IN MEMORIAM

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 27, 22 July 1925, Page 38

IN MEMORIAM

LISTER. your charity pray for the repose. of the soul of Arthur John Lister, who died at Invercargill,, on July 19, 1923; aged- 47, years—Sacred,. Heart of Jesus, have mercy on his soul. . ‘ BREEN.— your charity pray for the repose of . the soul of Ellen Breen, who died ; at Wellington, on August 1, 1924.—Sweet • Heart of Jesus, have mercy on her soul. GALLAGHER,—Of your charity pray for the repose of the soul of Honoria Gallagher (late of Wellington), who died at Napier, , on July 20, f 1924.— Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on her soul. V. ; / \ AN.—Of your charity pray for - the . repose of the soul of Sabina ,Anne Vaughan, who died on July 9, 1920.—May her .soul rest in peace. ,

a black and • white cat, called Barney Google. . ' " 1 • -V/. ' ' ' c , r Vt, T 1 ' (That’s a fine name for Mr. Puss. I hope - he s a good Tatter; Kathleen. Didyou like c.i your badge dear? Mind you try :to write I with a pen and ink soon,: because you write • ■ i ■ •• --r; - A ..very nicely in pencil.—Anne.) '. ‘ , Jf , , Kaiwaiwai, Featherston, does anyone know where that is? Eugenie Doohan lives > there PP||sand she wants to join our. merry party Eugenie is nine years, her. birthday was on the , 10th January, and she wants a letter friend. . (Welcome Eugenie, I’m sure you’ll soon- get letter friends, any Little Person who goes three miles to school deserves a'good friend. Sorry you’ve no birthday mate dear, but one may arrive any day from a.—Anne.) • Kaitangata, and a short letter from Alice Mnndy, just to tell us . she’s got five letter , • friends, and to ask about more competitions. (Glad to hear from you again Alice, and so • very glad you’re getting such pleasure from your letters. I was sure my Little People would like each other if they got the chance. Competitions again soon. —Anne.) ’ Kaimata, Inglewood, Taranaki, where will • v , find Ida Herlihy, with her cats Mild and r v - Tane we named for her. But poor Puke died. (Sorry about Puke dear ,but you’ve still got the other two I hope. As you want ' ' someone to write you I’ll ask. —Anne. P.S. Will someone please write to —Anne.) New, I’ve got a big surprise for you, a Story, written by one of our own Little ~ People. I can’t tell , you her name dears, „. , but just sit still and our little friend will tell you the story just as she told me, the day she made it up. You’ll like it. A BROKEN LILY. ; ’ .. I am sure that none of Anne’s Little •: People would bo ns silly as the little girl in - this story but— never knowsso let me toll you how she was cured of her foolishness. , Now this little girl’s name was Mary Dorothea such a beautiful name for such a foolish child and although she was a pretty •child and, in many ways, sweet and lovable, - she imagined that to be pal© and delicate was something of which to be proud. She would never play happily or eat sensible food like other children and she liked nothing better than hearing people comment on her pale face and delicacy. Yet for all tins she was - a pious child with a genuine love for her heavenly Mother whose .name she, boro v and for the little virgin saint who bad won the martyr ' crown when she was . scarcely - older than her little present day namesake. It was the eve of the feast of St..Dorothea, and Mary Dorothea had been reading over ~ again the story of her. little patroness. As - she pictured the scene to herself r for ' the hundredth time, the veil of the centuries was raised and the twentieth century maiden seemed to stand beside Theophilus in a lofty ' \ marble hall whilst an angel form' came swift-, ■; ly towards him, bearing “golden apples and’ roses red.” - She seemed to see with bodily .. - eyes that which ; she had so often seen in •y. . dreams, and to hear Tlieophilus’ noble avowt al Christianity. And then the angel took K. . I l * l1 ’ hand and led her away--the marble halls faded into the distance and she stood in a. garden of wondrous beauty. : All around her uere ■ lilies the fair white blooms covered, the earth ami their perfume filled the air. Still the angel . M her\ on whilst strains of ———

music of indescribable- sweetness were wafted' through the scented air— on through a company of .white-robed virgin forms all crowned with lilies land holding palms in their hands to a child, little older than herself, ; whom she at-once recognised as the child martyr • of Caesarea. -•'?*• • ■ C ; ; ; ~ Hand in hand, the two children walked through the lily • blooms till they came to One clothed in dazzling white before. Whom Mary instinctively knelt 'whilst the soft voice of,Dorothea whispered: “’Tis Christ, Who loves, to walk, among the lilies.” Then she felt the sacred. Hands laid in gentle benediction on her," bowed ■ head , and she ‘- raised her eyes to meet the love which' shone in His. Now she saw none of the beauty around her the celestial strains fell unheeded on her ears, angel forms surrounded her but she thought of none but Him as He bent above the lilies till He stopped before one broken lily its petals white and untarnished but giving forth .no sweet perfume like those around. And as Mary saw the sad reproach which the Master’s face expressed, again the soft whisper came, “it is yourself.” Herself! She, alone, useless, bringing no gladness to the loving eyes ! Christ loved to walk among the lilies, she alone had caused Him sorrow. Of what use was the snowy whiteness of the petals when they gave forth ho sweetness. And, alas! how long would its petals remain untarnished. When the frail stem broke the flower would lie on the ground to be trampled on.. She fell on her knees beside it but as her tears glistened as dew-drops upon its petals; it stood erect as its sisters giving out its sweetest perfume. Tho angel music grew softer and softer, the white robed forms faded away, and she found herself as she had fallen asleep beside the lily bed in her own garden. Only a dream hut it was not lost, St. Dorothea it must have been who sent it, for Mary, Dorothea grew strong and happy, resolved that when the Master should com© again He should find no broken blossom blit a sweet, fair flower, perhaps, indeed “a lily of ' the cloister.”— M. R. (Dunedin) , /; No room for more this time. We’ll finish up next week perhaps. • 1