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New Zealand Tablet, 5 July 1917, Page 5

“Oh, the childers were, your riverence; but sure they couldn’t live in it." “Why, Molly?” : “ They were seeing nothing but the bad, one thing worse than another every day; they couldn’t save their souls there at all, at all; Lord keep us from it your riverence, it’s the sinful place." ■ I Molly’s sanctity was so shocked at the depravity of the poorhouse, that she raised her eyes in a pious attitude to the ceiling. Whilst doing so, Peg St. John, another sturdy vagrant, forced her head through the half-open doorway, and made good her claim with, “Don’t forget me, your riverence, you know the little girl is on the last legs, and ” Before she had time to proceed, Molly thrhst her back, telling her “not to be bothering his riverence ; shure one was enuff at a time.”

Molly, having given this sage advice, fixed herself firmly in- the open space to prevent further intrusion. Peg, indignant at such treatment, kept scolding and remonstrating with her from behind, which Molly answered by sundry back kicks and thrusts. “I am sure, Molly," said the priest, who did not seem to notice the struggle at the door, “I am sure, Molly, if they satisfied you in eating and drinking, you would not mind religion so much." •’ “ Ah, throth, P would, sir, as you in your sarmon —-and it is you’re, able to give the fine one, that makes us cry down tears from our eyes—but, as you say, what’s the world to one if they lose their mortal sowls?"

. “Molly, I didn’t think you were so devout; do you say the Rosary often?" “ We says it every day, and twice on Sundays." “ That’s oftener than I say it myself; look at Peg, how she grins at you, as much as to say, you don’t say it once in the fortnight." Peg had contrived to fix her head in the opening, and with a corner of her old apron stuck in her mouth, she strove to conceal her laughter at Molly’s affected devotion : but when she came to how often she prayed, Peg could contain herself no longer, but burst out into a loud titter, which titter was taken up by at least a dozen women and children that lined the stairs outside. Molly was so enraged, that she rudely shoved the other back, calling her the greatest robber in the village.

“ Don’t mind a word she says, your riverence," said Peg, “ shure I caught her last Monday stealing a bag of praties. As for prayers, och mavrone ! sarra a one I believe she ever says."

“ Oh, you villain," said the other; “shure I wouldn’t steal them but for you put me up to it ; you said you got a bag there yourself; the country knows you well, Peg; never fear when they hear that you are out, they’ll run to take in their clothes, and to have an eye to you; never fear they will," and Molly, in her indignation, shook her hand most violently at the other. Peg looked up with pious indignation at such an assertion, and then in the depth of her humility, exclaimed: “Oh, did anyone ever hear the likes; oh, oh, shure. if his riverence goes to the pawn office, he will get more of the neighbors’ clothes there after her than”-—Peg was unable to finish, but looked for sympathy to the priest Molly, seeing no other means of redress for her wounded honor, twined her hand most affectionately in Peg’s hair, and applied the other to her countenance. “Stop there, the two of you, for one moment, until I get a catechism, and I will see which of you have your prayers the better. If you don’t answer me, maybe it is the whip you’ll be getting,” exclaimed the priest. Father O’Donnell shut the door, and gave a wink to Frank, as much as to say, “I have got rid of them.” Father O’Donnell was right, for when he came to divide the alms, both Peg and Molly had decamped. Father O’Donnell, accompanied by Frank and Alice, returned to the” cottage. After dinner he went to attend a sick call. On his return home he met the Rover trudging along.

"“Ha, Shawn, is this ydu,” said Father O’Donnell. '

“Aye, indeed, your riverence,” said Shawn, respectfully, doffing his caubeeii; “ Where are you bound for now,’ Shawn?" “I was thinking of going to Glen Cottage; but as the sergeant and -Master Frank are with you, I was thinking of calling to see them." “ Why not, Shawn; sure you know you are welcome, while the poor priest has a bit or sup for yoit, or a bed for you to lie upon.” “I know that, Father O'Donnell; God bless you and give you a long life,” and Shawn reverently took off his hat as he mumbled a Pater and Ave for the priest's especial benefit.

" That's a bad hat you have, Shawn," said the priest, remarking its broken state. " It does for the fine weather well enoughshure it lets in the air." "True enough; but when the rain comes, what will you do V " God is good," said Shawn, sententiously. " Here, Shawn, poor fellow, this will buy a hat for you," and Father O'Donnell handed him two shillings. Shawn hesitated. "It is too much—besides, I don't like to take it." "Why so?" " Maybe it's to drink it I'd do." " Drink it! Why, that would be a sin; and all the good it would do a poor person." " That's what I was thinking myself; shure, you can give me an old hat, and that will do as well." "Very well, Shawn; but why not buy it for the money ?" "It wouldn't have luck, sir," said Shawn, looking down; "it should go to feed the poor." " Ha, ha!" laughed Father O'Donnell; "it is said so, Shawn, and I believe it's true. All we get belongs to the poor, Shawn, and to the poor we should give it. Money is a great evil, Shawn, when we place our affections upon it. St. Thomas Villanova ordered himself not to be buried in consecrated ground, if there should be a single chink found with him. A priest should never hoard up money, Shawn." " Shawn," said the priest, after a short silence. " Well, sir."

“A hemha ! Shawn, I want to know how do you live ?”

Very well, sir,” said Shawn, pretending to misunderstand the priest; “very well, sir, the people do be very good to me; I never want for anything, glory be to God !’’

“ It’s not that I mean, but do you go to your —do you go to confession?” Shawn held down his head.

“ Ay, Shawn, tell me now; you see, as a minister of God, it is my duty to look after you." “ Shure, I have no parish, Father O’Donnell; lam here to-day and away to-morrow." “Oh, oh, you unfortunate man ! is that the reason you would run headlong to perdition ? is that the reason you would damn your immortal soul ? is that the reason you would not go to confession— the tribunal of penance? Oh, Shawn, I fear for you." “ I believe I am a wretched sinner," said Shawn, very humbly, “but not near as bad as you think." “How is that?"

* “Is what a man never did or never thought of doing, a sin?” “ Certainly not, Shawn." “ Well, then, when I found that I belonged to no parish, I thought that nobody had a right to me, so I never went near a priest nor to Mass, nor never thought of doing cither. So I’m not as bad as you thou edit. Despite Father O’Donnell’s honest indignation at Shawn’s want of religion, he had to smile at his nice distinction; so we will leave the worthy couple for the present. \ After Father O’Donnell left, Alice and Frank walked into the little garden. There was a. rustic

arbor entwined with honeysuckles and hops in the corner of it. A green bank extended from it to a little’, rivulet that - ran - babbling . and ; sporting along. In this , arbor Father , O’Donnell was wont to read his breviary on fine evenings, and here now our lovers seated themselves. The little stream babbled on; the merry voices of the lads and lasses of the village, as they passed along to the hurling green, floating on the breeze. A thrush and blackbird, from a thicket near, seemed to endeavor to tire each other out. There was a delicious freshness in the balmy air; it was an evening for lovers to breathe forth their feelings of devotion. Though Frank and Alice loved deeply, though they knew that they were dear to one another, yet they never spoke of love, but their eyes and hearts communed with each other.

“ Oh, there are looks and tones that dart, An instant sunshine to the heart.”

V They were alone. As they sat side by side, how sweet was the intoxicating draught of love that agitated their young bosoms ; you might hear the ticking of their hearts. Her beauty, her wild, natural graces, joined with the unspeakable tenderness of her affection, threw a charm around her that almost hallowed her in the eyes of her young lover. They remained some moments as if enraptured and afraid to break the spell. True love is silent the heart is too full of a sweet thrilling sensation to find vent in words. It is told by the furtive glance, the suppressed sigh, the soft, low voice, and then, the low, whispering words that tremble on the lips. How sweet is this young love that brings the pearly tear to trickle from the maiden’s eye, like dew drops from the morning flowers this love that binds young hearts with a mysterious feeling, with some strange fascination, which is beyond the power of the writer’s pen to portray. Love seems to be the great inherent principle of our nature. In childhood the lisping tongue breathes its little cares and hopes at a mother’s knees. Who can picture a mother’s love as she cherishes her first-born as she fondles it with enraptured gladness, her very heart throbs with a delight unknown to all save a mother. Thus were Frank and Alice insensibly drinking the delicious poison.

“Alice,” said Frank, as he pressed her little head against his bosom. Alice looked into his face ; there was a beaming mildness in her eyes, and her rich hair clustered around her face. "Alice, darling, how wildly our hearts are beating : tell me, sweet one, is this love?”

3 Alice hung down her head ; a faint weakness came over her, and she nestled on his breast.

“Oh, it is, it is! Alice, our hearts, our eyes, have long been speaking what our lips now utter. Sweet girl, say the blessed words, that you love me.” " Frank,” said she, in a trembling voice, "sure you know I do.” “Oh, Alice! Alice, my love, my life, I am happy. I have lived and loved.”

They spent some hours in the arbor settling their little affairs, and gilding the future in pictures more glowing than fairy visions. Who can blame them. We all know how sweet it is to sit beside the girl we love, to look into her softly-beaming eyes, to feel the pressure of that tiny hand, and the throbbing of that fond heart, to feel her warm breath fanning our cheek, and the rich luxuriance of silken hair floating around us. Oh, this is a feeling worth living for, and so thought and felt Frank O’Donnell as Alice Maher clung to him in all the confiding innocence of young love. As he looked upon that sweet girl what visions of future happiness did he not create. How he would labor and toil to win wealth and a name for her ; how he would make home a paradise. The future was all bright and sunny to his imagination. Dream on in your love ; but, alas ! life has too many sad realities for dreamers. There are few of us but have formed similar schemes of happiness for the girl of our heart. To-day, Frank, we build gilded castles of hope to the goddess of fortune ; to-morrow, inexorable fate comes

and- levels them to the ground, burying us, : pool* mortals, in the ruins?- % ; j-ji is i truly said that youth is the season of love. It is then our feelings gush forth in the most refined and exalted character. It is then we feel 'the passion of love in its purest and most delicate state. Our views are free from any of the sordid selfishness of maturer years. All the vivid impressions and associations of youth tend to the increase of this passion in its holiest and purest form. The energies of the heart are vigorous and fresh; none of the vanities or petty pleasures, or selfishness that afterwards damp the warmth of our feelings, intervenes between the fond youth and the girl he loves.

(To be continued.)