A similar anecdote is told of a nun in the English convent of Bruges,

between thirty and forty years ago. A relation of Canon Schmidt had

died in the house, and Miss L----, another nun, much attached to her,

saw her friend one night in a dream. She seemed to come with a serious

countenance, and pointed to the Office for the Dead in an office-book,

which she appeared to hold in her hand. Her friend was much perplexed,

and consulted Miss N----, a third nun, who suggested that perhaps Miss

L---- had not said the Office three times, as usual, for her deceased

sister. Miss L---- was nearly sure that she had; but as she had a habit

of marking off this obligation as it was discharged, it could be easily

ascertained. On examining her private note-book, it turned out that she

had not said the three Offices. Miss N----'s sister, who was educated

in the same convent, told the author this little story, and afterwards

was good enough to revise his narrative of it. So that this account is

virtually her own. Though seeming to have passed through two channels

on its way to this book, that is, through the author's memory and his

friend's, yet having, submitted to the latter a written memorandum of

the narrative, and received and adopted his friend's corrections, the

story is as authentic as if it had passed through only one intermediate

channel. For there is no doubt that the value of a story diminishes

rapidly with every additional hand through which it passes.--

_Footsteps of Spirits_, 113-14.

A TRUE STORY OF THE "DE PROFUNDIS."

One evening in the month of July, 184--, a happy group were gathered in

the wide porch of a well-known mansion in Prince George's County,

Maryland. A little Catholic church had been recently built in the

village of L---- by the zealous and wealthy proprietor of "Monticello,"

and as the means of the newly-formed congregation were too limited to

support a resident pastor, one of the Reverend Fathers from Georgetown

kindly came out once a fortnight to celebrate Mass and administer the

Sacraments. On the eve of the favored Sunday, Doctor J---- took his

carriage to the railway station and brought back the Reverend Father

named for that week's services; and his visit was always looked for

with delight by all the household at Monticello, domestics and

children, but by none so much as by three recent converts to our holy

faith, who often took occasion to propound to their amiable and learned

guest any doubts on religious questions that had arisen during the

course of the intervening weeks.

On the evening above mentioned, the priest who came was an Italian

Jesuit, the Reverend Father G----. He held his little audience

entranced with a fund of edifying stories and interesting replies to

the questions asked. The calm serenity of the night, the gentle,

refreshing breeze that came from a neighboring wood of pine-trees, the

beautiful glitter of the flitting glow-worm, and the rich perfume

wafted from the purple magnolia _grandiflora_--all added to the

enchantment. The doctor broke the charm by saying: "Reverend Father, we

shall be obliged to leave early to-morrow morning. The carriage will be

ready for you at 6 o'clock."

"Is it a long drive to the church?" asked Father G----.

"No; only four miles," answered the doctor; "but there will be many

confessions to hear and, perhaps, some baptisms to administer; hence,

unless the work is begun early, Mass will not be over before 12

o'clock."

"I hope, then," replied the Father, smiling, "that you will not fail to

awake betimes."

"As to that," rejoined the doctor, "when I have to arise at any

particular time, I recite a _De Profundis_ for the relief of the

suffering souls, and I am sure of awaking promptly at he right hour."

"I can easily credit that," said Father G----.

"It is a pious practice which was recommended to me by the late Dr.

Ryder, of Georgetown, when I was at the College," said the host; "and I

have never found that any one to whom I taught the practice failed to

find it truly efficacious."

"If it would not detain you too long beyond your customary hours," said

Father G----, "I would add to my long list of anecdotes one more on the

_De Profundis_."

All present besought the priest to favor them; in truth, the worthy

household never wearied of pious conversation.

"It happened," began the good priest, with religious modesty, "that

about twenty years ago I accompanied a number of prominent members of

our Society who had been summoned to the Mother House, in Rome, on

business of importance. The Fathers carried with them precious

documents from their several provinces; and, besides the purse

necessary to meet their current travelling expenses, certain

contributions from churches as Peter's Pence, and donations for the

General of the Society. Our way lay across the Apennines, and we were

numerous enough to fill a large coach. We knew that the fastnesses of

the mountains were infested by outlawed bands, and we had been careful

to select an honest driver. Before setting out, it was agreed that we

should place ourselves under the protection of the Holy Souls by

reciting a _De Profundis_ every hour. At a given signal, mental or

vocal prayer, reading or recreation, would be suspended, and the psalm

recited in unison.

"Luigi, the driver, had been instructed, in case of any apparent

danger, to make three distinct taps on the roof of our vehicle with the

heavy end of his whip. We travelled the whole day undisturbed, without

other interruptions than those called for by the observance of our

itinerary. Just as the evening twilight began, we reached the summit of

a lofty mountain. The air was cool, the scenery wild and majestic, and

each of us seemed absorbed in the pleasant glimpses of the receding

landscapes, when we were startled by three ominous knocks on the roof

of our coach. Before we could ask any questions, Luigi had given his

horses such blows as nearly made them throw us out of the vehicle, and

sent the animals running at a break-neck speed. We looked, we listened,

and, to our amazement and horror, beheld about a dozen bandits on

either side of the road, with arms uplifted, and holding deadly

weapons, as if ready and determined to strike with well-aimed

precision. But, strange to say, they all remained as motionless as

statues, until we had gone on so far as to leave them a mere speck on

the descending horizon.

"Each one of our party had kept exterior silence, but inwardly put his

trust in the Most High. At last, Luigi halted. His horses were white

with foam, and panting as if they would never breathe naturally again.

"A miracle!" cried Luigi, signing himself with the mystic Sign; "may

God and Our Lady be praised! I tell you, Fathers, it is a miracle that

we are not dead men!" "'Indeed, a very special protection of Divine

Providence said the superior _pro tem_.; 'and we must all thank

God with our whole hearts.'

"'I tell you,' broke in Luigi, 'those were horrible men; I never saw

any look fiercer.'

"'Then, as soon as your horses are able, we had better move on. Shall

you be obliged to change them before we get to our proposed stopping-

place?' asked the superior.

"'Oh, we must not stop to change! we should be tracked by some of their

spies. We had better go on; and, as the road descends gently, I think

this team will make the remainder of the route.'

"'Well,' said our superior, as we re-entered the coach, 'we must all

offer a Mass in thanksgiving to-morrow;' to which we all heartily

assented, and found subject for conversation the rest of the way in

recalling the particulars of our wondrous escape.

"Holy obedience afterwards stationed me," continued the Reverend

Father, "at the Gesú. About two years later, I was called upon to

instruct a prisoner condemned to capital punishment. 'He appears to

have been a desperate man,' said the jailer, as he drew aside the

enormous bolts of iron that held fast the door of a corridor leading to

a dismal dungeon; 'now, however, he is a little subdued; he even seems

contrite at times, and I hope he will die penitent.'

"I visited the prisoner several times; he was always glad to see me,

but it cost him a great effort to open his heart, and make a full

confession. His birth and parentage, and advantages for a liberal

education, should have brought him to a widely-different destiny. He

had loved adventure naturally, but had taken a wrong direction. He

might have become a famous military man, whereas he was only a rough,

desperate highwayman. To win him to God, I began to listen to

narratives of his wild brigand exploits. I affected to be interested in

these daring adventures, and then succeeded in pointing out to him the

sin that abounded in each and every act. One day, as he was speaking of

the latest years of his life, I was greatly surprised to hear him

recount the identical incident with which I began my story. He

described to me in the most graphic terms the wonderful manner in which

his hands and those of his comrades had been held by an invisible,

irresistible power, saying that they had returned to their mountain

haunts perfectly dismayed; that some of them appeared to have a vague

and conscientious alarm, though revelry and song soon banished such

misgivings. He told me that they knew the carriage was full of Jesuit

priests, and that they had been promised a great pecuniary reward by a

prominent member of the Freemason Society if they should succeed in

seizing our luggage.

"I then made known to my penitent my share in that providential escape;

he at once fell on his knees, wept long and bitterly, and finally asked

my forgiveness. I prepared him for his dreadful end, and believe he

died at peace with God, so great is the mercy of Jesus to the contrite

soul, 'even though his sins be as scarlet.' I asked his permission to

narrate the particulars of his portion of the story, and he gladly gave

it, hoping to merit something for his sin-burdened soul by that act of

humility."

We were all much impressed by the Reverend Father's narrative, and as

we bade one another good-night, the doctor remarked that a kind deed

performed for others was sure to merit a blessing in return, even

though it were so small a favor as that gained by his favorite practice

of saying the _De Profundis_.

"Yes," said Father G----, "charity never fails."--_Ave Maria_,

Nov. 24th, 1883.

CONFIDENCE REWARDED.

The following fact took place in Montreal, Canada, some three or four

years since. We shall leave the zealous member of our association who

related it to us to tell his own story:

"One morning," said he, "coming back from Mass, I saw Mr. C----, who

was also coming out of the church. He was a worthy man, fearing God and

fulfilling his duties faithfully and conscientiously. I said to myself:

'There is a man who deserves to belong to our association.' For is it

not always a favor when God deems us worthy to do something for Him?

"I approached and asked him if he would not like to become a member of

our association. 'What association?' 'The Association of the Way of the

Cross and Masses. It is to relieve the dead by prayer and alms, two

powerful means.' 'Ah! I knew nothing of it. What has to be done?' 'It

suffices to make the Way of the Cross once a week and pay for a Mass

once a month.' 'I love the souls in Purgatory,' he said, 'and I do all

I can to relieve them. But, you see, things are not going well with me

just now. I have been a long time sick, and am hardly able yet to

discharge my ordinary duties.'

"At these words I cast my eyes on the speaker, and saw what I had not

before noticed, that he looked pale and worn. He went on: 'As for

paying anything, it would be impossible for me to do it; I have

contracted debts, and if my ill health should continue,' he added, in a

faltering voice, 'I shall be obliged to sell my little house.' Then he

stopped, his heart evidently full, and tears in his eyes. 'But

Providence watches over you, and nothing happens without God's good

leave. If a single hair of our head cannot fall unless He will it, what

have you to fear? Do something for God whilst you can. If you are

liberal to Him, He will be more so towards you. Do you remember the

promise Our Lord made to St. Gertrude? 'I will give an hundred-fold,'

said He, 'for all thou shalt do for my beloved ones in Purgatory.' This

promise was not for St. Gertrude alone; it was likewise for you. For

one dollar that you give, you will gain ten; and if you are resolved to

help the poor souls all you can, they will get you health to do it.'

'Ah! what you say touches me much, and truly I know not what to do.'

After a moment's hesitation, he quickly resumed: 'Well, sir, although I

am actually in distress, I am going to try; it may be the best means of

getting out of it.' 'Yes, try; we run no risk when we make the Holy

Souls our debtors.'

"At these words, he drew from his pocket a small purse which contained

only half a dollar. 'There is all my wealth, and I am happy to share it

with you,' and he gave me the stipend for a Mass. 'I will perhaps put

myself to some inconvenience in giving you that sum, trifling though it

be; but, blessed be God! I will bear with the inconvenience, thinking

that those who suffer much more than I will obtain some relief in their

cruel torments. I will also pray for them, and that they may obtain for

me the resignation which is so pleasing to God.'

"When I saw the noble sentiments of this man, I shook him by the hand,

warmly thanked him, and reminded him that God was always touched by

such acts, and that He knew how to reward them.

"From that moment, strange to say, that frail, delicate man began to

recover his strength, work came back to his shop, and everything grew

brighter around him. And, as an additional reward from Heaven, he was

animated by a new zeal for the Holy Souls, for he not only paid his own

little contribution regularly, but he also collected the money for as

many Masses as he could on one side and another.

"Six or seven months thus passed away amid ever increasing prosperity,

when one day he said to me in presence of several persons: 'Last

autumn, before I gave my name to the Association for the Souls in

Purgatory, I was so sick and so discouraged that I thought I should

die; but when I had paid for my first Mass, from that moment, as all

may see, my health began to return, and with it my courage. To-day, as

you see, I am perfectly well. Moreover, I have found means to pay off

one hundred and fifty dollars of debt, and to have fifty dollars' worth

of repairs made to my little house. How has all that been done? I know

not: for you will admit that, by a poor shoemaker such as I, who works

at his bench and without even an apprentice, after such a hard winter,

and without any advance before me, to find means, despite all that, to

provide for the support of his family and pay two hundred dollars over

and above, is something extraordinary.

"'But I know well to whom I owe it all; hence,' he added, with a smile,

'that has given me new zeal. Now, I work not only for myself; every

evening I go out collecting for our good Souls in Purgatory, and,

blessed be God! I have got one hundred and fifty dollars for the

Association of Masses. Have I not, sir?' he added, addressing the

treasurer, who was present.

"'Yes, you have, indeed, collected one hundred and fifty dollars,

perhaps something more, by twenty-five cents here and twenty-five cents

there, with a perseverance and a zeal beyond all praise, and well

deserving of the favors you have received.'

"'Ah!' said this worthy man, so admirable in his simplicity and the

fervor of his conviction, 'it is that I still desire something; I now

expect that they will make me better,' and he sighed.

"Thus was this good man rewarded for his confidence in the Souls in

Purgatory, and such was his gratitude to them."--_Almanac of the Souls

in Purgatory, 1877_.

ANECDOTE OF THE "DE PROFUNDIS."

I once heard an anecdote of a good priest who was in the habit of

saying the De Profundis every day for the Souls in Purgatory, but,

happening one day to omit it, either through inadvertence or press of

occupation, he was passing through a cemetery about the close of day,

when he suddenly heard, through the hushed silence of the lonely place

and the solemn evening's hour, a mournful voice repeating the first

words of the beautiful psalm--_De Profundis clamavit Domini_--then

it stopped, but the priest, as soon as he had recovered from the first

shock, and remembering with bitter self-reproach his omission, took up

the words where the supernatural voice had left off, and finished the

recitation of the _De Profundis_, resolving, as he did so, that,

for the time to come, nothing should prevent him from reciting it every

day, and more than once in the day, for the benefit of the dear

suffering Souls.

A STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN A PERSIAN PRISON.

There is a very strange story concerning Purgatory related by St. John

the Almoner, Patriarch of Alexandria, in the end of the sixth and the

beginning of the seventh century. A little before a great mortality

which took place in that city, several inhabitants of the Island of

Cyprus were carried off to Persia and cast into a prison so severe that

it was called the _Oblivion_. Some of them, however, succeeded in

making their escape and returned to their own country. A father and

mother, whose son had been carried off with the others, asked them for

tidings of their son. "Alas!" said they, "your son died on such a day;

we ourselves had the sad consolation of giving him burial." The poor

parents hastened then to have a solemn service performed for the repose

of his soul; this they had done three times every year, continuing in

prayer for the same intention. But, marvellous to relate! one day this

son, so much regretted, so fondly remembered, came knocking at their

door and threw himself into their arms. He had been supposed dead for

four years, yet was really alive, he whom the other prisoners had

buried having had a great resemblance to him, that is all. "How! is it

really thou, dear son? Oh! how we mourned for thee! Three times every

year we had a solemn service for thee." "On what days?" eagerly

demanded the son. "On the holy days of Christmas, Easter, and

Pentecost." "Precisely!" he exclaimed; "on those very days I saw, each

time, an officer radiant with light, who came to me and taking off my

chains, opened the doors of my prison. I went forth into the city,

walked wherever I wished, without any one appearing to notice me; only,

in the evening, I always found myself miraculously chained in my

dungeon. It was the fruit of your good prayers, and if I had been in

Purgatory, they would have served at the same time to relieve me; I

beseech you not to forget me when the good God shall see fit to call me

to Himself."--_Leontius, Life of St. John the Almoner._

A SWISS PROTESTANT CONVERTED BY THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY.

I have somewhere read, says a Catholic writer, that a Swiss Protestant

was converted to the true religion solely on account of our having the

consoling doctrine of Purgatory, whereas Protestants will not admit of

it. He was a Lutheran somewhat advanced in age, and he had a brother

who passed for a worthy man, as the world goes, but had also the

misfortune of being a Protestant. He fell sick, and notwithstanding the

care of several physicians, died, and was buried by a Protestant

minister of Berne. His death was a terrible blow to the brother of whom

I speak. Hoping to dissipate his grief he tried travelling, but the

thought of his brother's eternal destiny pursued him everywhere. He one

day, on board a steamer, made the acquaintance of a Catholic priest,

with whom he entered into conversation. Confidence was soon established

between them; they spoke of death, and the afflicted traveller asked

the priest what he thought of it. "What I think is this," replied the

priest: "When a man has perfectly discharged all his duties to God, his

neighbor and himself, he goes straight to heaven; if he have not

discharged them, or have neglected any of those which are essential, he

goes straight to hell; but if he have only to reproach himself with

those trifling faults which are inseparable from our frail nature, he

spends some time in Purgatory." At these words the listener smiled with

evident relief and satisfaction; he felt consoled. "Sir," cried he, "I

will become a Catholic, and for this reason: Protestants only admit of

heaven and hell; but, in order to get to Paradise, one must have

nothing wherewith to reproach himself. Now, although my brother was a

good man, he was by no means free from those slight faults of which you

spoke just now. He will not be damned for these faults, but they will

prevent him from going to heaven; there must, therefore, be an

intermediate place wherein to expiate them; hence, there must be a

Purgatory. I will be a Catholic, so as to have the consolation of

praying for my brother."--_The Catechism in Examples_, pp. 141-2.

THE DEAD HAND.

SISTER TERESA MARGARET GESTA was struck by apoplexy on the 4th of

November, 1859, without any premonitory symptoms to forewarn her of her

danger; and, without recovering consciousness, she breathed her last at

four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day. Her companions were

plunged into the deepest sorrow, for the Sister was a general favorite;

but they resigned themselves to the will of God. Whilst lamenting the

death of one who had been to them a model, comforter, and mother, they

consoled themselves by the remembrance of the virtues of which she was

a splendid example, and of which they never tired speaking.

Twelve days had passed since her death. Some of the Sisters felt a

certain kind of dread of going alone to the places frequented by the

departed one; but Sister Anna Felix Menghini, a person of a lively and

pleasant disposition, often rallied them, good-humoredly, on their

fears.

About ten o'clock in the forenoon, this same Sister Anna, having charge

of the clothing, was proceeding to the work-room. Having gone up-

stairs, she heard a mournful voice, which at first she thought might be

that of a cat shut up in the clothes-press. She opened and examined it

carefully, but found nothing. A sudden and unaccountable feeling of

terror came over her, and she cried out: "Jesus, Mary, what can it be?"

She had hardly uttered these words when she heard the same mournful

voice as at first, which exclaimed in a gasping sob: "O my God, how I

suffer!" The religious, though surprised and trembling, recognized

distinctly the voice of Sister Teresa; she plucked up courage and asked

her "Why?"

"On account of poverty," answered the voice.

"What!" replied Sister Anna, "and you were so poor!"

"Not for me," was answered, "but for the nuns.... If one is enough, why

two? and if two are sufficient, why three?... And you--beware for

yourself."

At the same time the whole room was darkened by a thick smoke, and the

shadow of Sister Teresa, moving towards the exit, went up the steps,

talking as it moved. Sister Anna was so frightened that she could not

make out what the spirit said. Having reached the door, the apparition

spoke again: "This is a mercy of God!" And in proof of the reality,

with its open hand it struck the upper panel of the door near the

frame, leaving the impression of the hand more perfect than it could

have been made by the most skillful artist with a hot iron.

Sister Anna was like Balthasar: "Then was the King's countenance

changed, and his thoughts troubled him; and the joints of his loins

were loosed, and his knees struck one against the other." (Dan., v. 6).

She could not stir for a considerable time; she did not even dare to

turn her head. But at last she tottered out and called one of her

companions, who, hearing her feeble, broken words, ran to her with

another Sister; and presently the whole community was gathered round in

alarm. They learned in a confused manner what had taken place,

perceived the smell of burnt wood, and noticed a whitish cloud or mist

that filled the room and made it almost dark. They examined the door

carefully though tremblingly, and recognized the fac-simile of Sister

Teresa's hand; and, filled with terror, they fled to the choir.

There the Sisters, forgetting the need of food and rest, remained in

prayer till after sunset, abandoning everything in their anxiety to

procure relief for their beloved Sister Teresa. The zealous Minorite

Fathers, who have the spiritual direction of the convent, learning what

had happened, were equally earnest in offering prayers and sacrifice,

and in singing the psalms for the dead. Many of the faithful likewise

assembling, not through idle curiosity, but out of genuine piety,

joined in the recitation of the Rosary and other prayers, though the

deceased Sister was almost entirely unknown to the people. Her

observance of the rule was very strict, and she scrupulously avoided

all intercourse with people outside her convent. But still large

numbers crowded to join in those devotions for her.

Sister Anna, who was more worn out by excitement than the other

religious, was directed to retire early the following night. She

herself confesses that she was fully resolved next day to remove, at

any cost, the obnoxious marks of the hand. But Sister Teresa appeared

to her in a dream, saying: "You intend to remove the sign which I have

left. Know that it is not in your power to do so, even with the aid of

others; for it is there by the command of God, for the instruction of

the people. By His just and inexorable judgment I was condemned to the

dreadful fires of Purgatory for forty years on account of my

condescension to the will of some of the nuns. I thank you and those

who joined in so many prayers to the Lord for me; all of which He was

pleased in His mercy to accept as suffrages for me, and especially the

Seven Penitential Psalms, which were such a relief!" And then, with a

smiling countenance, she added: "Oh! blessed rags, that are rewarded

with such rich garments! Oh! happy poverty, that brings such glory to

those who truly observe it! Alas! how many suffer irreparable loss, and

are in torments, because, under the cloak of necessity, poverty is

known and valued by few!"

Finally, Sister Anna, lying down as usual on the night of the 19th,

heard her name distinctly pronounced by Sister Teresa. She awoke, all

in a tremor, and sat up, unable to answer. Her astonishment was great

when, near the foot of the bed, she saw a globe of light that made the

cell as bright as noonday, and she heard the spirit say in a joyful

voice: "On the day of the Passion I died (on Friday), and on the day of

the Passion I go to glory.... Strength in the Cross!... Courage to

suffer!..." Then, saying three times "Adieu!" the globe was transformed

into a thin, white, shining cloud, rose towards heaven, and

disappeared.

The zealous Bishop of the diocese having heard of these events,

instituted the process of examination on the 23d of the same month. The

grave was opened in presence of a large number of persons assembled for

the occasion; the impression of the hand on the door was compared with

the hand of the dead, and both were found to correspond exactly. The

door itself was set apart in a safe place and guarded. Many persons

being anxious to see the impression, it was allowed to be visited,

after a certain lapse of time, and with due precautions, by such as had

secured the necessary permission.--_Ave Maria_, Nov. 17, 1883.

A BEAUTIFUL EXAMPLE.

The following fact is related by the Treasurer of the Association for

the Souls in Purgatory. He himself was personally cognizant of the

circumstances of the case. We leave him to speak:

"Mr.----," said he, "was one of our first and most fervent associates.

His devotedness for good works is well known, so that he is everywhere

regarded as an acquisition in all pious enterprises. His exemplary

conduct rendered him, moreover, one of the most precious auxiliaries of

the work. Hence his zeal, instead of slackening, did but go on

increasing; and whereas, in the beginning, his collection amounted only

to some dollars, after a while he often brought me forty or fifty

dollars for the suffering souls. May Heaven bless that fervent

associate, and may his example serve as a lesson to the indifferent!

"During eighteen months, or two years, this pious and zealous member

brought me every six months,--with other moneys,--the sum of fifteen

dollars which was thus periodically sent him; and each time that I

asked him whence this money came, he answered that he knew nothing of

it himself; that it was sent him by a worthy man without further

information, and so he brought it to me without asking, or knowing

anything more.

"Desirous of getting to the bottom of this mystery, I resolved to try

and find out what it meant. I, one day, asked Mr.----. to tell me the

name of this generous protector of the poor souls, for I was going to

hunt him up.--'Oh!' said he, 'it is Such-a-one; he lives a long way

off, towards Hochelaga, [1] but, indeed, I cannot tell you the exact

place.'

[Footnote 1: A suburban town or village of Montreal, situated, like the

city, on the banks of the St. Lawrence.]

"Such vague information embarrassed me no little. I, nevertheless, took

the City Directory, but, alas! there were fully twenty-five persons of

the same name. Resolved, however, to put an end to this uncertainty, I

proceeded, with the little information I had, to the place indicated to

me; I arrive at a house bearing the name of the new benefactor of our

work. I go in at a venture; it was a little shoe-store, scarcely

fifteen feet square, somewhat gloomy and not over-clean, owing,

probably, to the nature of the business carried on there; the whole

appearance of the place was, indeed, very unlike one where much money

could be made. Going in, I perceived sitting in the farther end of the

store, a man whose face was so expressive of goodness, so open and so

calm, that only a good conscience could leave so gracious an imprint on

the features, and I said to myself: 'That is he.'--Then I asked aloud:

'You are Mr. Such-a-one?'--That is my name,' he answered, with a

pleasant smile.--'But is it you who has sent us every six months for

two years, the sum of fifteen dollars,--thirty dollars a year,--for

the Souls in Purgatory, apart from your regular contribution?'--'Yes,'

said he, quietly, and still with the same smile on his lips.--'Ah!'

said I, 'we are very grateful to you, and the Holy Souls will surely be

mindful of you. I suppose you have a great compassion for those poor

souls who suffer so much, and that that inspires you with zeal, and so

you make up this sum amongst your friends and neighbors;--or they,

perhaps, bring it to your house, quarter by quarter, as is done

elsewhere?'--'No!' said he, still very quietly, 'no, it is my own

little share.'--'How! your own little share?' and instinctively I cast

a glance around the little store, which seemed hardly to justify the

giving of such a sum. 'How! your little share? but we find it a very

large and generous one, and we are happy that your zeal and charity

make it seem to you so small. Heaven will bless you for it. Still there

must be something hidden under these gifts, so often repeated; the Holy

Souls must have done you some favor. Please tell me, then, what induces

you to give so handsome a sum every year, without being asked?'

"'Well, I will not conceal from you that the Souls in Purgatory have

visibly protected me; and to make known to you, in a few words, all my

little history, I must tell you that, two or three years ago, I heard

people speak so favorably of the Association for the Souls in

Purgatory--I heard so much about it, indeed, that from that day

forward, I placed all my little business under the care of the

Suffering Souls, and ever since, I am happy to tell you, to the credit

of those holy Souls, that my affairs go, as if they were on wheels!"

(These are his own words.) "I give my thirty-three dollars a year

without any injury to myself; on the contrary, all goes the better for

it. My store is not much to look at, but it is well filled, and all

that is in it is my own. Apart from that, and what is still better, I

have not a penny of debt.'

"He then added, in a lower tone: 'I have, moreover, the happiness of

honoring in that way the thirty-three years of labors and sufferings

which Our Divine Lord spent on earth. That thought does my poor heart

good.

"'Ah, sir,' said he, with an impulse of true faith which made my heart

thrill--'Ah, sir, if men believed more, they would do wonders, and the

word of Our Lord never fails, and He has said that the more one gives

the more they receive, for charity never makes any one poor; only we

must give without distrust, and without speculation.'

"I warmly shook hands with this admirable man, and returned home as

charmed with my visit as delighted with so much faith. Then I said to

myself: 'There is a fine example to follow. How many others might have

no debts, if they knew how to make sacrifices for the dear Suffering

Souls!'"_--Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory, 1877_

HOW TO PAY ONE'S DEBTS.

Speaking just now of that generous man who had no debts, we called to

mind an example that teaches a pretty way of paying debts. We are about

to furnish the receipt, so that no one may complain, giving to each the

chance of making use of it. In divulging this secret we shall certainly

pass for the least selfish man in the world; for, to furnish every one

with the means of paying their debts, is it not to procure for each the

opportunity of enriching himself? But, dear reader, laying aside all

thanks, hasten only to profit by the receipt, and we shall, each of us,

have obtained our object.

We take this secret from the Chronicles of the good Friars Minors, an

authority to which no one can take exception.

The Blessed Berthold belonged to the great Franciscan family. His fine

talents and rare virtues had caused him to be appointed a preacher of

the Order. The Sovereign Pontiff, seeing all the good that Berthold was

destined to do by his eloquent sermons, had given him power to grant to

each of his hearers, an indulgence of ten days; which was a great

privilege for the faithful, as well as a mark of esteem and distinction

for himself.

Friar Berthold, then, had preached a most moving sermon on alms-giving,

and had granted the ten days' indulgence to all who were present.

Amongst the audience was a lady of quality who, owing to a reverse of

fortune, was in great distress and loaded with debt. She had hitherto

been content to suffer in silence, being prevented by a false shame

from making her condition known; but overcome by the enthusiastic

charity of the good father, she went privately to him to explain how

she was situated, giving him thus an opportunity of putting in practice

what he had so eloquently preached. But Friar Berthold, who, like his

father St. Francis, had chosen poverty for his lady and mistress, could

not come to her relief. Nevertheless, as poverty, in the man who

suffers and endures it voluntarily for the love of God, becomes

strength and even riches, Berthold, strong in his sacrifice and rich in

his poverty--Berthold, inspired by the Holy Ghost, repeated to her what

Peter of old, inspired by God, said to the lame man at the gate of the

Temple who had asked him for alms: "Silver and gold have I none, but

that which I have I will give unto thee." He then assured the lady that

she had gained ten days' indulgence by being present at his preaching,

and he added: "Go to such a banker in the city. Hitherto he has busied

himself much more about temporal riches than spiritual treasures, but

offer him in return for the donation he will give you, to make over to

him the merit of this indulgence, so that the pains awaiting him in

Purgatory may be diminished. I have every reason to think," continued

the good Father, "that he will give you some assistance."

The poor woman, full of that faith which is so powerful, went as she

was told, in all simplicity. God touched the heart of the rich man, who

received her kindly. He asked her how much she expected to receive in

exchange for her ten days' indulgence. Feeling herself animated by an

interior strength, she replied: "As much as it weighs in the balance."

--"Well!" said the banker, "here is the balance. Write down your ten

days' indulgence, and put the paper in one scale; I will place a piece

of money in the other." O prodigy! the scale with the paper in it does

not rise, but the other does. The banker, much amazed, puts in another

piece of money, but the weight is not changed; he puts in another, then

another; but the result is still the same, the paper on which the

indulgence is written is still the heaviest. The Banker puts down then

five, ten, thirty pieces, till there was as much as the whole amount

which the lady required for her present needs. Then only did the two

scales become equal.

The banker, struck with astonishment, saw in this marvel a precious

lesson for him; he was at length made sensible of the value of the

things of heaven.

The poor Souls understand it still better, as, for the slightest

earthly indulgence they would give all the gold in the world.

You, then, who have no money to give for the Souls in Purgatory--you,

too, who have financial difficulties on your shoulders, offer up

indulgences for the poor Souls, and they will make themselves your

bankers; they will pay you double, nay, a hundred-fold for whatever you

have put in the scale of the balance of mercy. They will pay you not

only in spiritual treasures, but even in temporal wealth, which will

procure for you the double advantage of paying your debts here below,

and those of the other world.--_Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory_,

1877.

FAITH REWARDED.

"One day, in the month of July," relates a zelator of the Association,

[1] "I met one of our members. He was a man of an amiable disposition,

and remarkable for his piety and his devotion to good works. He was a

merchant of good standing, engaged in a respectable business. Like many

others, however, he had seen bad days; and to the commonplace question,

'How goes business?' he replied: 'Ah! badly enough; I can hardly pay

expenses, and I am doubly unfortunate. I had a house which brought me

in two or three hundred dollars a year, and I have had the misfortune

of being unable to rent it this year, so that, losing on all sides, I

find myself a good deal embarrassed.'--'Will you allow me,' said I, 'to

give you a little advice? Promise some Masses for the Souls in

Purgatory in case you have the good fortune to rent your house. It will

be, as it were, the tithe of your rent. We too often forget that we owe

to Our Lord a part of what He gives us so freely. It is, nevertheless,

only an offering that we make Him of His own goods; and, at the same

time, an act of gratitude for that He has deigned to give it to us.

Furthermore, it is an act of homage, an acknowledgment of His

supremacy. And we shall derive the more profit from it according as we

do it with a good heart. Besides all that, you have the additional

happiness of assisting your relatives and friends who are suffering in

the flames of Purgatory.'

[Footnote 1: For the Relief of the Souls in Purgatory.]

"This little exhortation seemed to strike him to whom it was addressed,

and, as if awaking from a long lethargy, he suddenly said: 'Why did I

not think of that before? I promise,' added he, 'five dollars for the

Souls in Purgatory, if I find a tenant.'

"This eagerness to do good, this species of regret for not having done

it sooner, this pious disposition which makes us desire to relieve

those who are in affliction, must have been very pleasing to God, for,

within the week, the gentleman came to me with his five dollars, and

said, smiling: 'I lose no time, you see, in keeping my promise.'--'Why,

have you already rented your house?'--'Yes, a manufacturer from the

country who had just had the misfortune of being burned out, saw my

house by chance, came to ask my terms, and we agreed at once. He is to

take possession next week.'

"A week passed, even a month, then two, and no tenant, when I happened

again to meet my friend, whom I almost suspected of having forgotten

his promise. 'Ah!' said he, 'I am worse off than ever, and I was so

sure of having rented my house.'--' How! did that person not come back,

then?'--' No, and I thought him such an honest man! The disappointment

has been a great loss to me.'--'Write to him, then, threatening to make

him responsible for the whole rent. But, better than that, wait still,

and have confidence; the Holy Souls cannot fail to bring the matter to

a favorable issue. It is, perhaps, a want of faith on your part which

has delayed the fulfillment of the contract.'

"Three days had scarcely passed when I again saw our Associate. 'This

time,' said he, 'I come to pay; my tenant has arrived.'--'But he has

made you lose five or six weeks' rent.'--'Not so; he is, just as I

thought, an honorable, upright man. He arrived two days ago. It was I

that hired your house,' said he, 'and I come to take possession of

it.'--'Mr.----,' said I, 'I am very glad, but I expected you sooner.'--

'It is true I was to have come before now, but was prevented from doing

so by important business. How long is it since I rented your house?'--

'Just nine weeks.'--'It is only right, then, that I should pay you for

the time I have made you lose;' then handing me a sum of money,

'there,' said he, 'is the amount coming to you; and now, my family

arrive to-morrow, so we take possession at once of your house, and your

rent shall be paid regularly.'

"So there is an end to my anxiety, and you cannot believe how happy I

am in bringing you the trifling sum I promised; but while keeping my

promise, I thank you very sincerely for the confidence wherewith you

inspired me in the Holy Souls. May God bless you for it!"--_Almanac

of the Souls in Purgatory_, 1881.

APPARITION OF A CITIZEN OF ARIES.

LECOYER, in his "Tales of Ghosts and Apparitions," [1] relates a

historical occurrence which had great publicity. In the reign of King

Charles IV. of France, surnamed the Fair, the last king of the first

branch of the Capets, who died in 1323, the soul of a citizen, some

years dead and abandoned by his relations, who neglected to pray for

him, appeared suddenly in the public square at Aries, relating

marvellous things of the other world, and asking for help. Those who

had seen him in his lifetime at once recognized him. The Prior of the

Jacobins, a man of saintly life, being told of this apparition,

hastened to go and see the soul. Supposing at first that it might be a

spirit that had taken the form of this citizen, he took, with lighted

tapers, a consecrated host, which he held out to it. But the soul

immediately showed that it was really there itself, for it prostrated

itself and adored Our Lord, asking naught else but prayers which might

deliver it from Purgatory, to the end that it might enter purified into

heaven.

[Footnote 1: "Histoires des Spectres et des Apparitions."]

THE COUNTESS OF STRAFFORD.

The Countess of Strafford, before her conversion to the Catholic faith,

went often to see Monseigneur de la Mothe, Bishop of Amiens, and her

conversations with him always made the deepest impression on her mind.

But what touched her more than all was a sermon which he preached on

the feast of St. John the Baptist, in the chapel of the Ursulines in

Amiens. After hearing this discourse, she felt within her a lively

desire to believe as did the preacher who had so much edified her. She

still had some doubts, however, on the Sacrifice of the Mass and

Purgatory. She went to propose them to the holy Bishop, who, without

disputing with her or openly attacking her prejudices, deemed it his

duty to speak thus to her, in order to undeceive her: "Madam, you know

the Bishop of London and have confidence in him? Well, I beg you to ask

him what I am going to tell you: The Bishop of Amiens has told me a

thing that surprised me; he says that if you can deny that St.

Augustine said Mass and prayed for the dead, and particularly for his

mother, he himself will become a Protestant." This advice was followed.

The Bishop of London made no reply, but contented himself with saying

to the bearer of the letter that Lady Strafford had been breathing a

contagious atmosphere which had carried her away, and that anything he

could write to her would probably not remedy the evil. This silence on

the part of a man whom she had trusted implicitly, finished opening the

eyes of Lady Strafford, and she soon after made her abjuration at the

hands of the Bishop of Amiens.--_Vie de Monsgr. de la Mothe._

THE MARQUIS BE CIVRAC. _(From une Commune Vendéenne.)_

The belief that the living friends may be of use to their friends in

the grave, has in it I know not what instructive and natural which one

meets in hearts the most simple and unsophisticated. A pious peasant

woman of La Vendée kneeling on the coffin of her good master, the

Marquis de Civrac, cried out: "O my God, repay to him all the good he

has done to us!" Does not this fervent cry of grateful affection

signify: "My God, some rays are perchance wanting in the crown of our

benefactor; supply them, we beseech Thee, in consideration of our

prayer and all he has done for us?" and this is precisely the consoling

doctrine of Purgatory.

GRATITUDE OF THE HOLY SOULS.

[Rev. James Mumford, S.J., born in England in 1605, and who labored for

forty years for the cause of the Catholic Church in his native country,

wrote a remarkable work on Purgatory; and he mentions that the

following incident was written to him by William Freysson, a publisher,

of Cologne. May it move many in their difficulties to have recourse to

the Holy Souls.]

One festival day, when my place of business was closed, I was occupying

myself in reading a book which you had lent me, and which was on "The

Souls in Purgatory." I was absorbed in my subject when a messenger came

and told me that my youngest child, aged four years, showed the first

symptoms of a very grave disease. The child rapidly grew worse, and the

physicians at length declared that there was no hope. The thought then

occurred to me that perhaps I could save my child by making a vow to

assist the Suffering Souls in Purgatory. I accordingly repaired at once

to a chapel, and, with all fervor, supplicated God to have pity on me;

and I vowed I would distribute gratuitously a hundred copies of the

book that had moved me in behalf of the suffering souls, and give them

to ecclesiastics and to religious to increase devotion to the Holy

Souls. I had, I acknowledge, hardly any hope. As soon as I returned to

the house I found the child much better. He asked for food, although

for several days he had not been able to swallow anything but liquids.

The next day he was perfectly well, got up, went out for a walk, and

ate as if he had never had anything the matter with him. Filled with

gratitude, I was only anxious to fulfill my promise. I went to the

College of the Jesuit Fathers and begged them to accept as many copies

of the work as they pleased, and to distribute them amongst themselves

and other communities and ecclesiastics as they thought fit, so that

the suffering souls, my benefactors, should be assisted by further

prayers.

Three weeks had not slipped away, however, when another accident not

less serious befell me. My wife, on entering the house one day, was

suddenly seized with a trembling in all her limbs, which threw her to

the ground, and she remained insensible. Little by little the illness

increased, until she was deprived of the power of speech. Remedies

seemed to be in vain. The malady at length assumed such aggravated

proportions that every one was of opinion she had no chance of

recovery. The priest who assisted her had already addressed words of

consolation to me, exhorting me to Christian resignation. I turned

again with confidence to the souls in Purgatory, who had assisted me

once before, and I went to the same church. There, prostrate before the

Blessed Sacrament, I renewed my supplication with all the ardor with

which affection for my family inspired me. "O my God!" I exclaimed,

"Thy mercy is not exhausted: in the name of Thy infinite bounty, do not

permit that the recovery of my son should be paid by the death of his

mother." I made a vow this time, to distribute two hundred copies of

the holy book, in order that a greater number of persons might be moved

to intercede for the suffering souls. I besought those who had already

been delivered from Purgatory to unite with me on this occasion. After

this prayer, as I was returning to the house, I saw my servants running

towards me. They told me with delight that my wife had undergone a

great change for the better; that the delirium had ceased, and she had

recovered her power of speech. I at once ran on to assure myself of the

fact: all was true. Very soon my wife was so perfectly recovered that

she came with me into the holy place to make an act of thanksgiving to

God for all His mercies.--_Ave Maria_.

A STRANGE INCIDENT.

A young German lady of rank, still alive to tell the story, arriving

with her friends at one of the most noted hotels in Paris, an apartment

of unusual magnificence on the first floor was apportioned to her use.

After retiring to rest she lay awake a long while, contemplating, by

the dim light of a night-lamp, the costly ornaments in the room, when

suddenly the folding-doors opposite the bed, which she had locked, were

thrown open, and, amid a flood of unearthly light, there entered a

young man in the garb of the French navy, having his hair dressed in

the peculiar mode _à la Titus_. Taking a chair and placing it in

the middle of the room, he sat down, and drew from his pocket a pistol

of an uncommon make, which he deliberately put to his forehead, fired,

and fell back as if dead. At the moment of the explosion the room

became dark and still, and a low voice said softly: "Say an _Ave

Maria_ for his soul."

The young lady, though not insensible, became paralyzed with horror,

and remained in a kind of cataleptic trance, fully conscious, but

unable to move or speak, until, at nine o'clock next day, no answer

having been given to repeated calls of her maid, the doors were forced

open. At the same moment the power of speech returned, and the poor

young lady shrieked out to her attendants that a man had shot himself

in the night, and was lying dead on the floor. Nothing, however, was to

be seen, and they concluded that she was suffering from the effects of

a dream. Not being a Catholic, she could not, of course, understand the

meaning of the mysterious command.

A short time afterwards, however, the proprietor of the hotel informed

a gentleman of the party that the terrible scene witnessed by the young

lady had in reality been enacted only three nights previously in that

very room, when a young French officer put an end to his life with a

pistol of a peculiar description, which, together with the body, was

then lying at the Morgue awaiting identification. The gentleman

examined them both, and found them to correspond exactly with the

description of the man and the pistol seen in the apparition.

Whether the young officer was insane, or lived long enough to repent of

his crime, is not known; however, the then Archbishop of Paris,

Monseigneur Sibour, was exceedingly impressed by the incident. He

called upon the young lady, and directing her attention to the words

spoken by the mysterious voice, urged her to embrace the Catholic

faith, to whose teaching it pointed so clearly.--_Ave Maria_,

August 15, 1885.

PART III.

HISTORICAL

All the ages, every clime

Strike the silver harp of time,

Chant the endless, holy story,

Souls retained in Purgatory.

Freed by Mass and holy rite,

Requiem, dirge and wondrous might,

A prayer which hut and palace send,

Where king and serf, where lord and hireling blend.

The vast cathedral and the village shrine

Unite in mercy's choral strain divine.

HISTORICAL.

THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY, OR A MIDDLE STATE, AMONG THE PAGAN NATIONS

OF ANTIQUITY.

BY THE REV. A. A LAMBING, A.M.

[This very interesting article was originally published in the "Ave

Maria."]

The attentive student of the mythology of the nations of antiquity

cannot fail to discover many vestiges of a primitive revelation of some

of the principal truths of religion, although in the lapse of time they

have been so distorted and mingled with fiction that it requires

careful study to sift the few remaining grains of truth from the great

mass of superstition and error in which they are all but lost. Among

these truths may be reckoned monotheism, or the belief in, and the

worship of, one only God, which the learned Jesuit, the Rev. Aug.

Thebaud, in his "Gentilism," has proved to have been the primitive

belief of all nations. It may not, however, be so generally known that

the doctrine of Purgatory, or a future state of purification, was also

held and taught in all the religious systems in the beginning. While a

knowledge of this fact cannot add anything to the grounds of our faith

as Catholics, it will not be wholly without interest, and it will,

besides, better enable us to give a reason for the faith that is in us.

It was left to Martin Luther to found an ephemeral religious system

that should deny this dogma, founded no less on revelation than on

right reason; but, then, logic has never been one of the strong points

of Protestants.

Before turning my attention to the nations of the pagan world, I shall

briefly give the Jewish belief on this point. It may not generally be

known that the doctrine of a middle state is not explicitly proposed to

the belief of the Jews in any of the writings of the Old Testament,

although it was firmly held by the people. We depend for our knowledge

of this fact mainly on the celebrated passage of the Second Book of

Machabees (xii. 43-46). The occasion on which the doctrine was stated

was this: Some of the soldiers of Judas Machabeus, the leader of the

Jewish armies, fell in a certain battle; and when their fellow-soldiers

came to bury them, they discovered secreted in the folds of their

garments some parts of the spoils of one of the pagan shrines, which it

was not permitted them to keep. After praying devoutly, the sacred

writer goes on to say that Judas, "Making a gathering, sent twelve

thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem for sacrifices to be offered

for the sins of the dead, thinking well and religiously concerning the

resurrection [for if he had not hoped that they who were slain should

rise again, it would have seemed superfluous and vain to pray for the

dead]. And because he considered that they who had fallen asleep with

godliness had great grace laid up for them. It is, therefore, a holy

and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed

from sins."

The Catholic doctrine is thus briefly laid down in the Catechism:

"Purgatory is a place of punishment in the other life where some souls

suffer for a time before they can go to heaven;" or, in the words of

the Catechism of the Council of Trent, there is "the fire of Purgatory,

in which the souls of just men are cleansed by a temporary punishment

in order to be admitted into their eternal country, 'into which nothing

defiled entereth.'"

How far the pagan notions of a middle state harmonize with the

Christian doctrine the reader will be able to determine as we proceed.

I must premise by stating that almost all, if not all, the forms of

paganism were two-fold, containing a popular form of religion, believed

and practiced by the mass of the people, and a more recondite form that

was known only to the initiated, whether this was the priestly caste,

as was generally the case, or whether they were designated by some

other name. It should also be observed that the forms of religion were

constantly undergoing changes of greater or less importance. Nor must

we lose sight of the fact that different nations embodied the same idea

under different terms. The conception of the phlegmatic Norseman would

be different from that of the imaginative Oriental, and the language of

the refined Greek would be far other than that of the rude American

savage. But yet the same truth may be found to underlie all, the

outward garb alone differing.

Turning first to Egypt, which is, rightly or wrongly, commonly

considered the cradle of civilization, we may sum up its teaching with

regard to the lot of the dead, and the middle state, in these

interesting remarks of a learned author: "The continuance of the soul

after its death, its judgment in another world, and its sentence

according to its deserts, either to happiness or suffering, were

undoubted parts both of the popular and of the more recondite religion.

It was the universal belief that immediately after death the soul

descended into a lower world, and was conducted to the Hall of Truth

(or, 'of the Two Truths'), where it was judged in the presence of

Osiris and the forty-two demons, the 'Lords of Truth' and judges of the

dead. Anubis, 'the director of the weight,' brought forth a pair of

scales, and, placing on one scale a figure or emblem of Truth, set on

the other a vase containing the good actions of the deceased; Thoth

standing by the while, with a tablet in his hand, whereon to record the

result. According to the side on which the balance inclined, Osiris

delivered the sentence. If the good deeds preponderated, the blessed

soul was allowed to enter the 'boat of the sun,' and was conducted by

good spirits to Aahlu (Elysium), to the 'pools of peace,' and the

dwelling place of Osiris.... The good soul, having first been freed

from its infirmities by passing through the basin of purgatorial fire,

guarded by the four ape-faced genii, and then made the companion of

Osiris three thousand years, returned from Amenti, re-entered its

former body, rose from the dead, and lived once more a human life upon

earth. This process was reiterated until a certain mystic cycle of

years became complete, when finally the good and blessed attained the

crowning joy of union with God, being absorbed into the Divine Essence,

and thus attaining the true end and full perfection of their being."

[1]

[Footnote 1: "History of Ancient Egypt," George Rawlinson, Vol. I., pp.

327-329.]

It may be remarked that all systems of religion which held the doctrine

of metempsychosis, or the transmigration of souls, should be considered

as believing in a middle state of purgation, since they maintained the

necessity of the soul's further purification, after death, before it

was permitted to enter into its final rest.

In the ever-varying phases through which Buddhism, the religion of all

South-eastern Asia, has passed in its protracted existence, it is

difficult to determine with any degree of certainty, precisely what its

disciples hold; but the belief in metempsychosis, which is one of its

fundamental doctrines, must permit us to range it on the side of those

who hold to the idea of a middle state. Certain it is, they believe

that the soul, by a series of new births, becomes, in process of time,

better fitted for the final state in which it is destined for ever to

remain. The same may be said of the religion of the great body of the

Chinese; for, although they have their law-giver Confucius, their

religion at present, as far as it merits the name, appears to be no

more than a certain form of Buddhism.

Coming to the more western nations of Asia, we may remark that, as

their religions were evidently a corruption of primitive revelation,

less removed in point of time, they must, although they had already

become idolatrous, have embodied the idea of a future state of

purgation, notwithstanding that it is impossible to determine at this

distant day, the exact nature of their doctrines. If, however, we turn

from these to the doctrine of Zoroaster, our means of forming an

opinion are more ample.

Zoroaster, or, more correctly, Zarathustra, the founder of the Persian

religion, was born, according to some accounts, in the sixth century

before our era, while others claim for him an antiquity dating at least

from the thirteenth century before Christ. Be that as it may--and it

does not concern us to inquire into it--this much is certain: he was a

firm believer in a middle state, and he transmitted the same to his

followers. But, going a step further than some, he taught that the

souls undergoing purification are helped by the prayers of their

friends upon earth. "The Zoroastrians," says Mr. Rawlinson, "were

devout believers in the immortality of the soul and a conscious future

existence. They taught that immediately after death the souls of men,

both good and bad, proceeded together along an appointed path, to 'the

bridge of the gatherer.' This was a narrow road conducting to heaven or

paradise, over which the souls of the pious alone could pass, while the

wicked fell from it into the gulf below, where they found themselves in

the place of punishment. The good soul was assisted across the bridge

by the Angel Serosh--'the happy, well-formed, swift, tall Serosh'--who

met the weary wayfarer, and sustained his steps as he effected the

difficult passage. The prayers of his friends in this world were of

much avail to the deceased, and greatly helped him on his journey." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Ancient Monarchies." Vol. II, p 339.]

With regard to the opinions held by the Greeks,--and the same may, in

general terms, be applied to the Romans, whose religious views

coincided more or less closely with those of their more polished

neighbors,--it is difficult to form a correct idea. Not that the

classic writers and philosophers have permitted the subject to sink

into oblivion,--on the contrary, they have treated it at considerable

length, as all classic scholars well know,--but while, on the one hand,

as I remarked above, there is a difference between the popular ideas

and those of the learned, there is also here a great difference of

opinion between the various schools of philosophy. Not only so, but it

is difficult to determine how far the philosophers themselves were in

earnest in the opinions they expressed; and how far, too, we understand

them. The opinions of the people, and much more, those of the learned,

vary with the principal periods of Grecian and Roman history. This

much, however, may be safely held, that, while they drew their origin

from Central or Western Asia, their religion must, in the beginning,

have been that of the countries from which they came. But truth only is

immutable; error is ever changing.

I shall not tax the patience of the reader by asking him to pass in

review the more striking periods of the history of these famous

nations, but shall content myself with giving the views of a celebrated

writer on a part, at least, of the question. Speaking of the opinions

held by the Greek philosophers regarding the future state of the soul,

Dr. Dollinger says, "The old and universal tradition admitted, in

general, that man continued to exist after death; but the Greeks of the

Homeric age did not dream of a retribution appointed to all after

death, or of purifying and penitential punishments. It is only some

conspicuous offenders against the gods who, in Homer, are tormented in

distant Erebus. In Hesiod, the earlier races of man continue to live

on, sometimes as good demons, sometimes as souls of men in bliss, or as

heroes; yet, though inculcating moral obligations, he does not point to

a reward to be looked for beyond the grave, but only to the justice

that dominates in this economy.... Plato expressly ascribes to the

Orphic writers the dogma of the soul's finding herself in the body as

in a sepulchre or prison, on the score of previously contracted guilt;

a dogma indubitably ascending to a very high antiquity.

"... It is from this source that Pindar drew, who, of the old Greeks,

generally has expressed notions the most precise and minutely distinct

of trial and tribulation after death, and the circuits and lustrations

of the soul. He assigns the island of the blest as for the everlasting

enjoyment of those who, in a triple existence in the upper and lower

world, have been able to keep their souls perfectly pure from all sin.

On the other hand, the souls of sinners appear after death before the

judgment seat of a judge of the nether world, by whom they are

sentenced to a heavy doom, and are ceaselessly dragged the world over,

suffering bloody torments. But as for those whom Persephone has

released from the old guilt of sin, their souls she sends in the ninth

year back again to the upper sun; of them are born mighty kings, and

men of power and wisdom, who come to be styled saintly heroes by their

posterity." And, again: "Plato was the first of the Greeks to throw

himself, in all sincerity, and with the whole depth of his intellect,

upon the solution of the great question of immortality.... He was, in

truth, the prophet of the doctrine of immortality for his time, and for

the Greek nation.... The metempsychosis which he taught under Orphic

and Pythagorean inspiration is an essential ingredient of his theory of

the world, and is, therefore, perpetually recurring in his more

important works. He connects it with an idea sifted and taken from

popular belief of a state of penance in Hades, though it can hardly be

ascertained how large a portion of mystical ornament or poetical

conjecture he throws into the particular delineation of 'the last

things,' and of transmigration. He adopts ten grades of migration, each

of a thousand years; so that the soul, in each migration, makes a

selection of its life-destiny, and renews its penance ten times, until

it is enabled to return to an incorporeal existence with God, and to

the pure contemplation of Him and the ideal world. Philosophic souls

only escape after a three-fold migration, in each of which they choose

again their first mode of life. All other souls are judged in the

nether world after their first life, and there do penance for their

guilt in different quarters; the incurable only are thrust down forever

into Tartarus. He attaches eternal punishment to certain particularly

abominable sins, while such as have lived justly repose blissfully in

the dwelling of a kindred star until their entrance into a second life.

Plato was clearly acquainted with the fact of the necessity of an

intermediate state between eternal happiness and misery, a state of

penance and purification after death." [1]

[Footnote 1: "The Gentile and the Jew," Vol. I. pp. 301-320.]

The popular notion of Charon, the ferryman of the lower world, refusing

to carry over the river Acheron the souls of such as had not been

buried, but leaving them to wander on the shores for a century before

he would consent, or rather before he was permitted by the rulers of

the Hades to do so, contains a vestige of the belief in a middle state,

where some souls had to suffer for a time before they could enter into

the abode of the blest. But when it is said that the friends of the

deceased could, by interring his remains, secure his entry into the

desired repose, we see a more striking resemblance to the doctrine that

friends on earth are able to assist the souls undergoing purgation. A

remarkable instance of the popular belief in this doctrine is furnished

in Grecian history, where the soldiers were encouraged on a certain

occasion to risk their lives in the service of their country by their

being told to write their names on their arms, so that if any fell his

friends could have him properly interred, and thus secure him against

all fear of having to wander for a century on the bleak shores of the

dividing river. Nothing could better show the hold which this idea had

on the minds of the people.

Roman mythological ideas were, as has been said, nearly related to

those of Greece; they underwent as great modifications, while the

opinions of her philosophers were equally abstruse, varied, and

difficult to understand. The author above quoted, treating of the

notion of the soul and a future state entertained by the Roman

philosophers, proves their ideas to have been extremely vague and ill-

defined. Still, there were not wanting those who held to the belief of

an existence after this life. Plutarch, a Greek, "has left us a view of

the state of the departed. The souls of the dead, ascending through the

air, and in part reaching the highest heaven, are either luminous and

transparent or dark and spotted, on account of sins adhering to them,

and some have even scars upon them. The soul of man, he says elsewhere,

comes from the moon; his mind, intellect,--from the sun; the separation

of the two is only completely effected after death. The soul wanders

awhile between the moon and earth for purposes of punishment--or, if it

be good, of purification, until it rises to the moon, where the

_vouç_ [1] leaves it and returns to its home, the sun; while the

soul is buried in the moon. Lucian, on the other hand, whose writings

for the most part are a pretty faithful mirror of the notions in vogue

among his contemporaries, bears testimony to a continuance of the old

tradition of the good reaching the Elysian fields, and the great

transgressors finding themselves given up to the Erinnys in a place of

torment, where they are torn by vultures, crushed on the wheel, or

otherwise tormented; while such as are neither great sinners nor

distinguished by their virtues stray about in meadows as bodiless

shadows, and are fed on the libations and mortuary sacrifices offered

at their sepulchres. An obolus for Charon was still placed in the mouth

of every dead body." [2] Here, again, we have both the belief in the

existence of a middle state and of the assistance afforded to those

detained there.

[Footnote 1: Mind]

[Footnote 2: "The Gentile and the Jew," Vol. II., p. 146.]

The religion of the Druids is so wrapped in mystery that it is

difficult to determine what they believed on any point, and much more

on that of the future lot of the soul; but as they held the doctrine of

metempsychosis, it is fair to class them among the adherents to the

notion of a period of purgation between death and the soul's entrance

into its final rest. Of the views of the sturdy Norsemen, on the

contrary, there can be no two opinions; in their mythology the idea of

a middle state is expressed in the clearest language. The following

passage from Mr. Anderson, places the matter beyond question. I may

first remark, for the information of the general reader, that by Gimle

is meant the abode of the righteous after the day of judgment; by

Naastrand, the place of punishment after the same dread sentence; by

Ragnarok, the last day; Valhal, the temporary place of happiness to

which the god Odin invites those who have been slain in battle; and

Hel, the goddess of death, whose abode is termed Helheim. With these

explanations the reader will be able to understand the subjoined

passage, which expresses the Norse idea of the future purgation of the

soul.

After speaking of the lot of the departed, the writer says: "But it

must be remembered that Gimle and Naastrand have reference to the state

of things after Ragnarok, the Twilight of the gods; while Valhal and

Hel have reference to the state of things between death and Ragnarok;--

a time of existence corresponding somewhat to what is called

_Purgatory_ by the Catholic Church." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Norse Mythology," p. 393.]

It would appear to be no exaggeration to claim the same belief in a

middle state for the American Indians, in as far as it is possible for

us to draw anything definite from their crude notions of religion. A

good authority on subjects connected with Indian customs and beliefs

says: "The belief respecting the land of souls varied greatly in

different tribes and different individuals." And, again: "An endless

variety of incoherent fancies is connected with the Indian idea of a

future life.... At intervals of ten or twelve years, the Hurons, the

Neutrals, and other kindred tribes, were accustomed to collect the

bones of their dead, and deposit them, with great ceremony, in a common

place of burial. The whole nation was sometimes assembled at this

solemnity; and hundreds of corpses, brought from their temporary

resting-places, were inhumed in one common pit. From this hour the

immortality of their souls began." This evidently implies a period

during which the souls were wandering at a distance from the place of

their eternal repose. Does the following passage throw any light upon

it? The reader must decide the point for himself. "Most of the

traditions," continues the same writer, "agree, however, that the

spirits, on their journey heavenward, were beset with difficulties and

perils. There was a swift river which must be crossed on a log that

shook beneath their feet, while a ferocious dog opposed their passage,

and drove many into the abyss. This river was full of sturgeons and

other fish, which the ghosts speared for their subsistence. Beyond was

a narrow path between moving rocks which each instant crushed together,

grinding to atoms the less nimble of the pilgrims who essayed to pass."

[1] A vestige of the same belief seems to crop out in a custom of some

of the tribes of Central Africa, as appears from the remarks of a

recent traveller. "When a death occurs," says Major Serpa Pinto, "the

body is shrouded in a white cloth, and, being covered with an ox-hide,

is carried to the grave, dug in a place selected for the purpose. The

days following on an interment are days of high festival in the hut of

the deceased. The native kings are buried with some ceremony, and their

bodies, being arrayed in their best clothes, are conveyed to the tomb

in a dressed hide. There is a great feasting on these occasions, and an

enormous sacrifice of cattle; for the heir of the deceased is bound to

sacrifice his whole herd in order to regale his people, and give peace

to the soul of the departed." [2]

[Footnote 1: "The Jesuits in North America," Francis Parkman.

Introduction, pp. 81, 92.]

[Footnote 2: "How I Crossed Africa," Vol. I., p. 63.]

Such a unity of sentiment on the part of so many nations differing in

every other respect can only be attributed either to a natural feeling

inherent in man, or to a primitive revelation, which, amid the

vicissitudes of time, has left its impress on the minds of all nations.

That the doctrine of a middle state of purification was a part of the

primitive revelation cannot, I think, admit of reasonable doubt. To the

true servant of God, this unanimity is another proof of the faith once

revealed to the Saints, and, at the same time, an additional motive for

thanking God for the light vouchsafed him, while so many others are

left to grope in the darkness of error.--_Ave Maria,_ Nov. 17,

1883.

DEVOTION TO THE DEAD AMONGST THE AMERICAN INDIANS OF THE EARLY JESUIT

MISSIONS.

In the "_Rélations des Jésuites_," on their early missions in New

France, now Canada, we find many examples, told in the quaint old

French of the seventeenth century, and with true apostolic simplicity,

of the tender devotion for the souls in Purgatory cherished by all the

Indians of every tribe who had embraced Christianity from the teaching

of those zealous missionaries. The few extracts we give below from the

"_Rélations_" will serve to show how deeply this touching devotion

to the departed is implanted in our nature, seeing that the doctrine of

a place of purgation in the after life finds so ready a response in the

heart and soul of the untutored children of the forest:

"The devotion which they have for the souls of the departed is another

mark of their faith. Not far from this assembly there is a cemetery, in

the midst of which is seen a fine cross; sepulchres four or five feet

wide and six or seven feet long, rise about four feet from the ground,

carefully covered with bark. At the head and feet of the dead are two

crosses, and on one side a sword, if the dead were a man, or some

domestic article, if a woman. Having arrived there, I was asked to pray

to God for the souls of those who were buried in that place. A good

Christian gave me a beaver skin by the hands of her daughter, about

seven years of age, and said to me, when her daughter presented it:

'Father, this present is to ask you to pray to God for the souls of her

sister and her grandmother.' Many others made the same request; I

promised to comply with their wishes, but, as for their presents, I

could not accept them.

"Some time ago, when the Christians of this place died, their beads

were buried with them; this custom was last year changed for a holier

one, by means of a good Christian who, when dying, gave her chaplet to

another, begging her to keep it and say it for her, at least on feast

days. This charity was done to her, and the custom was introduced from

that time: so it was that when any one died, his or her rosary was

given, with a little present, to some one chosen from the company

present, who is bound to take it, and say it for the departed soul, at

least on Sundays and Festivals."--_Journal of Father Jacques Buteux

in "Rélations," Vol. II_.

* * * * *

In one of the Huron missions, an Indian named Joachim Annicouton,

converted after many years of evil courses and, later, of hypocritical

pretense of conversion, was murdered by three drunken savages of his

own tribe, but lived long enough to edify all around him by his pious

resignation, his admirable patience in the most cruel sufferings, and

his generous forgiveness of his enemies. Having given a touching

account of his death, the good Father Claude Dablon goes on to say:

"A very singular circumstance took place at his burial, which was

attended by all the families of the village, with many of the French

residents of the neighborhood. Before the body was laid in the earth,

the widow inquired if the authors of his death were present; being told

that they were not, she begged that they might be sent for. These poor

creatures having come, they drew near to the corpse, with downcast

eyes, sorrow and confusion in their faces. The widow, looking upon

them, said: 'Well! behold poor Joachim Annicouton, you know what

brought him to the state in which you now see him; I ask of you no

other satisfaction but that you pray to God for the repose of his

soul.' ..."

* * * * *

"It is customary amongst the Indians to give all the goods of the dead

to their relatives and friends, to mourn their death; but the husband

of Catherine, in his quality of first captain, assembled the Council of

the Ancients, and told them that they must no longer keep to their

former customs, which profited nothing to the dead; that, as for him,

his thought was to dress up the body of the deceased in her best

garments, as she might rise some day,--and to employ the rest of what

belonged to her in giving alms to the poor. This thought was approved

of by all, and it became a law which was ever after strictly observed.

"The body of his wife was then arrayed in her best clothes, and he

distributed amongst the poor all that remained of her little furniture,

charging them to pray for the dead. The whole might have amounted to

three hundred francs, which is a great deal for an Indian."--

_Rélations_, 1673-4.

* * * * *

"They [1] have established amongst them a somewhat singular practice to

help the souls in Purgatory. Besides the offerings they make for that

to the Church, and the alms they give to the poor,--besides the

devotion of the four Sundays of the month, to which is attached an

indulgence for the souls in Purgatory, so great that these days are

like Easter; as soon as any one is dead, his or her nearest relations

make a spiritual collection of communions in every family, begging them

to offer all they can for the repose, of the dead."--_Rélations_,

1677-8.

[Footnote 1: The Hurons of Loretto, near Quebec.]

SUPERSTITIOUS BELIEF AMONGST SOME OF THE NORTH AMERICAN INDIANS.

CABRAL.

When they are asked what they think of the soul, they answer that it is

the shadow "or living image" of the body; and it is as a consequence of

this principle that they believe all animated in the universe. It is by

tradition that they suppose the soul immortal. They pretend that,

separated from the body, it retains the inclinations it had during

life; and hence comes the custom of burying with the dead all that had

served to satisfy their wants or their tastes. They are even persuaded

that the soul remains a long time near the body after their separation,

and that it afterwards passes on into a country which they know not,

or, as some will have it, transformed into a turtle. Others give all

men two souls, one such as we have mentioned, the other which never

leaves the body, and goes from one but to pass into another.

For this reason it is that they bury children on the roadside, so that

women passing by may pick up these second souls, which, not having long

enjoyed life, are more eager to begin it anew. They must also be fed;

and for that purpose it is that divers sorts of food are placed on the

graves, but that is only done for a little while, as it is supposed

that in time the souls get accustomed to fasting. The difficulty they

find in supporting the living makes them forget the care for the

nourishment of the dead. It is also customary to bury with them all

that had belonged to them, presents being even added thereto; hence it

is a grievous scandal amongst all those nations when they see Europeans

open graves to take out the beaver robes they have placed therein. The

burial-grounds are places so respected that their profanation is

accounted the most atrocious outrage that can be offered to an Indian

village.

Is there not in all this a semblance of belief in our doctrine of

Purgatory?

REMEMBRANCE OF THE DEAD AMONGST THE EGYPTIANS.

In Egypt, as all over the East, the lives of women amongst the

wealthier classes are for the most part spent within the privacy of

their homes, as it were in close confinement: they are born, live, and

die in the bosom of that impenetrable sanctuary. It is only on Thursday

that they go forth, with their slaves carrying refreshments and

followed by hired weepers. It is a sacred duty that calls them to the

public cemetery. There they have funeral hymns chanted, their own

plaintive cries mingling with the sorrowful lamentations of the

mourners. They shed tears and flowers on the graves of their kindred,

which they afterwards cover with the meats brought by their servants,

and all the crowd, after inviting the souls of the dead, partake of a

religious repast, in the persuasion that those beloved shades taste of

the same food and are present at the sympathetic banquet. Is there not

in this superstition a distorted tradition of the dogma by which we are

commanded not to forget the souls of our brethren beyond the grave?--

_Annals of the Propagation of the Faith_, Vol. XVII.

REMEMBRANCE OF THE DEAD THROUGHOUT EUROPE.

PART I.

ANNA T. SADLIER.

"Hark! the whirlwind is in the wood, a low murmur in the vale; it is

the mighty army of the dead returning from the air." These beautiful

words occur in one of the ancient Celtic poems quoted by Macpherson and

dating some thousand years later than Ossian. For the Celts held to the

doctrine of the immortality of souls, and believed that their ethereal

substance was wafted from place to place by the wind on the clouds of

heaven. Amongst the Highlanders a belief prevailed that there were

certain hills to which the spirits of their departed friends had a

peculiar attachment. Thus the hill of Ore was regarded by the house of

Crubin as their place of meeting in the future life, and its summit was

supposed to be supernaturally illumined when any member of the family

died. It was likewise a popular belief that the spirits of the departed

haunted places beloved in life, hovered about their friends, and

appeared at times on the occasion of any important family event. In the

calm of a new existence,

"Side by side they sit who once mixed in battle their steel."

There is a poetic beauty in many of these ancient beliefs concerning

the dead, but they are far surpassed in grandeur and sublimity, as well

as in deep tenderness, by the Christian conception of a state of

purgation after death, when the souls of the departed are still bound

to, their dear ones upon earth by a strong spiritual bond of mutual

help. They dwell, then, in an abode of peace, although of intense

suffering, and calmly await the eternal decree which summons them to

heaven; while the time of their probation is shortened day by day,

month by month, year by year by the Masses, prayers, alms-deeds and

other suffrages of their friends who are still dwellers on earth,

living the old life; and in its rush of cares and duties, of pleasures

and of pains, forgetting them too often in all save prayer. That is the

reminder. The dead who have died in the bosom of the Holy Church can

never be quite forgotten. "The mighty army of the dead returning from

the air" might in our Catholic conception be that host of delivered

souls who, after the Feast of All Souls, or some such season of special

prayer for them, are arising upwards into everlasting bliss. But it is

our purpose in the present chapters to gather up from the byways of

history occasions when the belief in prayer for the dead is made

manifest, whether it be in some noted individual, in a people, or in a

country. It is "the low murmur of the vale" going up constantly from

all peoples, from all times, under all conditions.

In Russia not only is prayer for the dead most sedulously observed by

the Catholic Church, but also in a most particular manner by the

Schismatic Greeks. The following details under this head will be, no

doubt, of interest to our readers:

"As soon as the spirit has departed, the body is dressed and placed in

an open coffin in a room decorated for the purpose. Numerous lights are

kept burning day and night; and while the relations take turns to watch

and pray by the coffin, the friends come to pay the last visit to the

deceased.... On the decease of extraordinary persons, the Emperor and

his successor are accustomed to visit the corpse, while the poor, on

the other hand, never fail to lament at the door the loss of their

benefactor, and to be dismissed with handsome donations. Total

strangers, too, come of their own accord to offer a prayer for the

deceased; for the image of a saint hung up before the door indicates to

every passenger the house of mourning.... The time of showing the

corpse lasts in general only three or four days, and then follow the

blessing of the deceased, and the granting of the pass. The latter is

to be taken literally. The corpse is carried to the Church, and the

priest lays upon the breast a long paper, which the common people call

'a pass for heaven.' On this paper is written the Christian name of the

deceased, the date of his birth and that of his death. It then states

that he was baptized as a Christian, that he lived as such, and before

his death, received the Sacrament--in short, the whole course of life

which he led as a Greek Russian Christian.... All who meet a funeral

take off their hats, and offer a prayer to Heaven for the deceased, and

such is the outward respect paid on such occasions, that it is not

until they have entirely lost sight of the procession that they put on

their hats again. This honor is paid to every corpse, whether of the

Russian, Protestant, or Catholic Communions.... After the corpse is

duly prepared, the priests sing a funeral Mass, called in Russian

clerical language, _panichide_.... On the anniversary of the death

of a beloved relative, they assemble in the Church, and have a

_panichide_ read for his soul.... Persons of distinction found a

lamp to burn forever at the tombs of their dead, and have these

_panichides_ repeated every week, for, perhaps, a long series of

years. Lastly, every year, on a particular day, Easter Monday, a

service and a repast are held for all the dead."

The history of France, like that of all Catholic nations, abounds in

instances of public intercession for the dead, the pomp and splendor of

royal obsequies, the solemn utterances of public individuals; the

celebrations at Père la Chaise, the magnificent requiems. In a nation

so purely Catholic as it was and is, though the scum of evil men have

arisen like a foul miasma to its surface, it does not surprise us. We

shall therefore select from its history an incident or two, somewhat at

random. That beautiful one, far back at the era of the Crusades, where

St. Louis, King of France, absent in the East, received intelligence of

the death of Queen Blanche, his mother. The grief of the Papal Legate,

who had come to announce the news, was apparent in his face, and Louis,

fearing some new blow, led the prelate into his chapel, which,

according to an ancient chronicler, was "his arsenal against all the

crosses of the world." Louis, overcome with sorrow, quickly changed his

tears and lamentations into the language of resignation, and desiring

to be left alone with his confessor, Geoffrey de Beaulieu, recited the

office of the dead. "He was present every day at a funeral service

celebrated in memory of his mother; and sent into the West a great

number of jewels and precious stones to be distributed among the

principal churches of France; at the same time exhorting the clergy to

put up prayers for the repose of his mother. In proportion with his

endeavors," continues the historian, "to procure prayers for his

mother, his grief yielded to the hope of seeing her again in heaven;

and his mind, when calmed by resignation, found its most effectual

consolation in that mysterious tie which still unites us with those we

have lost, in that religious sentiment which mingles with our

affections to purify them, and with our regrets to mitigate them." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Michaud's Hist. of the Crusades," Vol. II., pp. 477-8.]

In the Instructions which St. Louis addressed on his death-bed to his

son, Philip the Bold, is to be found the following paragraph:

"Dear Son, I pray thee, if it shall please our Lord that I should quit

this life before thee, that thou wilt help me with Masses and prayers,

and that thou wilt send to the congregations of the kingdom of France,

to make them put up prayers for my soul, and that thou wilt desire that

our Lord may give me part in all the good deeds thou shalt perform."

[1]

[Footnote 1: These instructions were preserved in a register of the

Chamber of Accounts. See Appendix to "Michaud's History of Crusades,"

Vol. II., p. 471.]

Philip, on the death of his father, in a letter which was read aloud in

all the churches, begs of the clergy and faithful, "to put up to the

King of kings their prayers and their offerings for that prince; with

whose zeal for religion and tender solicitude for the kingdom of

France, which he loved as the apple of his eye, they were so well

acquainted." In the Chronicles of Froissart, as well as in the Grande

Chronique of St. Denis, we read that the body of King John, who died a

prisoner in England, was brought home with great pomp and circumstance,

on the first day of May, 1364. It was at first placed in the Abbey of

St. Anthony, thence removed to Notre Dame, and finally to St. Denis,

the resting-place of royalty, where solemn Mass was said. On the day of

his interment, the Archbishop of Sens sang the requiem. Thus did Holy

Mother Church welcome the exile home.

A pretty anecdote is that of Marie Lecsinska, Queen of Louis XV., who,

on hearing of the death of Marshal Saxe, a Lutheran by profession, and

but an indifferent observer of the maxims of any creed, cried out:

"Alas! what a pity that we cannot sing a _De Profundis_ for a man

who has made us sing so many _Te Deums_."

We cannot take our leave of France, without noticing here the beautiful

prayer offered up by the saintly Princess Louise de Bourbon Condé, in

religion _Sœur Marie Joseph de la Miséricorde_, on hearing of the

death of her nephew, the Duc d'Enghien, so cruelly put to death by the

first Napoleon. Falling, face downwards, on the earth, she prayed:

"Mercy, my God, have mercy upon him! Have mercy, Lord, on the soul of

Louis Antoine! Pardon the faults of his youth, remembering the precious

Blood, which Jesus Christ shed for all men, and have regard to the

cruel manner in which his blood was shed. Glory and misfortune have

attended his life. But what we call glory, has it any claims in Thy

eyes? However, Lord, it is not a demerit before Thee, when it is based

on true honor, which is always inseparable from devotion to our duties.

Thou knowest, Lord, those that he has fulfilled, and for those in which

he has failed, let the misfortunes of which he has been at last the

victim, be a repararation and an expiation. Again, Lord, I ask for

mercy for his soul." On the death of Napoleon, the murderer of this

beloved nephew, the same holy religious wrote to the Bishop of St.

Flour: "Bonaparte is dead; he was your enemy, for he persecuted you. I

think you will say a Mass for him; I beg also that you say a Mass on my

behalf for this unfortunate man."

Turning to the History of Rome, it will be of interest to take a glance

at the pious Confraternity _della Morte_ which was instituted in

1551, and regularly established in 1560, by His Holiness, Pius IV. It

was chiefly composed of citizens of high rank. Its object was to

provide burial for the dead. Solemnly broke upon the balmy stillness of

the Roman nights, all these years and centuries since its foundation,

its chanting of holy psalmody, and its audible praying for the dead,

borne along in its religious keeping. The glare of the waxen torches

fell upon the bier, the voices of the associates joined in the

_Miserere,_ and the Church reached, the corpse was laid there,

till the fitting hour, when the Requiem Mass should be sung, and the

final absolution given, preparatory to interment.

Florence supplies us with a brilliant picture of that sixth day of

July, 1439, the feast of Saint Romolo the Martyr, in the ninth year of

the Pontificate of Pope Eugenius IV., when long-standing differences

between the Greek and Latin Churches were brought to an end in a most

amicable manner. Alas! for the Greeks, that they did not accept the

decisions of that day as final. On the 22d of January, 1439, Cosmo de

Medici, then Gonfaloniere of Florence, received the Pope and his

cardinals, with a pomp and splendor unknown to the history of modern

Europe. On the 12th of the following month came the Patriarch, Joseph

of Constantinople, and his bishops and theologians. On the 15th arrived

the Greek Emperor, John Paleologus, who was received at the Porto San

Gallo by the Pope and all his cardinals, the Florentine Signory, and a

long procession of the members of the monastic orders. "A rare and very

remarkable assemblage," says a chronicler [1] "of the most learned men

of Europe, and, indeed, of those extra European seats of a past

culture, which were even now giving forth the last flashes from a once

brilliant light on the point of being quenched in utter darkness, were

thus assembled at Florence."

[Footnote 1: T. A. Trollope, in "History of the Commonwealth of

Florence," Vol. III., pp. 137-8.]

This was the inauguration of the far-famed Council of Florence, which

had the result of settling the points at issue between the Eastern and

Western Churches. "The Greeks confessed that the Roman faith proceeded

rightly (_prociedere bene_), and united themselves with it by the

grace of God." Proclamation was accordingly made in the Cathedral, then

called Santa Reparata, that the Greeks had agreed to hold and to

believe the five disputed articles of which the fifth was, "That he who

dies in sin for which penance has been done, but from which he has not

been purged, goes to Purgatory, and that the divine offices, Masses,

prayers, and alms are useful for the purging of him."

In the history of Ireland, as might be expected, we come upon many

instances wherein the dead are solemnly remembered from that period,

when still pagan, and one of the ancient manuscripts gives us an

account of certain races, it calls them, which were held for "the souls

of the foreigners slain in battle." This was back in the night of

antiquity, and was no doubt some relic of the Christian tradition which

had remained amid the darkness of paganism. But to come to the

Christian period. The famous Hugues de Lasci, or Hugo de Lacy, Lord of

Meath, and one of the most distinguished men in early Irish annals,

founded many abbeys and priories, one at Colpe, near the mouth of the

Boyne, one at Duleek, one at Dublin, and one at Kells. The Canons of

St. Augustine, as we read, "in return for this gift, covenanted that

one of them should be constantly retained as a chaplain to celebrate

Mass for his soul and for those of his ancestors and successors." We

also read how Marguerite, wife of Gualtier de Lasci, brother of the

above, gave a large tract in the royal forest of Acornebury, in

Herefordshire, for the erection of a nunnery for the benefit of the

souls of her parents, Guillaume and Mathilda de Braose, who with their

son, her brother, had been famished in the dungeon at Windsor. In the

account of the death in Spain of Red Hugh O'Donnell, who holds a high

place among the chivalry of Ireland, it is mentioned that on his death-

bed, "after lamenting his crimes and transgressions; after a rigid

penance for his sins and iniquities; after making his confession

without reserve to his confessors, and receiving the body and blood of

Christ; after being duly anointed by the hands of his own confessors

and ecclesiastical attendants," he expired after seventeen days'

illness at the king's palace in Simancas. "His body," says the ancient

chronicler, "was conveyed to the king's palace at Valladolid in a four-

wheeled hearse, surrounded by countless numbers of the king's State

officers, council and guards, with luminous torches and bright

flambeaux of wax lights burning on either side. He was afterwards

interred in the monastery of St. Francis, in the Chapter, precisely,

with veneration and honor, and in the most solemn manner that any of

the Gaels had been ever interred in before. Masses and many hymns,

chants and melodious canticles were celebrated for the welfare of his

soul; and his requiem was sung with becoming solemnity."

On the death of the celebrated Brian Boroihme, historians relate how

his body was conveyed by the clergy to the Abbey of Swords, whence it

was brought by other portions of the clergy and taken successively to

two monasteries. It was then met by the Archbishop of Armagh, at the

head of his priesthood, and conveyed to Armagh, where the obsequies

were celebrated with a pomp and a fervor worthy the greatness and the

piety of the deceased monarch.

In view of the arguments which are sometimes adduced to prove that the

early Irish Church did not teach this doctrine of prayer for the dead,

it is curious to observe how in St. Patrick's second Council he

expressly forbids the holy sacrifice being offered up after death for

those who in life had made themselves unworthy of such suffrages. At

the Synod of Cashel, held just after the Norman conquest, the claim of

each dead man's soul to a certain part of his chattels after death was

asserted. To steal a page from the time-worn chronicles of Scotland, it

is told by Theodoric that when Queen Margaret of Scotland, that gentle

and noble character upon whom the Church has placed the crown of

canonization, was dying, she said to him: "Two things I have to desire

of thee;" and one of these was thus worded, "that as long as thou

livest thou wilt remember my poor soul in thy Masses and prayers." It

had been her custom in life to recite the office of the dead every day

during Lent and Advent. Sir Walter Scott mentions in his Minstrelsy of

the Scottish Border "a curious league or treaty of peace between two

hostile clans, by which the heads of each became bound to make the four

pilgrimages of Scotland for the benefit of those souls who had fallen

in the feud." In the Bond of Alliance or Field Staunching Betwixt the

Clans of Scott and Ker this agreement is thus worded: "That it is

appointed, agreed and finally accorded betwixt honorable men," the

names are here mentioned, "Walter Ker of Cessford, Andrew Ker of

Fairnieherst," etc., etc., "for themselves, kin, friends, maintenants,

assisters, allies, adherents, and partakers, on the one part; and

Walter Scott of Branxholm," etc., etc., etc. For the staunching of all

discord and variance between them and so on, amongst other provisions,

that "the said Walter Scott of Branxholm shall gang, or cause gang, at

the will of the party, to the four head pilgrimages of Scotland, and

shall say a Mass for the unquhile Andrew Ker of Cessford and them that

were slain in his company in the field of Melrose; and, upon his

expence, shall cause a chaplain to say a Mass daily, when he is

disposed, in what place the said Walter Ker and his friend pleases, for

the weil of the said souls, for the space of five years next to come.

Mark Ker of Dolphinston, Andrew Ker of Graden, shall gang at the will

of the party to the four head pilgrimages of Scotland, and shall gar

say a Mass for the souls of the unquhile James Scott of Eskirk and

other Scots, their friends, slain in the field of Melrose; and, upon

their expence, shall gar a chaplain say a Mass daily, when he is

disposed, for the heal of their souls, where the said Walter Scott and

his friend pleases, for the space of the next three years to come." We

may mention that the four pilgrimages are Scoon, Dundee, Paisley, and

Melrose. This devotion of praying for the dead seems, indeed, to have

taken strong hold upon these rude borderers, who, Sir Walter Scott

informs us, "remained attached to the Roman Catholic faith rather

longer than the rest of Scotland." In many of their ancient ballads, at

some of which we have already glanced, this belief is prominent. The

dying man, or as in the case of Clerk Saunders, the ghost begs of his

survivors to "wish my soul good rest." This belief is intermingled with

their superstitions as in that one attached to Macduff's Cross. This

cross is situated near Lindores, on the marsh dividing Fife from

Strathern. Around the pedestal of this cross are tumuli, said to be the

graves of those who, having claimed the privilege of the law, failed in

proving their consanguinity to the Thane of Fife. Such persons were

instantly executed. The people of Newburgh believe that the spectres of

these criminals still haunt the ruined cross, and claim that mercy for

their souls which they had failed to obtain for their mortal existence.

Thus does the historian [1] mention the burial of St. Ninian, one of

the favorite Saints of the Scots: "He was buried in the Church of St.

Martin, which he had himself built from the foundation, and placed in a

stone coffin near the altar, the clergy and people standing by and

lifting up their heavenly hymns with heart and voice, with sighs and

tears."

[Footnote 1: Walsh's Hist, of the Cath. Church in Scotland.]

In the treasurer's books which relate to the reign of James IV. of

Scotland, there is the following entry for April, 1503: "The king went

again to Whethorn." (A place of pilgrimage.) "While there he heard of

the death of his brother, John, Earl of Mar, and charged the priests to

perform a 'dirge and soul Mass' for his brother, and paid them for

their pains."

In Montalembert's beautiful description of Iona, he mentions the

tradition which declares that eight Norwegian kings or princes, four

kings of Ireland, and forty-eight Scottish kings were buried there, as

also one king of France, whose name is not mentioned, and Egfrid, the

Saxon King of Northumbria. There is the tomb of Robert Bruce, the tombs

of many bishops, abbots, and of the great chiefs and nobles, the

Macdougalls, Lords of Lorn; the Macdonalds, Lords of the Isles; the

Macleods, and the Macleans. Nowhere, perhaps, has death placed his seal

on a more imposing assemblage, of truly royal stateliness, of

astonishingly cosmopolitan variety. In the midst of it all, in the very

centre of the burying-ground, stands a ruined chapel, under the

invocation of St. Oran, the first Irish monk who died in this region.

The church was built by the sainted Margaret, the wife of Malcolm

Canmore, and the mother of St. David. Its mission there was obvious.

From its altar arose to the Most High, the solemn celebration of the

dread mysteries, the psalm and the prayer, for prince and for prelate,

for the great alike in the spiritual and temporal hierarchy.

The Duke of Argyle, in his work on Iona, seems astonished to find that

St. Columba believed in all the principal truths of Catholic faith,

amongst others, prayers for the dead, and yet he considers that he

could not be called a Catholic. The process of reasoning is a curious

one.

Mention is made in the history of Scotland of a famous bell, preserved

at Glasgow until the Reformation. It was supposed to have been brought

from Rome by St. Kentigern, and was popularly called "St. Mungo's

Bell." It was tolled through the city to invite the citizens to pray

for the repose of departed souls.

In the great cathedrals of Scotland, before the Reformation, private

chapels and altars were endowed for the relief of the dead, while in

the cities and large towns, each trade or corporation had an altar in

the principal churches and supported a chaplain to offer up Masses and

prayers as well for the dead as for the living. The following incident

is related in the life of the lovely and so sadly maligned Mary Queen

of Scots. In the early days of her reign, when still struggling with

the intolerant fury of Knox and his followers,--it was in the December

of 1561--Mary desired to have solemn Mass offered up for the repose of

the soul of her deceased husband, the youthful Francis. This so aroused

the fury of the fanatics about her, that they threatened to take the

life of the priests who had officiated. "Immediately after the Requiem

was over, she caused a proclamation to be made by a Herald at the

Market Cross, that no man on pain of his life should do any injury, or

give offense or trouble to her chaplains."

The poet Campbell in his dirge for Wallace, makes the Lady of

Elderslie, the hero's wife, cry out in the first intensity of her

sorrow;

"Now sing you the death-song and loudly pray

For the soul of my knight 'so dear.'"

We shall now leave the wild poetic region of Scotland, and with it

conclude Part First, taking up again in Part Second the thread of our

narrative, which will wind in and out through various countries of

Europe, ending at last with a glance at our own America.

REMEMBRANCE OF THE DEAD THROUGHOUT EUROPE.

PART II.

In Austria we find an example of devotion to the dead, in the saintly

Empress Eleanor, who, after the death of her husband, the Emperor

Leopold, in 1705, was wont to pray two hours every day for the eternal

repose of his soul. Not less touching is an account given by a

Protestant traveller of an humble pair, whom he encountered at Prague

during his wanderings there. They were father and daughter, and

attached, the one as bell-ringer, the other as laundress, to the Church

on the Visschrad. He found them in their little dwelling. It was on the

festival of St. Anne, when all Prague was making merry. The girl said

to him: "Father and I were just sitting together, and this being St.

Anne's Day, we were thinking of my mother, whose name was also Anne."

The father then said, addressing his daughter: "Thou shalt go down to

St. Jacob's to-morrow, and have a Mass read for thy mother, Anne." For

the mother who had been long years slumbering in the little cemetery

hard by. There is, something touching to me in this little incident,

for it tells how the pious memory of the beloved dead dwelt in these

simple hearts, dwells in the hearts of the people everywhere, as in

that of the pious empress, whose inconsolable sorrow found vent in long

hours of prayer for the departed.

In the will of Christopher Columbus there is special mention made of

the church which he desired should be erected at Concepcion, one of his

favorite places in the New World, so named by himself. In this church

he arranged that three Masses should be celebrated daily--the first in

honor of the Blessed Trinity; the second, in honor of the Immaculate

Conception; and the third for the faithful departed. This will was made

in May, 1506. The body of the great discoverer was laid in the earth,

to the lasting shame of the Spaniards, with but little other

remembrance than that which the Church gives to the meanest of her

children. The Franciscans, his first friends, as now his last,

accompanied his remains to the Cathedral Church of Valladolid, where a

Requiem Mass was sung, and his body laid in the vault of the

Observantines with but little pomp. Later on, however, the king, in

remorse for past neglect, or from whatever cause, had the body taken up

and transported with great pomp to Seville. There a Mass was sung, and

a solemn funeral service took place at the cathedral, whence the corpse

of the Admiral was conveyed beyond the Guadalquivir to St. Mary of the

Grottoes (Santa Maria de las Grutas). But the remains of this most

wonderful of men were snatched from the silence of the Carthusian

cloister some ten years later, and taken thence to Castile, thence

again to San Domingo, where they were laid in the sanctuary of the

cathedral to the right of the main altar. Again they were disturbed and

taken on board the brigantine Discovery to the Island of Cuba, where

solemnly, once more, the Requiem for the Dead swelled out, filling with

awe the immense assembly, comprising, as we are told, all the civil and

military notables of the island.

In the annals of the Knight Hospitallers of St. John, it is recorded

that after a great and providential victory won by them over the Moslem

foe, and by the fruits of which Rhodes was saved from falling into the

hands of the enemy, the Grand Master D'Aubusson proceeded to the Church

of St. John to return thanks. And that he also caused the erection of

three churches in honor of Our Blessed Lady, and the Patron Saints of

the city. These three churches were endowed for prayers and Masses to

be offered in perpetuity for the souls of those who had fallen in

battle. This D'Aubusson was in all respects one of the most splendid

knights that Christendom has produced. A model of Christian knighthood,

he is unquestionably one of the greatest of the renowned Grand Masters

of St. John. There is a touching incident told in these same annals of

two knights, the Chevalier de Servieux, counted the most accomplished

gentleman of his day, and La Roche Pichelle. Both of them were not only

the flower of Christian knighthood, but model religious as well. They

died of wounds received in a sea fight off Saragossa in 1630, and on

their death-beds lay side by side in the same room, consoling and

exhorting each other, it being arranged between them, that whoever

survived the longest should offer all his pains for the relief of his

companion's soul.

We have now reached a part of our work, upon which we shall have

occasion to dwell at some length, and notwithstanding the fact that it

has already formed the subject of two preceding articles. It is that

which relates to England, and which is doubly interesting to Catholics,

as being the early record of what is now the chief Protestant nation of

Europe. To go back to those Anglo-Saxon days, which might be called in

some measure the golden age of Catholic faith in England, we shall see

what was the custom which prevailed at the moment of dissolution. In

the regulations which follow there is not question of a monarch nor a

public individual, nor of priest nor prelate, but simply of an ordinary

Christian just dead. "The moment he expired the bell was tolled. Its

solemn voice announced to the neighborhood that a Christian brother was

departed, and called on those who heard it to recommend his soul to the

mercy of his Creator. All were expected to join, privately, at least,

in this charitable office; and in monasteries, even if it were in the

dead of night, the inmates hastened from their beds to the church, and

sang a solemn dirge. The only persons excluded from the benefit of

these prayers were those who died avowedly in despair, or under the

sentence of excommunication.

"... Till the hour of burial, which was often delayed for some days to

allow time for the arrival of strangers from a distance, small parties

of monks or clergymen attended in rotation, either watching in silent

prayer by the corpse or chanting with subdued voice the funeral

service.... When the necessary preparations were completed, the body of

the deceased was placed on a bier or in a hearse. On it lay the book of

the Gospels, the code of his belief, and the cross, the emblem of his

hope. A pall of linen or silk was thrown over it till it reached the

place of interment. The friends were invited, strangers often deemed it

a duty to attend. The clergy walked in procession before, or divided

into two bodies, one on each side, singing a portion of the psalter and

generally bearing lights in their hands. As soon as they entered the

church the service for the dead was performed; a Mass of requiem

followed; the body was deposited in the grave, the sawlshot paid, and a

liberal donation distributed to the poor." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Lingard's Antiquities of the Anglo Saxon Church," Vol.

II, pp. 46-47.]

In the northern portico of the Cathedral of Canterbury was erected an

altar in honor of St. Gregory, where a Mass was offered every Saturday

for the souls of departed archbishops. We read that Oidilwald, King of

the Deiri, and son of King Oswald, founded a monastery that it might be

the place of his sepulture, because "he was confident of deriving great

benefit from the prayers of those who should serve the Lord in that

house." Dunwald the Thane, on his departure for Rome to carry thither

the alms of his dead master, King Ethelwald, A.D. 762, bequeathed a

dwelling in the market in Queengate to the Church of SS. Peter and Paul

for the benefit of the king's soul and his own soul.

As far back as the days of the good King Arthur, whose existence has

been so enshrouded in fable that many have come to believe him a myth,

we read that Queen Guenever II., of unhappy memory, having spent her

last years in repentance, was buried in Ambreabury, Wiltshire. The

place of her interment was a monastery erected by Aurelius Ambrose, the

uncle of King Arthur, "for the maintenance of three hundred monks to

pray for the souls of the British noblemen slain by Hengist." Upon her

tomb was inscribed, "in rude letters of massy gold," to quote the

ancient chronicler, the initials R. G. and the date 600 A.D.

In the Saxon annals Enfleda, the wife of Oswy, King of Northumbria,

plays a conspicuous part. Soon after her marriage, Oswin, her husband's

brother, consequently her cousin and brother-in-law, was slain. The

queen caused a monastery to be erected on the spot where he fell as a

reparation for her husband's fratricide, and as a propitiation for the

soul of the departed. This circumstance is alluded to by more than one

English poet, as also the monastery which Enfleda, for the same

purpose, caused to be erected at Tynemouth. Thus Harding:

"Queen Enfled, that was King Oswy's wife,

King Edwin, his daughter, full of goodnesse,

For Oswyn's soule a minster, in her life,

Made at Tynemouth, and for Oswy causeless

That hym so bee slaine and killed helpeless;

For she was kin to Oswy and Oswin,

As Bede in chronicle dooeth determyn."

The most eminent Catholic poet of our own day, Sir Aubrey de Vere, in

his Saxon legends, likewise refers to it. He describes first what

"Gentlest form kneels on the rain-washed ground,

From Giling's Keep a stone's throw. Whose those hands

Now pressed in anguish on a bursting heart.

... What purest mouth

"Presses a new-made grave, and through the blades

Of grass wind shaken, breathes her piteous prayer?

... Oswin's grave it is,

And she that o'er it kneels is Eanfleda,

Kinswoman of the noble dead, and wife

To Oswin's murderer--Oswy."

Again, describing the repentance of Oswy:

"One Winter night

From distant chase belated he returned,

And passed by Oswin's grave. The snow, new fallen,

Whitened the precinct. In the blast she knelt,

She heard him not draw nigh. She only beat

Her breast, and, praying, wept. Our sin! our sin!

"So came to him those words. They dragged him down:

He knelt beside his wife, and beat his breast,

And said, 'My sin! my sin!' Till earliest morn

Glimmered through sleet that twain wept on, prayed on:--

Was it the rising sun that lit at last

The fair face upward lifted?

....... Aloud she cried,

'Our prayer is heard: our penitence finds grace.'

Then added: 'Let it deepen till we die.

A monastery build we on this grave:

So from this grave, while fleet the years, that prayer

Shall rise both day and night, till Christ returns

To judge the world,--a prayer for him who died;

A prayer for one who sinned, but sins no more!'"

In the grant preserved in the Bodleian Collection, wherein Editha the

Good, the widow of Edward the Confessor, confers certain lands upon the

Church of St. Mary at Sarum, occurs the following:

"I, Editha, relict of King Edward, give to the support of the Canons of

St. Mary's Church, in Sarum, the lands of Secorstan, in Wiltshire, and

those of Forinanburn, to the Monastery of Wherwell, for the support of

the nuns serving God there, with the rights thereto belonging, for the

soul of King Edward." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Phillips' Account of Old Sarum."]

This queen was buried in Westminster Abbey, her remains being removed

from the north to the south side of St. Edward's shrine, on the

rebuilding of that edifice, and it is recorded that Henry III. ordered

a lamp to be kept burning perpetually at the tomb of Editha the Good.

It is related of the celebrated Lady Godiva of Coventry, the wife of

the wealthy and powerful Leofric, that on her death-bed she "bequeathed

a precious circlet of gems, which she wore round her neck, valued at

one hundred marks of silver (about two thousand pounds sterling) to the

Image of the Virgin in Coventry Abbey, praying that all who came

thither would say as many prayers as there were gems in it." [1]

[Footnote 1: Saxon Chronicle, Strickland's "Queens of England Before

the Conquest, etc."]

The following is an ancient verse, occurring in an old French treatise,

on the manner of behaving at table, wherein one is warned never to

arise from a meal without praying for the dead. This treatise was

translated by William Caxton.

"Priez Dieu pour les trepassés,

Et te souveigne en pitié

Qui de ce monde sont passez,

Ainsi que tu es obligez,

Priez Dieu pour les trepassés!"

[We subjoin a rough translation of the verse.

To God, for the departed, pray

And of those in pity think

Who have passed from this world away,

As, indeed, thou art bound to do,

To God, for the departed pray.]

Speaking of his early education, Caxton says:

"Whereof I humbly and heartily thank God, and am bounden to pray for my

father and mother's souls, who in my youth set me to school." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Christian Schools and Scholars."]

In 1067, William the Conqueror founded what was known as Battle Abbey,

which he gave to the Benedictine Monks, that they might pray for the

souls of those who fell in the Battle of Hastings. Speaking of William

the. Conqueror, it is not out of place to quote here these lines from

the pen of Mrs. Hemans:

"Lowly upon his bier

The royal Conqueror lay,

Baron and chief stood near,

Silent in war's array.

Down the long minster's aisle

Crowds mutely gazing stream'd,

Altar and tomb the while

Through mists of incense gleamed.

"They lowered him with the sound

Of requiems to repose."

These stanzas on the Burial of William the Conqueror lead us naturally

to others from the pen of the same gifted authoress on "Coeur de Lion

at the Bier of his Father."

"Torches were blazing clear,

Hymns pealing deep and slow,

Where a king lay stately on his bier,

In the Church of Fontevraud.

* * * * *

"The marble floor was swept

By many a long dark stole

As the kneeling priests, round him that slept,

Sang mass for the parted soul.

And solemn were the strains they pour'd

Through the stillness of the night,

With the cross above, and the crown and sword,

And the silent king in sight."

We forgive the ignorance of the gentle poetess with regard to the Mass,

for the beauty and solemnity of the verse, which is quite in keeping

with the nature of the subject.

We read, again, of tapers being lit at the tomb of Henry V., the noble

and chivalrous Henry of Monmouth, for one hundred years after his

death. The Reformation extinguished that gentle flame with many another

holy fire, both in England and throughout Christendom.

We shall now pass on to another period--a far different and most

troublous one of English history, that of the Reformation.

In the Church of St. Lawrence at Iswich is an entry of an offering made

to "pray for the souls of Robert Wolsey and his wife Joan, the father

and mother of the Dean of Lincoln," thereafter to be Cardinal and

Chancellor of the Kingdom. An argument urged to show the Protestantism

of Collet, one of the ante-Reformation worthies, is that he "did not

make a Popish will, having left no monies for Masses for his soul;

which shows that he did not believe in Purgatory." The dying prayer of

Sir Thomas More concludes with these words: "Give me a longing to be

with Thee; not for avoiding the calamities of this wicked world, nor so

much the pains of Purgatory or of hell; nor so much for the attaining

of the choice of heaven, in respect of mine own commodity, as even for

a very love of Thee." The unfortunate Anne Boleyn, who during her

imprisonment had repented and received the last sacraments from the

hands of Father Thirlwall, begs on the scaffold that the people may

pray for her. In her address to her ladies before leaving the Tower,

she concludes it by begging them to forget her not after death. "In

your prayers to the Lord Jesus forget not to pray for my soul." In the

account of the death of another of King Henry's wives, the Lady Jane

Seymour, who died, as Miss Strickland says, after having all the rites

of the Catholic Church administered to her, we read that Sir Richard

Gresham thus writes to Lord Cromwell:

"I have caused twelve hundred Masses to be offered up for the soul of

our most gracious Queen.... I think it right that there should also be

a solemn dirge and high Mass, and that the mayor and aldermen should

pray and offer up divers prayers for Her Grace's soul."

Anne of Cleves some two years before her death likewise embraced the

Catholic faith. At her funeral Mass was sung by Bonner, Bishop of

London, and many monks and seculars attended her obsequies. The

infamous Thomas Cromwell, converted, as it seems evident from

contemporary witnesses, on his death-bed, left what might be called

truly a "Popish will." After bequeathing money or effects to various

relatives and friends, he speaks of charity "works for the health of my

soul." "I will," he says, "that my executors shall sell said farm

(Carberry), and the money thereof to be employed in deeds of charity,

to prayer for my soul and all Christian souls." Item. "I will mine

executors shall conduct and hire a priest, being an honest person of

continent and good living, to sing (pray) for my soul for the space of

seven years next after my death." Item. "I give and bequeath to every

one of the five orders of Friars within the Citie of London, to pray

for my soul, twenty shillings. ..." He further bequeaths £20 to be

distributed amongst "poor householders, to pray for his soul."

In this he closely resembled his royal master, Henry VIII., who

ordained that Masses should be said "for his soul's health while the

world shall endure." And after his death it was agreed that the

obsequies should be conducted according to the observance of the

Catholic Church. Church-bells tolled and Masses were celebrated daily

throughout London. In the Privy Chamber, where the corpse was laid,

"lights and Divine service were said about him, with Masses, obsequies,

etc." After the body was removed to the chapel it was kept there twelve

days, with "Masses and dirges sung and said everyday." Norroy, king at

arms, stood each day at the choir door, saying: "Of your charity pray

for the soul of the high and mighty prince, our late sovereign lord and

king, Henry VIII." When the body was lowered into the grave we read of

a _De Profundis_ being read over it. God grant it was not all a

solemn mockery, this praying for the soul of him who was styled "the

first Protestant King of England," and who by his crimes separated

England from the unity of Christendom! May these "Popish practices,"

which were amongst those he in his ordinances condemned, have availed

him in that life beyond the grave, whither he went to give an account

of his stewardship!

The Catholic Queen, Mary, after her accession to the throne, caused a

requiem Mass to be sung in Tower Chapel for her brother, Edward the

Sixth. Elizabeth, in her turn, had Mary buried with funeral hymn and

Mass, and caused a solemn dirge and Mass of Requiem to be chanted for

the soul of the Emperor Charles V.

With this period of spiritual anarchy and desolation we shall take our

leave of England, passing on to pause for an instant to observe the

peculiar _cultus_ of the dead in Corsica. It is represented by

some writers as being similar to that which prevailed amongst the

Romans. But as a traveller remarks, "it is a curious relic of paganism,

combined with Christian usages." Thus the dirge sung by women, their

wild lamenting, their impassioned apostrophizing of the dead, their

rhetorical declamation of his virtues, finds its analogy among many of

the customs of pagan nations, while the prayer for the dead, "the

relatives standing about the bed of death reciting the Rosary," the

Confraternity of the Brothers of the Dead coming to convey the corpse

to the church, where Mass is sung and the final absolution given, is

eminently Christian and Catholic. In the Norwegian annals we read how

Olaf the Saint, on the occasion of one of his battles, gave many marks

of silver for the souls of his enemies who should fall in battle.

A traveller in Mexico relates the following: "I remember to have seen,"

he says, "on the high altar of the dismantled church of Yanhuitlan a

skull as polished as ivory, which bore on the forehead the following

inscription in Spanish:

'Io soy Jesus Pedro Sandoval; un Ave Maria y un Padre Nuestro, por Dios,

hermanos!' [1]

[Footnote 1: Ferdinand Gregorovius, "Wanderings in Corsica," translated

by Alexander Muir.]

'I am Jesus Pedro Sandoval; a Hail Mary and an Our Father for the love

of God, my brother.'

"I cannot conceive," he continues, "anything more heart-rending than

the great silent orbs of this dead man staring me fixedly in the face,

whilst his head, bared by contact with the grave, sadly implored my

prayers." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Deux Ans au Mexique," Faucher de St. Maurice.]

It would be impossible to conclude our _olla podrida_, if I may

venture on the expression, of historical lore, relating to the dead,

without referring, however briefly, to the two great deaths, and

consequently the magnificent obsequies which have marked this very year

of 1885, in which we write. Those of Archbishop Bourget, of Montreal,

and of His Eminence, Cardinal McCloskey, of New York. They were both

expressions of national sorrow, and the homage paid by sorrowing

multitudes to true greatness. On the 10th of June, 1885, the venerable

Archbishop Bourget died at Sault-au-Recollet, and was brought on the

following morning to the Church of Notre Dame, Montreal. The days that

ensued were all days of Requiem. Psalms were sung, and the office of

the dead chanted by priests of all the religious orders in succession,

by the various choirs of the city, by the secular clergy, and by lay

societies. Archbishops and bishops sang high Mass with all the pomp of

our holy ritual, and the prayers of the poor for him who had been their

benefactor, mingled with those of the highest in the land, and followed

the beloved remains from the bed of death whence they were taken down

into the funeral vault. On the 10th of October, 1885, His Eminence the

Cardinal Archbishop of New York passed peacefully away, amidst the

grief of the whole community, both Protestant and Catholic. Again,

there was a very ovation of prayer. The obsequies were marked by a

splendor such as, according to a contemporary journal, had never before

attended any ecclesiastical demonstration on this side of the water.

The clergy, secular and religious, formed one vast assemblage, while

layman vied with layman in showing honor to the dead, and in praying

for the soul's repose. "All that man could do," says a prominent

Catholic journal, "to bring honor to his bier was done, and in honor

and remembrance his memory remains. All that Mother Church could offer

as suffrage for his soul has been offered."

That is wherein the real beauty of it all consists. Honor to the great

dead may, it is true, be the splendid expression of national sentiment.

But in the eyes of faith it is meaningless. Other great men, deservedly

honored by the nations, have passed away during this same year, but

where was the prayer, accompanying them to the judgment-seat, assisting

them in that other life, repairing their faults, purging away sins or

imperfections? The grandeur that attended Mgr. Bourget's burial and

Cardinal McCloskey's obsequies consisted chiefly in that vast symphony

of prayer, which arose so harmoniously, and during so many days, for

their soul's welfare.