FATHER DOYLE’S LAST MISSION

New Zealand Tablet, 16 January 1913, Page 9

FATHER DOYLE’S LAST MISSION

All day long, the heavy train rolled westward under ’ the * August sky. The sun beat down fiercely, and the passengers counted the hours until they should reach the ‘ Golden Gate.’ Over the flat prairies, over the mountains, through towns and cities, with pauses at the quaint Spanish stations, south through Santa Fe route until the ‘Great Divide’ was reached, and the train plunged into the mission-country, the land of the old Franciscan padres. Some days back the angels were watching a scene in one of the parlor cars on this particular train. A young woman was travelling alone. She was refined in appearance, evidently intelligent and educated. There was not much to interest her when she threw aside her “novel, but it happened on one weary, long day her eyes fell on a fellow-passenger, a distinguished figure. He was a man of splendid build and handsome appearance, who was seated some distance off in one of the chairs. His head rested on the back of the chair, and his eyes were closed. His face was strikingly peaceful, but there was a pallor on it, and lines were visible on the high brow and around the mouth that told a tale of ill health. He wore a Roman collar, and the atmosphere of purity that seemed to hover around him spoke eloquently of the Catholic priest. The lady looked at him attentively for some time, for she thought he was sleeping. But she finally noticed his lips were moving. His hands stirred, and she saw with surprise he was passing a string of beads through his fingers. They were plain, small, yellowish wooden beads strung on a steel chain, with a little cross attached and a small round medal.

She was not a Catholic, and had heard of the ‘ Romanists and their Rosary,’ and that they prayed to the Virgin in preference to God. A" feeling of disappointment surged up in her heart, that this splendid man, this intellectual looking gentleman, should be a slave to such superstition. She was filled with indignant pity. That moment Father Doyle opened his eyes. He was a reader of men’s minds, and he read her soul. Instantly the apostolic instinct rose in his heart, and he went to the chair opposite hers, with his beads still in his hands. - « ‘You are wondering what I am doing?’ he said, with that winning smile and indescribable magnetism that was always his own. The lady could not resist his attractive personality. ‘Well, I confess I was wondering how a man of your apparent intelligence and education could find time for such superstition as praying on beads,’ she replied. Father Doyle laughed. ‘Do you know anything about these beads ?’ he said.

‘ Not a thing, except they look extremely childish to me.’ ‘ Well, will you allow me to explain their meaning? It is very monotonous on the train. This journey is

long, for I presume you are bound for San Francisco like, we are (pointing to two nuns who were seated some distance off), and anything is better than counting the miles till wo get there. Shall I explain%the beads?' Who could resist Father Doyle ? " * Why, I will be delighted if you take the trouble,’ said the lady, ‘ but don’t try to make a Catholic of me, for you will fail ignominiously.’ Father Doyle held up his rosary with both hands; his face was reverent, and his rich voice very gentle. ‘ These beads are a sort of Bible to me,’ he said; ‘ they contain the Life of the Saviour from His birth until his death. , You believe in the Bible, do you not?’ ‘Assuredly,’ was the prompt reply. It is my religion!’ ‘Then,’ said Father Doyle, ‘you believe in the Rosary. We are all human, impressionable beings. Things we see appeal to us. We are apt when we pray to have our minds carried away by other thoughts. We have something to touch and draw us back, we pray better. Hence we finger our Rosary. We Catholics believe that the Redemption of the world was effected by Christ becoming man, while still remaining God. If He became man, He was human, and had a human mother. The Rosary is powerful with Christ as an intercessory prayer, because He. is the Son of this blessed Mother, and we ask her to plead with Him for us, because He is God as well as Man. See these beads ! There are five divisions of ten beads ; each division marks part of His Life closely connected with hers. In the first and second chapters of St. Luke you will find each of these parts or “mysteries”— we think of them as we pray. There is the Incarnation ; the visit of-Mary to Elizabeth; the Nativity; the Presentation of the Child in the old Jewish temple; His Dispute with the Doctors. You have seen Hoffman’s picture of that scene, haven’t you?’ ‘ Why, yes,’ replied the lady, much interested. ‘You say you think of = these Bible scenes while you pray ? Why, that is beautiful! ■ ' Yes,’ said Father Doyle,. still holding out his Rosary. I We say on each bead the heaven-born prayer the angel first uttered, “Hail Mary full of grace!” You will find that in the same chapter of St. • Luke. We first say the Lord’s Prayer, Our Father Who art in Heaven. Then the Hail Mary, ten times at each Mystery to make our prayers more earnest and emphatic, as a child who begs its mother for a favor never ceases to cry outplease ! please ! please ! We love this blessed Mother, Christ’s Mother, and we know she will plead for us who are sinners! ‘But this is not all. These beads of mine have only five divisions. There are three times five in the whole Rosary. The next five are the Sorrowful Mysteries, as those I have described are the Joyful ones. The sorrowful part tells of Christ’s sufferings and death ; all to be found in the Bible. , The last part is called Glorious, because it tells of the Resurrection from the dead and all the rest. I will, explain more of it to you later if you are not weary. We Catholics love our beads; and we lay these prayers as a crown of roses at the Throne in Heaven, being assured that where the Son of God is King His Mother is Queen. Not one jot or tittle of honor do we take from the Almighty. We praise Him for the noble, splendid, tender gift of His Mother to us. She is as Wordsworth says “ Our tainted nature’s solitary boast.” Here Father Doyle paused. The lady looked thoughtful. A new expression was on her face, the dawning of grace. She took the well-worn Rosary from the priest’s hands, held it for a moment, and reverently returned it. ' With a beautiful smile Father Doyle rose, kissed his beads, placed them in his pocket, and in leaving said: We shall meet later. Think over what I have said. I have more to tell you if you wish it. May the blessed Mother have you in her keeping!’ There was a new look on the lady’s face, a softened light in her eyes. The train rolled on. Father Doyle had given his last mission. Less than a week later he lay dead in the church of his Paulist brethren in San Francisco. God rest his precious soul !

If these lines ever meet the eyes of her to whom lie spoke on the Santa Fe train, may her heart melt at the remembrance of the zeal of this dying Apostle of Christ, and may her ransomed soul add to the burning glories that crown the works of this noble missionary of the Faith, whose heart-cry was ever the conversion of America. Rev. R. W. Alexander in the Missionary.