra, the twenty-four graduates were called' to -receive the coveted sheepskins. The programme progressed, .then came, the valedictory. A pleased expression swept across every face as after prolonged applause Edward Burton began his farewell to his Alma Mater. Edward- was earnest in everything. His voice told upon his audience. His paper was rich with -the fire of youth, heart. Tears ~ flowed from the eyes of his loving mother, seated in a . crowded portion of "the hall with- a husband, whose face glowed with pride upon his son. At last, -with a grand message of valediction, Edward finished. Father Higgins ascended the stage. After -a _quick survey of the assemblage, he "began: 'I trust you were listening when Father Murphy read the note of regret from the one who was to be the chief speaker of this evening; otherwise you might think me the Governor, and think, oh, ' he isn't such a great speaker after all.' After a pause he continued : ' I believe it is customary to address -graduates with words of encouragement' and praise; I 'will institute narration. Young men, to-day you enter tipon a new life. The doors of your Alma Mater are closed kindly but finally. She sends you forth to battle,— yes, to battle. The optimism of yoiith presents life as rosy as the morn, as placid as yon beautiful lake on a day in June.- Boys, life is real, life is earnest, success does not come without sacrifice, sacrifice is not separated from success. You are but children. Look well into the future. Choose wisely your career. If you feel you are called to be a soldier of Jesus Christ, go and prepare. If the field, of medicine or surgery attracts you, study. to be jbhe best; if you become only second best, you are best for trial. - The mercantile world offers many inducements to the honorable -young college man. Young men, take honesty for your motto in whatever place God places you.' He waxed eloquent, stirring all hearts with his appeals. His .kindly eyes were moist - as -he finished with, ' Remember, young men, don't be afraid to travel the royal road of sacrifice.' After the conclusion of the exercises Father Higgins held a reception. By -.some' wonderful power he won the young men's confidence. Tjiey told him their aims, their hopes. Placing his hand on Edward Burton's shoulder, he said : ' I expect great things from this young man. What is your ambition, my son ?' Before Edward could answer Father Burke spoke up. ' Surgery, Father Higgins. During Doc's four years hero 1 lie has fixed more bruised bodies" than Brother JFelix has since he came twelve years ago.'. . - -• • 'Is that so?' You have chosen a^noble vocation, study hard. Aim to be superior. ' You will .succeed, I am certain.' , -','-, ' Yes, " Father, I have always felt I should study surgery.' His fellow-students saw Doc. was .growing confidential, so politely drew aside. 'But it is^my parents' desire that I should be a priest.' ' Well, they will be pleased' to think you have decided -on such a grand career.' ' I fear not, Father,' returned- Edward. ' Father is very much imbued with the idea that" it is all settled; numberless times I have tried to tell him that I could not conscientiously -study for the Church when all my soul called out for surgery. I don't mean. that I would like to witness suffering; I want to try and alleviate it. I know Father will be disappointed. My uncle left money for me to be edticated, -on condition .that I would -be a ' Why did you accept the terms ?' ' I couldn't help it, Father ; I wanted to work to earn enough money for my -education, but Dad insisted on me accepting uncle's money; I told him perhaps I would decide on some other life woi'k, but he put me off with, "Boys were not sure of themselves until they finished college." ' ' They are not,' returned Father Higgins. ' I don't anticipate trouble for you, but if your parent is unreasonable will you let me know-? Perhaps I may be -able to help you. Noav, your parents will be anxious. Goodnight, and God bless you. Here is my address; don't forget tp let me know how you- succeed.' - 'Thank you, Father, very much; good-night.' The excitement of commencement had been forgotten. After two weeks of idleness, Edward Burton awoke to the realisation that it was nearly time he had a talk with his -father. His mother had listened to her boy's , story, and heroically told him she .knew whatever profession he chose' was the one God had destined him for. She was

disappointed. Every , mother's ambition is ta -give a son to God. Edward was her only child; he must not know the anguish she suffered. She knew the pain in ''store for him. Her husband was indomitable. No earthly power could change his no to yes. His one aim in life was to see Edward a priest. Edward begged that he should be the one to break the- news. - Accordingly, after breakfast, he said: 'Dad, may I see you^ for a few minutes? 5 His father replied with alacrity: <" 1 Certainly, come into,~myroom.' Edward followed, his parent "and said to him: ' Dad, .1 know you won't be pleased, but I have decided to go to work.' ' Nonsense, Edward ; there isn't the slightest need of it.' , 1 But, Dad, I don't feel that it is my vocation to be a priest; I want to study surgery. You know the Fathers at school decided I .was fitted for it.' ' It is rather a strange time to arrive at such a decision, " after you have finished college. You know well had I been assured at the beginning that you did not intend to follow your uncle's wishes I would not have allowed you to enter ~ college.' ' But, Dad, you know., time after time I have told you I was not. certain. You always put me off with, " Boys don't know their own minds.' Don't think, father, I intend to keep the money. I shall work until every penny is repaid. No, Dad, you wouldn't wish me to be false to my principles. I know I am not fitted for the holy office of priesthood. Think how easy it would be for me. to agree with you, if I felt the slightest inclination.' 'You have always 'been a stubborn boy — don't interrupt, please. You know my aim in life was to see you . ordained. Every one knows we intended you for a priest. - You have offended me beyond . forgiveness. Go and.be a surgeon if you wish, but not one penny of my money will , help you, and I will never willingly speak to you again.' ' Dad, you don't mean that ; think for one instant, if I could, would I not do as you wish, but I cannot. I will work day and night. God has given me talents. I must make use of them.' ' Then that is final ?' . ' Final, Dad, but ' ' Then there is no more to be said ; good-day.' Edward was tempted to give up the fight, but he persevered. Father Higgins obtained employment for him during the summer months. He entered the university, and worked within and without to gain the funds sufficient for him to procure "his degree. During his second year his mother died. The distance was too great to allow him to return home. . His ' heart went out in sympathy to his lonely father. The letter was returned unopened. Two months after the death of his mother he received from a friend the intelligence that his father had married again and left the State. He suffered. He would not have been human had he not. No father's strong hand grasped his in congratulation when his degree was won. He was alone, no mother eye was dim for him. He finished with high honors. He de- - cided to locate hi his home city, and not many years passed-.-before he was high in his chosen profession. His practice • was more extensive than that of any other doctor in the city. He was esteemed by everybody. In the large Catholic hospital where he performed the majority of the operations he was greatly beloved; daily he gained friends. His charity was not pharisaical. The poor received the same untiring attention as the rich; little children idolised him. He made a daily tour of the wards. Always a kind word, and a gentle question to each poor sufferer. Eight years had passed since his father sent him from him. In all that time he had received no message of forgiveness, but this morning he had received a beautiful -chest of silver, simply marked, ' For your wedding gift.' Something whispered it was his father who had sent it. ' Thank God,' he murmured, ' the shadows are lifting. Bessie's prayers are being heard.' He was steering his light runabout through the crowded street. He must hurry; he was due at the hospital. With a start he stopped the machine, and jumped out. He stepped upon something sharp, which cut through his shoe ; but, heedless of the pain, he ran to an elderly man's side and called out, 'Father! Father!' « The man turned sharply. 'Edward, my son!' ' Poor Dad, you are trembling. Don't you think it is about time we made up? Eight years is a long time, Dad.' - - . ' Yes, Edward ; eight years too long. I was pigheaded; I was awfully displeased, .Edward, but I'm proud of you now, my boy. You are in your right place. Will you forgive me, son?,' ' Don'f ask my forgiveness, Dad; I'm very busy now; they are expecting me at the hospital.- Suppose you .come tip to my rooms to-night. You know, I'm going to be mar--' ried to Bessie Dean, father. - You'll come and live with us, won't you, Dad?' -> 'Edward, could I? Would Bessie care?' 'Bessie care? Bessie has been praying for this reconciliation ever since I went away. I think I cut my foot; "" it is smarting. Don't forget to come up, Dad ; here is my card. I will be there " about 6 ; good-bye, I'll have to hurry.' - -^ % ~ Dr. Burton exceeded the speed limit, but he must «

• reach the hospital, on £ime.. His foot pained him,-{but he had :nd' time to care v f of, that. .' . - ' • / ------ : ' Good-morning, - Sister.;. 'Am I late?' he asked a nun ..in the corridor. ' Just a few moments, "Dr. Burton.' ' Sorry to have kept them waiting.' 'Have you hurt your foot,, doctor?' - ' I jumped on a piece of wire as I was getting out -of the runabout. I will- -attend - to' it after— when I get time.i, , ' Always time ' for others, ' but no time for yourself,' said the ,nun with a smile. As quickly as possible he began his work. Not a- word passed -his" .lips. His energy was- concentrated on his work. Every gesture was understood, instrument after instrument was handed to and from him. When he had finished he murmured, ' Thank God ! I hope it is successful.' He passed quickly from the room. An interne was walking along the corridor. Dr. Burton motioned to him. ' Please get me a glass of water. . I did not want to alarm the others. I feel quite weak.' The last word -was scarcely audible. He staggered, and would have fallen had not the - young man held him. The commotion brought others to the scene. ' Burton's ill,' returned another. They carried him into a private room, and soon revived him. With the ghost of a smile he said : ' Earle, just take off my shoe, will you, please; there is something wrong with my foot.' Dr. Earle uttered an- exclamation ; the shoe refused to move ; he slit it with' his" knife. Something spattered over . his hand. ' Why, Doc, you have cut your foot.' ' Yes, I guess I did. I stopped to talk to Dad, ' and stepped on a piece of wire or something. I'll have to look out for blood-poisoning.' The three physicians came into the room, the injured foot was attended to, but the pain was almost unbearable to Dr. Burton. He was forbidden to 1 leave the room. by Dr. Earle, who said he would consider him fortunate if he could leave in a week. (To be concluded.)