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The morning star and Catholic messenger. (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, September 13, 1868, Morning, Image 1

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86086284/1868-09-13/ed-1/seq-1/

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.7r _AN D
rIetion one--wo. 14o Poyr atmt. ___ "HOW BEAUTIFUL ARE THE FEET-OF THEM THAT BRING GLAD TIDINGS OF GOOD THINGSI" TIma-roeur DaxserAnnm, inAvrmes.
VOLUME I. NEW ORLEANS, SUNDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 13, 1868, NUMBER 3s.
XORWIZe ItAN AND QATHOLInC mSrnaOu.
NEW ORLEANS. SUNDAY. SEPTEMBER i. iNeS.
TRUE TO THE END.
The bright summer sun was shining on
the soft green grass, gilding the trees and
making all nature rejoice, on it soft balmy
day in June, in a little quiet village not
many miles from Dublin. A small, neat
looking house stood back from the main
street, and was surrounded by a garden in
whichyat the moment our story opens, two
little children, a boy and' girl, were play
ing; while near them, reclining in a low
chair, and wrapped in shawls, although the
day was intensely hot, lay a pale delicate
looking young woman, with the expression
in her face of one who had patiently borne
long and wearing suffering.- -
Presently the garden-gate gave a click,
and a pleasant bright looking lady entered;
the children greeted her with a shout of
delight, and upen the appearance of certain
delicious-looking apples from her basket
retired to enjoy them, leaving the visitor
at liberty to approach the invalid.
"Always the same! " said the latter, as
she stretched out her hand to her friend,
and smiled` sweetly. "Always bringing
something with you, spoiling those children,
and spoiling me, dear Margaret."
Margaret Murphy's only answer .was a
warm kiss; then she said, looking anxiously
at her friend, "How are you to-day,
Ellen 1"
",,A little better, I think, dear; I had
some sleep last night, and my cough is not
so troublesome to-day. Well, dear, the
Dublin doctor did come yesterday after
all, though it was long past the hour he
'O, he really did; and what does he
say T
" He told me the truth, Margaret," said
Ellen gravely " I begged him to do so. I
told him I .did not fear death, save for
leaving my children alone in the world : but
that if it were God's will to take me, all I
asked was to have time to face-the truth,
and prepare as best I may for their future."
Margaret's eyes filled with tears. " Well,
Ellen and then "
" Ie examined me carefully, and then he
said that a few months was the utmost he
could promise me, and if any sudden
accident were to oceur, it might only be a
question of a few weeks."
Margaret hid her face in her hands.
" Margaret, dear, do not grieve; you know
h-o'f I long to go; it is only the thought of
my chidren that troubles me; but God will
take care of them. He is the Father of the
orphan; I rill trust Him about them; I
will not fear."
Margaret raised her head. "They will
be as my own," she said eagerly. " With
God's help, I will be a mother to them."
" I know you would, dearest; but is it
right to leave the burden upon you? Ought
I not rather to write to their father's
brother, and see whether he and his wife
would take them" -"
" Certainly not," said Margaret. "Don't
send them to strangers, even though they
are their flesh and blood. You know
nothing of Robert O'Donnell; and'we are
your cousins, Ellen; our mothers were
second cousins, and I am sure we have
been like sisters together, havent't we, all
our lives And if I had been the one to
go, and John also, we would have left our
Frank to you, and you would have cared
for him."
" Indeed and I would," said Ellen, fer
vently.
" Well then, if you are to have heaven
first, and leave earth to me, I will take
yours;" and Margaret tried to smile.
" And John ?" said Ellen.
" He is quite willing, and will do all he
can for them, especially for Willie."
Ellen clasped her bands together. "What
can I say to you, Margaret? You are doing
me a service for whieh-I have no words to
theank you. You know, you can guess, what
is in my heart. 0, how I will pray for you
and your husband Margaret! and a dead
mother's prayers must bring down bless
ings on you.
" Now say no more, Ellen, darling," an
swered Margaret, laying her hand on her
friend's lips for a moment. "Here comes
Frank, I declare! to fetch me, I suppose;
buthe will have a game with the children
first."
And the children rushed forward again
to greet a visitor of their own age-a bright
curly-headed boy of seven, whom they
immediately carried off to their side of the
garden. The two mothers gazed after the
group-with admiring eyes.
M" y Willie is so good, Margaret,, said
Ellen; " I do hope he will be a.ptiett."
" To be sure he will," replied Margaret;
" why the childtht market out for it, as it
were. You may almost see it written on
hik face; and I am sure Father Donovan
thinks so."
" Yes, I know he does, thank God!" said
Ellen; only yesterday he told me so again.
He says he [email protected] something remarkable,
so it is not all mother'spartiality, I suppose."
SWhIy, Frank is as different as possible."
said Margaret. " Dear good child he is, too,
but not like Willie. Willie's face, when Ihe
serves Mass, is.just like an angel's. Then,
I suppose little Nellie is to be a nun, for
twins always agree in everything, they say ;
and I am sure all the stories people tell
abonut twins are verified with those chil
dren-they are alike in everything, as well
as in face."
" I am not so certain about Nellie," said
her mother, smiling. " They are alike in
many things, but not in all; and she is
childish for her age, while Willie is far
older in mind than in years. It is so pretty
to see how he watches over her, and how
he takes care of mel He will give up his
play in a moment, and sit as quiet as a
little mouse, if he thinks I want to rest."
" I must be going now," said Margaret,
rising. "Come here, children," she called
out, " and bid me good-bye."
The three came running up, little :Nellie
with her brown curls blown and tossed by
the wind; Frank with his open happy face;
and Willie the very counterpart of his
sister, with the same soft brown eyes, the
same thick clustering hair, the same deli
cate features, but with an expression of
sweetness and inpocence on his face far
beyond that of the others-an expression
which, alas, sometimes fades away when
the bud grows into the flower, but which
in other cases is the outward token that
God has set His seal upon the soul, and
marked it as His very own for evermore.
CnAPTrER I.
A few months rapidly went by, and when
the first keen autumn winds came, with
rain and fogs and damp, the soul of Ellen
O'Donnell passed from earth. She was
buried in the quiet churchyard of the peace
ful village in which she had lived since her
husband's death. The little house passed
into other hands, and her twin children
found their refuge and home in the-house
of Margaret Murphy. Margaret's husband
was a country doctor, with a large but ill
paid praetice. They had, however, but
one child-the Frank whom we have al
ready noticed; and with care and economy
Margaret's home was a pretty and comfort
able one. The two orphans were not pen
niless; their father had succeeded in early
life to an impoverished and heavily mort
gaged estate. Finding it impossible to live
on it, he was. wise enough to sell it,
although he incurred the severe displeasure
of his brother and other relations by doing
so. With the small sum of money thus
realised he intended to make a freAh start
in life, but he was carried off fever before
he had time to carry out his intentions, and
he left a wife with twin babies to mourn his
lose. Ellen had contrived to live in retire
ment upon the small income he had left her.
It would now prevent the children from
being a burden on their adopted parents,
and when divided between them at their
coming of age, keep both of them from
actual poverty. The children had, ifitruth,
a happy home. Margaret's promise to
their dying mother was kept in letter
and in spirit. In due time Frank and
Willie went to sehoot, and little Ellen
became Margaret's' pet and companion.
You could hardly have toll they were not
mother and daughter; and Margaret cher
ished in her inmost heart-an ardent desire
that they would one day be sorin reality,
when Frank should have made his first
step in life, and be able to take a wife.
Judging by Frank's behavior when he
came home for the holidays, Margaret's
hopes would not be checked in that quarter:
he called Ellen his little wife, watched over
her and guarded her as if she were indeed
his special property. He was not without
rivals. When the college of St. Aloysius
opened its doors, and let its crowd of
young students pour home for the vacation,
three came back to the village where the
Murphys lived, and Richard Dunne, the
ecn of a well-to-do farmer' in the neigh
bourhood, entertained a strong admiration
for little Ellen, who year by year grew 'in
loveliness and grace. Richard was year
or two older than either Willie or ;Frank
a darkhandsome, but not very pleasant
looking boy. Neither did the three seem
to cotton together at school, nor were
the reports of the masters upon Richard
Dunne's behavior very satisfacttiy. Mar
garet did not like him, but she distrusted
her own feelings and her husband laughed
at her, and told her she wasioing the
jealousy for Frank before his e The
Dunnes, moreover, were patieos of Mr.
Murphy's. Mrs Dunne was a nervous
invalid, who often required his services,
and as she was one of the few exceptions
among his patients who paid their bills, it
would not do to withhold hospitality from
her son.
So matters went on. The children had
passed into girlhood and boyhood, and
Richard had still the tun of the house, till
Margaret had to take herself severely to
task for a feeling of pleasure which sprung
up in her heart when the young gentleman
came home in the middle of a school-term,
evidently in such disgrace that he could
not return. The matter was hushed up,
and Master Richard sent to be a clerk in a
banking-hoseo in Dublin, where one of his
uncles was a partner in the firm. Margaret
devoutly hopel he was out of Ellen's way,
and that some other face would put the
lair one of her adopted child out of his
head.
CHiAP'rVR Ir.
Years flew by, and-Ellen had grown up a
lovely, and pleasing woman, the joy of
Margaret's heart, the sunshine of her home.
Those who looked at her fair innocent face,
with her large liquid blue eyes, and listen
ed to her merry laugh, from which the ring
of childhood had not passed away, shud
dered at the thought of any great suffering
coming near her. They wished and prayed
that life might for her be robbed of its
sharpest thorns. Thus did Margaret-pray
with eager intensity, and she thought her
prayer was indeed answered, when, one
bright summer evening Ellen came to hide
her face in her liossom, and tell her she
was Frank's affianced wife.
"You will be poor, my darling," said
Margaret, trying to put the dark side before
her as a duty.
" O, auntie, darling" (for so the children
always called her), "what matters that?
you and uncle have never-been rich, and
yet you have been very happy. I would
rather be poor with Frank than 'a rich
duchess. We don't care about luxuries and
show; we shall have enough to live -on.
Won't Willie be pleased, auntie! I know
he has wished it all along; only fancy! "
anud Ellen broke into a merry laugh-" last
time he was at home he took me for a walk,
and warned me against Richard Dunne. I
could not help laughing, though Willie was
pale and grave; the idea of my pre
ferring that conceited, absurd Richard to
Frank, auntie!"
" You little know," said Margaret, " how
I have prayed you should not fancy
Richard."
Elln burst into a positive peal of laugh
ter. " O, auntie, how could you have such
an idea? Well, those prayers are answered
very litterally, for I never liked anyone
less; it's quite hard to be charitable and
civii towards him when he oomes here teas
ing. I coul& not help wondering, while
poor Willie was holding forth, what I
should say if he warned me against Frank."
" Ah yes, Nellie, that would have been
a trial," said Margaret, with a proud smile;
"but-there was not much danger of it.
How those boys love one another, to be
sure! And how Frank look up to Willie
as a pattern in everything-a sort of guar
dian angel!"
" And so he is," said Ellen. "He is so
good, it quite frightens me sometimes. I
think he is too good to live; and what
should we do without him ?"
" He will live," said Margaret; live to
bless our old age, to close our eyes, and
comfort you in life's troubles, Nellie. And
pow, I suppose, we must not keep Frank
waiting any longer;" and as Nellie ran
from the room, Margaret repeated her oft
said prayer- That the troubles of her
darling child might not be heavy ones."
It was not many weeks after this conver
sation that Willie was one day interrupted
in his studies, and told that a visitor was
waiting for him in the parlor. When he
entered the room, lie found himself, to his
great surprise, face to face with Richard
Dunne.
"0, Richard, I did not expect to sec
you!" said he, holding out his hand.
But it was not taken: and Richard ex
claimed, "William O'Donnell, I have
come to know whether we are to be lifelong
enemies or not."
" Certainly not,'" said W;illie; "I have no
enmity against you, Richard."
" Yes, you have; it was you who brought
my boyish disgrace upon me-don't think I
ever have or shall forget it: and now-now
you have come between me and Ellen."
Willie made no answer when Richard
paused. "Yes, you cannot deny it-I see
it in your face; and she spurns me, who
would give y life for her, and is going to
take that stupid idiot, Frank Murphy."
Willie smiled. "Nay, you are hard upon
Frank; he is about as clever and bright a
lad as you will flad any day."
" I say he is an idiot, and a groveling
fool. What will he be in the future, think
you t a mere banker's clerk, never rising
above a miserable 1N01. a year; and I-I
shall be a partner in the firml I shall
make that house what it never has been
till now. I shall bie a z`lch man, have power
and influence. Ellen, as my wife, should
take her place with the first ladies of the
land ; she should have her carriage, her
jewels, everything she could desire. My
beautiful, my peerless Ellen, how she would
become themi alll and this is to be given
tip because of your bitter cunlity, your stu
pid prejudices.'
SRichard. you are really mad," said
Willie, gravely. " With your own lips
you tell me Fan:k has won my sister's
heart. I have no power, even if I had the
inclination, to interfere."
" But you hare interf'ered!" broke in
Richard, furiously ; "you have set her
against me; you have poisoned her mind,
and she fancies she likes Frank because
she knows it will please you; she does not
really care for him-it is impossible she
should. And now listen to me further,
William-will you undi your work, and
jet ine have a fair chance with Ellen ? "
3 "I will not interfere," said Willie flrmly,
a "and-"
" "Listen," said Richard, his voice trem
bling with suppressed rage; " if you do
not, I will take such vengeance on you, on
f her, on him, on you all, that your hearts
shall shiver under it. Be wise, I am a dan
gerous enemy ; better have me for a friend,
and I will be a true friend; and as for
Nellie, I will guard every hair of lier
head." He looked with eager, flaming
eyes into Willie's calm face. "Answer
me."
' I have answered you, Richard. Ellen
has made her choice. She loves Frank,
and I am heartily glad of it. I would rather
see her his wife, and poor, than the richest
lady in the land."
--Richard's face grew dark with rage.
" Beware !" he said, between his closed
teeth; "have a care-do not drive me too 1
far."
"I do not fear you," answered the
other, quietly. " Man's Vengeancp is under
God's control. I atmdoing asmyconscience
bids me, and I trust Ellen and myself to a
God's protection."
" Be it so," said Richard, taking up his
hat; "and when the hour of woe comes 1
upon you, remember you brought it on 4
yourself," andgso saying he rushed from the I
ClIAI'TER IV.
William O'Donnell's nature was one of 1
those calm and trustful ones which are not ,
easily disturbed. He said nothing to Ellen
of what had passed, not even when she told
him of the stormy scene she had had with
Richard a few days after her engagement.
He had insisted she should break it off, ad
accept him in Frank's stead; and treated j
her declaration of affection for Frank with
such contempt, that Ellen, thoroughly
roused, had given him what she called "a
good setting down;" since which time he
had not molested her, nor did he appear on
the scene again. As the months fled by, his
visits to his fatmly were brist-and-rare,and I
he never entered the O'Donnell's house. ,
Neither did lie, appear, like the hero of a
sensational novel, looming darkly in the
distance on the. wedding-da The wed
ding took place quietly and happily in the c
old whitewashed village chapel, where El- i
len and 'Frank had been baptised, and
made their .First Communion. The wed
ding-feast was gay and merry, and though I
Margaret Murphy's heart strings were rent e
when she parted from her child and com- a
panion, her sorrow was a happy one, and t
she felt that her heart's desire was fulfilled. I
The newly-married pair took up their a
abode in Dublin, and seemed to enjoy as i
fair a share of happiness as often falls to a
the lot of mortals. Willie was made a I
priest just in time to enable him to baptise e
their first born son, and, in the course of aI
few'yerars, various little brothers and eis- t
ters claimed the same office from his hands. a
He was stationed in Dublin, in the midst s
of a dense and poor population. His t
church was not a pretty one, with gothic c
arches, and stained windows, and beautiful o
ornaments; it had been roughly built, an t
troublous times, and bore many marks of a
age ; and it was so incessantly filled by a e
dense mass of poor, that it could never be f
very clean. Here he patiently labored f
among his people all day, and often with
the sick half the night. lHere, thoughhe I
was little known and little thought of, lie
did the work of an apostle, and lived the s
life of a saint. Ellen seldom saw'him ; his t
church was too distant for her to frequent a
it often; sometimes phe and Frank gave p
themselves the treat of going to hear hibp
preach, and listbned~to "one of the short,
simple sermons, with little natural elo
quence, that he was wont to deliver-but a I
sermon given with such earnestness, com- E
ing so evidently from the heart, that it
went insensibly home to the souls of the
listeners and bore its fruit. Now and again 8
he gave himself an hour's recreation, and t
spent it with his sister and brother and e
their children. And happy indeed were
the little ones as they climbed on his knee
and nestled on his breast, for he had that A
great natural attraction for children which a
they always Instinctively understand, and
enjoy accordingly.
But lie could seldom spare the time, and b
almost the only trouble Ellen had was to h
see him as she thought, wearing himself out. p
lie sat long hours in thIe close confessional,
listening to the sorrows and the sins of a
miserable crowd, genierally squalid, dis- a
cased, and dirty, but with whom for a flock o
Ihe was well coutented.
Slhe feared to see him cut off befoijo his
time by hard work, but had she been able
to lookI into the future shi, would hIav a
known that a sharper death was to be his i
lot.
ITo be Continued.l
MmssloN OF CHAmrTY.-The Montreal t
True Wlitness, of the 4th September, speak
uing of a disease just broken out, says:
We learn that a detachment of the Sisters
of the Hotel Dien have started for Tracadle, w
where a form of leprony prevails amongst the
poorer classes of the coninunity. Six Sisters
have already set off on tl is heroic enterprise
so eminently characteristic of Catholic charity
-and the pIrayers of the faithful for their suc- I
ceos and safe return will acconmpany them.
, IS N EJDIDflrel C E.
The termination of the last elreuit by the
a Irish judges showed a remarkable exemp
tion from crime-that is, a violation of law
in its most serious aspects. Under provo
cations, religious and political, the great
r body of the people show a spirit of concili
ation and Christian forbearance without a
parallel in any other country. And yet
the mendacious Iimes and its satellites
give currency to the most atrocious false
hoods respecting the state of things in
Ireland. The Nation, commenting upon
the duties, which the Irish judges were
called upon to peform, discourses as fol
lows:
The assizes have just terminated in the
two-and-thirty counties of Ireland, as well
as in counties of cities and counties of
towns. The judges have investigated
every case brought before them, after an
interval of live months since their previous
sitting. The general "jail delivery"n"asbeen
brought to a close, and what are the cir
cumstances disclosed t How has this rash,
hasty, and thoughtless race been acting
during five months? The judges have had
hardly any cases to try in any of our coun
ties or cities. There was not one capital
case in any part of Ireland. Nowhere had
the juries aught to investigate but some
trifling petty larcenies, or some assaults
committed under the influence of drink.
The grand juries were everywhere con
gratulated on the absence of crime. The
judges, if it were not for a few civil cases
in eacnh county, would have had nothing to
do, and the lawyers' occupation would be
gone. This is not an exceptional term of
circuit. The situation has been thus for
years, except when the government lawyers
manage to secure a few political cases to
keep themselves in practice. There is more
crime in one English county than in the
whole of Ireland-more criminal cases for
trial at this present assizes in England in
one county than in the thirty-two counties
of Ireland. There are heinous offenses
in England and Scotland from which
we are almost entirely free. We hardly
know of suchi a crimeas infanticide. In
England there is no calculating the
enormous annual sacrifice of infant life;
and the acts of infanticide only bear a
trifling, per centage to the illeitimate
births. In Scotlan4 illegitimacy Is even
more-prevalent than in England, though
infanticide is not so frequent. The Scotch
seem lost to all sense of shame on this point.
In England, where love is simply another
name for impure and brutal passion, Eng
lishmen are continually found murdering
their " sweethearts." In Ireland where it
means honest and sincere attachment, no
such hideous consequences follow on its for
tunes. In short, the dogged, sensual nature
of the Englishman is but too painfully re
vealed in the criminal statistics of his coun
try, while the higher character of the Irish
man is shown in the comparative immunity
of the country from all crime, but especially
from crime in its most repulsive and debasing
forms. They do not know the Irish people
who talk and write of them as a thoughtless,
imprudent, impulsive, and passionate race.
The crimoinal statistics of thetwo countries
show that it is the Irish whe"-aie the
thoughtful prudent, self-restrained people,
and the English who are wild, reckless,
passionate, and ungovernable. ;
A Woia. IMPRISONED FOR GLEANING.
In what civilized country of the world but
England could such a trial take place and
fine be imposed for a misnamed crime?
Surely, the story of Ruth must be forgot
ten, or never learned. The compassion
extended, to the gleaner in the olden time
has no abiding place in civilized England.
Among the merciful Jews, the harvesters
were- required to deal liberally with the
poor-not to garner too closely what a
bountiful Providence bestowed upon the
husbandman. In Christian England the
poor are treated as criminals-placed in
the stocks and lined for gathering the waifs
which the hand of parsimony had forgotten
or disdainfully neglected.
At the Chester Police Court, on Saturday,
August 8thl, before the Mayor, M1r. Johnson,
and Mr. Smith, a poor woman inamed Sarah
Jones appeared on a sunlruons charging
her with "stealing a quantity of wheat.
the property of Mr. Roberts, farmer. It
appears that she had merely stooped down
to gather a few ears from a portion of a
field from which the crop had been re
moved, and which had been subsequently
clearly raked. For such a grave offense
she was sent to jail for three days, in de
fault of paying a tine of 5s. Gd., with dam
ages and costs.
It is calculated that a piece of platinum
the size. of the tip of a man's finger could
be drawn out across Europe.

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