The names of St. Catherine and St. Agnes, St. Lucy and St. Cecilia, are
familiar to us all; and to many of us, no doubt, their histories are
well known also. Young as they were, they despised alike the pleasures
and the flatteries of the world. They chose God alone as their portion
and inheritance; and He has highly exalted them, and placed their names
amongst those glorious martyrs whose memory is daily honored in the holy
Sacrifice of the Mass.
St. Dorothy was another of these virgin saints. She was born in the city
of Cæsarea, and was descended of a rich and noble family. While the last
of the ten terrible persecutions, which for three hundred years steeped
the Church in the blood of martyrs, was raging, Dorothy embraced the
faith of Christ, and, in consequence, was seized and carried before the
Roman Prefect of the city.
She was put to the most cruel tortures, and, at length, condemned to
death. When the executioners were preparing to behead her, the Prefect
said, "Now, at least, confess your folly, and pray to the immortal gods
for pardon."
"I pray," replied the martyr, "that the God of heaven and earth may
pardon and have mercy on you; and I will also pray when I reach the land
whither I am going."
"Of what land do you speak?" asked the judge, who, like most of the
pagans, had very little notion of another world.
"I speak of that land where Christ, the Son of God, dwells with his
saints," replied St. Dorothy. "_There_ is neither night nor sorrow;
_there_ is the river of life, and the brightness of eternal glory; and
_there_ is a paradise of all delight, and flowers that shall never
fade."
"I pray you, then," said a young man, named Theophilus, who was
listening to her words with pity mingled with wonder, "if these things
be so, to send me some of those flowers, when you shall have reached the
land you speak of."
Dorothy looked at him as he spoke; and then answered: "Theophilus, you
shall have the sign you ask for." There was no time for more; the
executioner placed her before the block, and, in another moment, with
one blow, he struck off the head of the holy martyr.
"Those were strange words," said Theophilus to one of his friends, as
they were about to leave the court; "but these Christians are not like
other people." "Their obstinacy is altogether surprising," rejoined his
friend; "death itself will never make them waver. But who is this,
Theophilus?" he continued, as a young boy came up to them, of such
singular beauty that the eyes of all were fixed upon him with wonder and
admiration. He seemed not more than ten years old; his golden hair fell
on his shoulders, and in his hand he bore four roses, two white and two
red, and of so brilliant a color and rich a fragrance that their like
had never before been seen. He held them out to Theophilus. "These
flowers are for you," said he; "will you not take them?" "And whence do
you bring them, my boy?" asked Theophilus. "From Dorothy," he replied,
"and they are the sign you even now asked for." "Roses, and in winter
time!" said Theophilus, as he took the flowers; "yea, and such roses as
never blossomed in any earthly garden. Prefect, your task is not yet
ended; your sword has slain one Christian, but it has made another; I,
too, profess the faith for which Dorothy died."
Within another hour, Theophilus was condemned to death by the enraged
Prefect; and on the spot where Dorothy had been beheaded, he too poured
forth his blood, and obtained the crown of martyrdom.
* * * * *
CÆSAREA (s[)e]s [.a] r[=e]' [.a]), an ancient city of Palestine. It
is celebrated as being the scene of many events recorded in the New
Testament.
Memory Gem:
Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave.
_A line from Lowell's "0de."_
[Illustration:]
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