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Show I Church I 1 I " .. .;. which orer- I Universal I , Mary: , Dear honored name.' belovedIor human ties. T . ' ' , But oied and. honored first, that.1, Onte J wafc given ' .; , - - In livliiR-.proof ' to erring mortal eyes-' That our poor earth is near akin to heaven. Eweet word of dual meaning; one of grace And born of our kind advocate above: And one by memory linked to that dear face That blessed my childhood with Us mother love. And taught me first the simple prayer, "To Thee. Poor banished sons of Eve we send our - cries." Through the mist of years, those words recall to me A childish face upturned to loving eyes. And yet to some the name of Mary bears 'o special meaning and no gracious power; In that dear word they seek for hidden snares. As wasps find poison Jn the sweetest flower, But faithful hearts can see. o'er doubts and ftars. The Virgin link that binds the Lord to earth; IWhich to the upturned trusting face appears ap-pears A more than angel, though of human , birth. The Fweet-faced moon reflects on cheer- I" less night '! " The rays of hidden sun to rise tomorrow; tomor-row; . ..... To unseen God; still - lets His promised j "Kill., Through Holy Marv. shineupon our sor- J j row. . John Boyle O'Reilly. The Lenten Season. 1. Imitation of Christ. 2. Devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 2. Works of mercy. 4. Power of prayer. 1 5. Self-distrust. 6. Gift of faith. 7. Past mercies from God. Father Faber. The Lenten Season. Privation and abstinence are constituent constit-uent elements of the Christian life at all seasons, for such a life implies the practice of virtue, and virtue necessarily neces-sarily entails sacrifice. The disorderly affections of the heart are many, and they must be held in subjection and I turned from their objects ever and al- 1 ways. If, howevec, there is one period of the ecclesiastical year when the j Frirlt of self-denial is especially con- gi uous, it is the forty days that com- I memorate the holy fast of our Lord, ! Christian abnegation should certainly reach during Lent a. higher plane than It occupies throughout the remainder of the year. Now, the obligation of fasting, the specific mortification that is appropri- j ate to the Lenten season, has in our day become so easily dispensable that there is perhaps a danger of our minimizing mini-mizing the importance of exterior mortification mor-tification altogether. We aie apt to insist in-sist with exaggerated emphasis on the text from the prophet Joel, "Rend your hearts and not your garments," and to leave in absolute abeyance the equally inspired words of St. Paul, "They that are Christ's have crucified their flesh Iwith its vices and concupiscences." It is a very easy matter to deceive oneself one-self as to the genuineness of the rending rend-ing we give our hearts. An to the valid-I valid-I Hy of the mortification, that is wholly I interior. I That external works of penance I protracted vigils, fasting, castigation I of the flesh, abstinence from perfectly legitimate comforts, control of the senses, etc. may be carried to extremes ex-tremes worthy of condemnation is of course undeniable, but the tendency to such excesses in the present age is scarcely so marked that the average pastor need deprecate very frequently the growth of such practices. His time would probably be more opportunely oppor-tunely employed in advising his flock ito signalize this time of penance by exterior acts that manifest the actual existence of the self-denial incumbent on all Christians. It is a truism that in the matter of doing penance the sacrifice which costs us most is likely to prove most acceptable accept-able to God, and five minutes' reflection reflec-tion will disclose to any one numerous sacrifices the making of which will in no way injure health or efficiency in I the performance of necessary duties. Rising an hour earlier than usual in order to assist at daily mass, for instance, in-stance, would no doubt prove a genuine gen-uine sacrifice to many a person 'whose bodily well being would not suffer and , whose spiritual health would certainly ' benefit by the prac tice. The occasion-i occasion-i al substitution of religious reading i for the perusal of even great novels I w,uld doubtless entail a considerable I degree of abnegation on the part of J many. others. Attendance at Vespers I and benediction on Sundays and at the I weekday evening service held in many j parishes during Lent may also rank as I an instance of self-sacrifice. "Going aiound" the stations of the cross at 1 'Past on ear h Friday of the penitential I season, reading the penitential psalms j (,n one's knees, abstaining from some 1 favorite condiment at the dining table I and similar practices may all prove I meritorious works, and since they are I dene at the cost of our love of ease and I comfort it is hardly probable that They 1 constitute merely a futile exhibition of I vanity. I As a matter of strict' justice there i should be some parity between our I penances and the sins which necessi- I ' tate them. If the gratification of our I senses has led us to offend God, it is I eminently jut that we should strive 1 to appease him by punishing those senses in other words, by exterior" 1 mortification. Entirely to neglect such I mortification is to be palpably wanting 1 in the true spirit of the Lenten season. J Ave Maria. I Her Great Ambition. 1 By Lucy Semmes Orrick. I . The little sewing room of the big St. I Catherine convent was startling in its . white primness and scant furnishing. !At least it thus impressed Hester Barnard, Bar-nard, and did so afresh each of the few times she was admitted to this inner sanctum. All at once, by contrast, con-trast, the aggressive superfluity of I other interior furnishings burst upon j her- with sudden distinctness. Yet I there was nothing here upon which I v the eye could fasten pleasurably a I lumbering old machine stood by a deep I arched . window, and a line of long, 1 black, shapeless garments circulars, I in the parlance" of one time fashion 1 extended around three sides of the I white room; kidded to this, a crucifix ' above a chest, a chair or two, and the contents stood revealed. 9'otrr i Euphemia always pedaling laboriously 1 . at the noisy old machine on . a f ac I simile of the wall decorations; gave I needed life to the situation. I I The doorbell rang, and, as portress, I the busy nun arose for the tenth time I that morning, and the third since Hes- I Uer's arrival, to answer the summons. I soft smile shone out of the depths i tf Sister Euphemia's dark blue eyes, iind her sweet mouth relaxed in sym-athy sym-athy as a temporary farewell to the 'avored lay friend she left "alone. , ' Hester looked after the Sister with I vonder and certainly with reverence. I "Such interruptions would drive me I :razv," thought the visitor, provoked- j y. '"How oid she acquire such ad- nirable placidity, or is it natural!" Hester's own restive young spirit pulled against bonds for herself, but some hidden note within her urged her -to visit 'this peaceful spot, where the throws iif. life's- pains- wore- forgoMen-or-had never been known. .After a day of mental -conflict 'it was soothing unutterably unut-terably to come here, out of the gossip gos-sip and envy and longing of the outside out-side world to come here, yes, but for only: an hourand to. this nun, about: whom there was f always something great and capable. . I "I would like to see her roused and pushed to the full extent of her-men-tal powers,' though the waiting .visitor. .visi-tor. - - She was glad when th door opened and the pure-faced woman with the child eyes beamed down on her agai. She felt better, more exalted by the Nun's . presence, though- the influence was only for the moment. ' Sinking to commonplaces in the self-conscious self-conscious pride and habitual egotism of human nature, Hester reverted to the "cause of the Sister's abseiyee. "That bell must be very annoying," she remarked, feelingly. "Oh, no! I am accustomed to "it as one of my duties. The very surprise in the answer made it a slight, though unmeant, rebuff; still the reply itself urged Hester Hes-ter to further speech. . "If the nuns are all of your temperament tem-perament it must be an easy matter to observe convent regulations. When one's disposition fits the routine and one's. duties and limitations are 'so strongly defined there can be no question ques-tion of rivalry," she said thoughtfully, thoughtful-ly, "and no struggle for place," remembering re-membering her own unsatisfied ambitions. am-bitions. The Sister's eyes were on her work. She said nothing, as one who allows the wordy speaker his or her way. Hester felt that her expressions, like those interiors she had thought of, were overdressed, but Irritated at herself her-self ahe forced an opinion almost rude in its personality. Why not compel an answer? 'The Sisters either must have no loves or desires, or must strain them by lack of temptation to infinitestimal thinness and perfect tractabillty," she ventured with deliberation. It hurt her, now it was said, but a curious interest in the answer animated her. Did they ever feel like other people? The faint glow mounting Euphemia's face shamed Hester. "We are human," was the low-voiced low-voiced reply, with a little reserve, but not a trace of resentment. What did the children of the world know of suppression, of the, stripping of one's self of all the small delights that make living sweet? The listener felt the withdrawal and inwardly granted its justice; in consequence con-sequence she. abated somewhat the critical mood which seemed heartlessly persistent today. 'Human! ' Yes. How faultless her complexion" irrelevantly "one can ! never judge a nun's age," thought the girl. "This one might be 20 but for the fatigue marks about her eyes. What a boon that repose of heart and feature would be to women of fashion! fash-ion! . It is all true; the emotions carve themselves upon the face," she concluded con-cluded mentally. "Human? Well, Sister Sis-ter Euphemia's face was smooth as a child's except for a little wave of pain at the mouth. Possibly her words implied the restfulness had been hard won. , '"I know you are human." said the privileged guest, "and I should think you would be very tired of those cloaks. Won't you let me help you?" "Yes, I am tired sometimes," Eu-phemia Eu-phemia replied needlessly, for the wide weariness of her eyes was answer enough. The last qtiestion passed unmarked un-marked in its understood impossibility. impossi-bility. "Do you make many of these garments?" gar-ments?" "For all the Sisters. We are about seventy-five," was the absent-minded answer. With unconscious wistfulness the nun glanced out the indow at the gorgeous, brilliant flower beds. It strengthened her to look out on this brave, perfect and beautiful development few men attained such. Hester's dry remark, "You have enough to do," was met with a glance that seemed to take the girl's measure, and the way was cleared. "This," referring to her occupation, "has been my work ever since I came to the convent," proffered Sister Eu-phemia Eu-phemia in the quiet, spiritualized voice that comes inevitably to the inmates of the cloister. Hester straightened up in surprised interest, her favorite was venturing beyond generalities for the first time in their long acquaintance. Euphemia already suffered at the exposition ex-position of her own life, but the girl's conclusions almost demanded refutation, refuta-tion, and for all her perversity Hester seemed one of their own blood. "I loved all that," said Euphemia, nodding toward the brilliant splotches of color outside, "but this is my forte," indicating the garment in her lap through which the needle plied rapidly. "Fifteen years," she murmured. In her habit of sitting alone she had involuntarily in-voluntarily uttered her thought. "You haven't been in the convent that long, surely!" exclaimed Hester. "Oh, no!" flurried at the inadvertent speech, "sewing that long. I was a seamstress," she said, with some restraint; re-straint; then went on as if she might as well finish. There could be no vanity in revealing her past. "My father was dead and my mother helpless. I was the only one to keep up our little house out on the common, and then I did plain sewing at the window all day long for months,1 just as I am doing now. "Some "day in God's own time I will be a nun,' kept measure with the rolling wheel. There was no hurry, and on Sundays after mass I used to go to the convent. .It seemed like a great castle rising High above the sidewalk, and within the nuns like noble ladies came so kindly down to me." . Sister Euphemia turned toward the window once more. How tired she was then and she had never grown rested; but what matter? It was in God's service, serv-ice, and what a recreation those few minutes of sweet atmosphere had been in her blank existence. She heard a droning of voices in the room beyond, and a memory came back of rare embroideries em-broideries and gorgeous vestments that ravished her eyes and moved to such passionate cTSsire as was never before known in her arid life. Oh, to evolve beneath her own fingers such miracles of the needle. She seemed to feel anew the great influence working in her, flushing her veins and injecting a great vigor into her being, but suddenly control con-trol walled back the forbidden flow as canal gates close against the. rush of hurrying water and she went on in her usual cool, quiet voice: "There I saw such exquisite finger-work," finger-work," she said slowly, and with a timid tim-id kind of hesitation. "It seemed a wonderful gift and privilege to paint such -pictures with the needle, to be abJe to buy materials and. work out one own beautiful designs. The great value of those magnificent vestments, representing repre-senting months and months of patient labor, held me awe-stricken. All at once I realized I could do this that my artistic and theoretical equipment were amply seconded by my skill in fine stitching. I was happy thinking to what great purpose I should live. The nuns would not find me wholly useless." use-less." Sister Euphemia seemed hurried on in spite of herself. "My machine ran through many long seasons," she continued, con-tinued, "and all the while I dreamed of. bright silks and jewels and cloth of gold for the church, fair outline took form in imagination to be laid aside In my mental storehouse for future use. The simple joy of handling those rain-' rain-' bow tints for God seemed to me th. crowning glory of a religeuse life,, and a little pride suggested that some day I might take my place among the nuns as the first embroiderer." "Did you ever gratify your bent?" asked Hester, a quick understanding and suspense disturbing her heart and mind. -- "Well, after' w,e?7rece!ved::rthe:--white-veil the novices were assigned certain j'drmesrandhad nqf time' for, fancy work.' Then a ;great pile- of; habits ' needeo mending and making, over.' They were . given -to me. I did them all rapidly, ' thinking a little fancy sewing might be apportioned me, but the.. cloaks seemed to -multiply," she said with an amused lighting or the face. "Somehow I got on faster than any one else- Reverend. Mother was pleased, but a little fright seized rne "lest this should go On indefinitely. indefi-nitely. .Then hope urged, 'It is .only a test for" the novice; think of the years to come when you will be mistress of all 'those dazzling skeins!' but I have been here ten ye ars now and' no iii-ored iii-ored thread has ever strung my needle." She ".finished with , a smile that seemed angelic in its utter disclaimer of any complaint. Would Hester still think them a -limp and soulless community? Was her illustration small and weak to the gay lived birdling pf the world? But Hester was speechless with her different emotions. v Under such conditions condi-tions how could the nun thin her voice to utter colorlessness? and -when her listener was -thrilling with' resentment. Yes, they were terribly human, and what vast proportions a little desire might" assume within a contracted circle. cir-cle. - - : i ".Why didn't :they aljow, you a congenial. con-genial. employment, at least occasional-Jy?'- asked the girl indignantly, . She could not stand 'such constraint for herself. her-self. Her impetuous, nature would tear down and toss right and left all obstructions ob-structions in her way.;. . ' ., ; . "They did not know" was the simple answer. "We are here .to do our. part, and this is mine. The other was only my plan." The" folding "doors swung back between be-tween the sewing and adjacent rooms, and one of the order appeared in the opening. "Come see your finished embroideries, Sister," invited the cold-faced " nun "You, too, . Miss Hester," noting, the visitor; j ' Hester glanced' quickly at Sister Euphemia. . So she had known all the time her enchanted palace lay just be yond the folding doors. Already Sister Euphemia's eyes were glowing, over the solar spectrum of tropical tints and combinations that magnetized her artistic ar-tistic sense;' recollection of the visitor was blotted out in the rare feast before her. All the weariness had. left her fine sweet face. "Beautiful,"trembled blissfully bliss-fully on her lips. She did not think, "If I might do this!" Such emotion had long ago passed out as too exalted for her hopes; now it was lost in the fair result of other hands. Her eye picked out unerringly the choicest specimen. "You are a good judge of effect," said the embroidery mistress observing her selection, but the cloakmaker, with hands folded in her habit sleeves, stood raptly, dumbly, happily. - "Good-bye, Sister; I must go," and Hester, who had not ceased to watch her, thus broke her reverie. "God is very good to let me see such beauty," murmured the nun, abstractedly. abstract-edly. "Good-bye" recovering herself "Ah! you see we have our compensations," compensa-tions," she said softly, as she opened the door for the unusually silent girl. In Time of Lent. (Written for the New World.) '., The March winds in the woods make ' moan; , , The March boughs croak weird overtone; The gray, dusk gathers chilly; In Lenten garb the beeches stand; A lone quail calls across the land; One white star, clasped in God's strong hand, Glows like a shining lily. - Madonna! did are night-winds blow Thus mournfully long, long ago? Heard ye the gray boughs moaning? Christ Jesus, didst thou see afar Gray wastes that Misereres are? Hear night-waves 'neath dusk's lifted star . Vague threnodies intoning? Thou, Holiest, did Thy child- eyes see ; The agonies ordained for Thee? And did thou see, O Mother? When moaned the night-wind in the wood. That round your Nae'reth cottage stood. Thought ye, '"Now groans the awful Rood On which shall hang man's Brother?" When Thou, on the' Maid-Mother's knees Oft stood,. didst love the mournful trees At dusk presageful sighing? Or didst Thou hear the moans of men Under their burdens, - even then?-i then?-i Lo, their lamentings rise again On nightfall hither flying! Unrest, as now the bleak March wood, Stirs the upbraiding multitude; Wild faces lift despairing. Lord Christ! stretch out Thy hand and still The waters, lest huge tempest Jill The sea-waste with strange wreckage chill ' . Dead eyes of men Up-staring! Child Jesus, lo. the March woods moan! Thin snowflakes 'mid the bouhgs are blown Like sad Ash Wednesday ashes: Sinks the welrdN vision into night: The beeches-life truce-flags of white; Yet keen, beyond the wind-swept height, A sword the half moon flashes. CHARLES J. O'MALLEY. Kind Afcts. The influence of a kind act never die. It enters into our lives, increasing increas-ing in us the power of good- and lessening les-sening the hold of evil on us. It may be set aside for a time by other influences; in-fluences; but they cannot wholly destroy de-stroy it. After longs years of oblivion it comes back to us with the same sweet attraction as when it first cast its spell over us; and if even then it produce no other, effect,, at least it makes us bless the name of the giver. Rev. Bernard Feeney. ; , A Lenten Sermon. (The seventeenth century poet, Robert Herrick, preached a little Lenten sermon irT verse, available, we think. In gentle ! reminder to our twentieth century Catholic.) Cath-olic.) Sun. . i : Is this a fast to keep f The larder lean . . And clean ! From fat of veals and sheep? Is it to quit the dish . of jtlesh. yet still ' . To fill . . The platter high with .fish? j Is it to fast an hour, ' ' Or ragged to go, Or show- . A downcast look and sour? No; 'tis a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat . And meat Unto the hungry soul." ' It is to fast from strife. From old debate . 1 And' hate; . ' ' To circumcise the life. . To show a heart grief rent: To starve thy sin. , Not bin, . And that s to . keep thy Lent. - .' - ; Guidon, . . Lenten, . LeisuxeT ' There is nothing .-so burdensome as time , when it cannot be used in some occupation. The value . of -time has been rather above every-other gift which God has bestowed upon us not for what it is in itself, but for what it represents.; According to what we etamp upon it by the acts of our life . 5 it is negotiable in eternity. It may purchase Heaven, or it may buy a miserable existence in hell. The subject sub-ject has an added seriousness of importance im-portance because now is Lenten time. The leisure that had no other boundaries boun-daries than God's Ten Commandments might be most pleasurably spent. But now to the'Thou shalt not" and the "Redeemer" of Sinai's law, , there is joined such Prohibitions of the Church as . make unbecoming if not unlawful just what filled up with admirable fitness fit-ness the leisure of the day. " The restraining re-straining laws of the Lenten time set Catholics free from many a -pastime; and -that abundance of freedom be-, comes a burden to those who do not like to disobey the letter of "the law, though they may, , care. little .for its spirit. -To-ill. this'-'rea.ter -void-vof. leisure time - js .the - Church which has created it- does 3iot ,J afford '..means., of .Ming it up. V The worry of many, who 'complain . that. th&.Sunday - mass and"-, the -evening devotions of Sunday and Wednesday and Friday, leave open four evenings of ' the week.. Quiet Lenten .sociables and. card parties inT vite to transgresslorr of the' good resolution res-olution of self-denial., .The- theatres that purposely-present the 'strongest plays at this season are "a strong temp-, tation. In face of these the burden of Lenten leisure becomes more grievous. Something to bind from the dangerous danger-ous unrestraint of "nothing to do" is what is needed. The earnest and resolute res-olute and the pious Catholic feels no such difficulty; but there is such a situation for. many who, at the beginning begin-ning of Lent really wish to make some observance of" the penitential time. Holy Scripture complains that the , lack of thought brings desolution Into' the world.! Thought might, remove re-move the desolation "of Lenten leisure. There are very few Catholics who ever make serious ' meditation with ;' any regularity even, upon so serious a subject sub-ject as their eternal salvation and the truths essential to ft: To provoke such thought, rekdihg might be pleasurable and profitable- and penitential pastime for the-hours , of Lenten leisure. The complaint; .is; so general, . and so well founded,, fh'at' Catholics do not ; known Catholic literature; and' history as they should; and thati consequently .'Catholic .'Cath-olic publications - do-finot get the: en-couragemen en-couragemen which is' .'-their - due,' it would be well to. recommend ;; even Catholic novels arid historical sketches for Lenten reading as a 'pastime-,, where before there was not' daste. of any kind of Catholic reading.-'-, The- mother'. Is without blame who sweetens the brim 'of the cup which contains the disagreeable disagree-able but saving draught for' her child; So likewise for those-who have had no taste for reading at all, or who have tasted only of.; the . daily paper, the current literature . and the "standard authors," that which is most likely to catch attention shou.ld.be recommended first. Every act. of religion tends to draw in deeped lines that image and likeness of Gddv'in which He created us.- The cultivation" of r our intellect where the first development ' or His Image is seen should certainly be most pleasing to Him. A pleasant Catholic Cath-olic book in hand during the Lenten leisure will praise Almighty God and purchase peace from temptation to forbidden for-bidden pleasures Home Journal and News. " The Month, of St. Joseph. Saint of the Childhood and the Hidden Life. Why is it that thy month is always Lent? What hadst thou with the Passion? Mary went - To Calvary with Jesus, but the knife Of that fierce sorrow was spared thee. Thy strife In anxious . care and fostering patience - spent: Now to a stable, now to Egypt sent. And then long years with humblest labor la-bor rife. But this thy portion of the comjng Cross Which o'er thy path its forward shadow threw. ' And is not our like thine to walk con-tenf- -t Inhat long shadow',, counting all things loss . . Save what for Jesus yv-e. endure or do? To teach us this, thy month is always Lent. Father Edmund. ' '.Father slerman's Joke. The Rev. Thomas E. Sherman, S. J., of Chicago, is a popular priest, not only because of his personality, but also on account, of his distinguished parentage, par-entage, being the son of "Old Tecum-seh." Tecum-seh." "' - ' - ''---- His study, is easy of access, as Father Fath-er Sherman keeps open house, ready to serve and succor. Deep in his studies stud-ies he was interrupted one evening by a seedy individual, whose soiled garments, gar-ments, offensive breath and general dilapidation soon filled the room with a disagreeable ordor. By degrees the man directed his conversation , to the inevitable inevi-table plea: "A few pennies for a night's lodging." In his peroration the vagrant wished to know if he had the honor of standing stand-ing in the presence of the famous general's gen-eral's son. He was answered in the affirmative. Then, assuming an air of familiarity with Civil war history, the caller expressed a' rgret that he had not been privileged to join in that glorious glor-ious march to the sea. "I mysself would not have regretted it had you joined the general In that famous journey to the sea," said Father Fath-er Sherman, enthusiastically. "You wouldn't eh?" asked the man, somewhat abashed. "Why not?" "I am " sure the general would have left you there," remarked the priest, significantly, as he opened the windows and dismissed the would-bepatrlot with a coin. -i r . . ' : The Convict's Friend. . "One day a man applied to Emile de Girardin for a position as the author's au-thor's valet. He was tall, well-built and vigorous looking; his intelligent face and . air of frankness spoke for themselves. " 'Your certificates?' said Girardin. 'I haven't any." " 'Have you ever served as valet before?'' be-fore?'' " 'Yes, but 'twas a long time ago. Since then I've spent five years in the galleys at Toulon.' "Turning on him his steel-like glance Girardin looked the fellow, through and through. ' . 'All right,' he said, 'I will take you.' "Now Jean (that was the applicant's name all the friends of the great journalist knew him well) was , for twenty, years an exemplary domestic, and even became Emile de Girardln's confidential man." t The foregoing narrative was told by M. Houssaye apropos of the Rigot prize of 2,000 fanes awarded to the Abbe Villidn for. his work among liberated liber-ated criminals. - Fifty, years ago or thereabouts the Abbe was a chaplain of the prisons. . Full of pity for the convicts, con-victs, he did everything in his power to effect their moral regeneration by awakening their conscience, their repentance, re-pentance, their desire for good. He succeeded sometimes, but recognized with anguish the frightful distress into in-to which those whose conversion he had begun were sure to fall once they became free again. Without food or lodging, without an opportunity of working (for the prison brand debarred de-barred them), they were exposed predestined, pre-destined, in fact to relapse into crime. To found a refuge for these liberated prisoners became the one object of Abbe Villion. He was -the first to work in that field bf philanthropy, and his project encountered a thousand obstacles. ob-stacles. He was treated as a dreamer Finally, in 1864, he-was able' to opeii St; Leonard's asylum at Couzon. Four years " later his - -Work, was recognized as of public utility, and since then the refuge has received about fifty ex-con-yicts a year. An interesting -incident in the history his-tory of this Institution is that in 1870 it was. suddenly vacated. The Abbe and his proteges were off to the wars. In-May.-15718 the good folk of Couzon saw the return of the priest and a portion of his' "criminals." Many, of them bore wounds; one. of them wore the cross of the Legion of Honor. The absent were either dead or detained in German prisons. From that period, the people began to speak of Abbe Villion as a remarkable man; nowadays now-adays they call him - a' ' satn. Ave Maria. 7. j. Short Sermons. It is better to say one's morning prayers today- than to resolve to 'be-, come a saint next week. Today is here, and next week is nowhere. This day is mine. -I know not if I shall have so much as one other. God has the past . and the future. I will thank Hinv fr '"the past, I will beg Him for the future. As to the present, with God's help I ' will set to work and do my utmost. ' Allsbf rowcaiT' help to. create in us a clean heart, and to. rene.y,aright .spirit ' witinvus. : Sorrow., born, ,of adversity may cleanse the heart from -TOuch. that ; mars character, and through it a right .spirit of sympathy, love and charity may be reborn within us. The sorrow that tears the heart, when loye.d ones depart 6ft cleans'- the "heart -fronT worid-liness. worid-liness. Our thoughts follow them God-ward, God-ward, and thus -within us" is reborn a right spirit of faith in Him who is with us when we pass through the valley of the shadow of death. "" Ah, well it is for.us that Gcid is a loving lov-ing Father, who takes our very prayers and thanksgivings rather for -what we mean than for what they are, just as parents ; smije. on- the - trailing weeds that their ignorant little ones bring them for flowers. .. v |