OCR Interpretation

The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, February 20, 1915, Image 7

Image and text provided by Minnesota Historical Society; Saint Paul, MN

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn90060976/1915-02-20/ed-1/seq-7/

What is OCR?

Thumbnail for

Keeps a weed away
If tb« sfefttp weed springing
Chokes our garden-bed,
Never heed its stinging
Pluut a llower instead.
"Where the rose is growing
Thistles cannot stray,—
Every tlower that's blowing
If the way seems weary,
Cares about it throng,
Just to make it cheery
Sing a snateh of song.
Trouble finds no dwelling
Where the lips are gay—
Every song out-swelling
Keeps a care away!
If some wish ungranted
Brings perchance a frown,
Why not smile undaunted,
Smile it bravely down?
Shall a vain repining
Darken all our day?
Every smile outshining
Keeps a frown away!
A single individual seems insignif
icant in" this crowded world. Yet it
is so ordered that even the humblest
can possess and exert an influence,
apparently wholly out of proportion
with his social position and his world
ly advantages.
A schoolmaster exerts, as a rule,
a greater influence over the future
of his community than does the rich
est citizen or its most honored inhabi
tant. The schoolmaster who follows
the growth of his pupils out of school,
may have a prodigious part in the
shaping of the dominant spirit of his
What the schoolmaster may do is
aji,evidence of, what other men may
(tor" Their sympathy and community
interest with the humble and the
lowly, their uprightness of character
and: their -faeTHties for meeting their
fellow-men, give them great oppor
tunities^ "1.
A sober man .may do considerable
for frugality alid teuiperauce in a
community of drunkards and spend
thrifts. A man who practiccs his re
ligion may commend it highly to his
associates. Converts have been made
in this way..
A Catholic who sets out with the
determination of using every occasion
that lie can, with propriety, to en
lighten his associates as to what the
real teachings of Catholicity are, may,
in a lifetime, do an incalculable serv
ice in liberalizing the popular mind
forwards the Church. A Catholic who
elects to spend a few dollars every
year for the purpose of putting read
abfe Catholic literature "where it
jsrUl do the mopt goad," njay, sow the
seed for good results.
Ideas, facts, truth, are the weapons
of this influence, and these weapons
are at the command of every person
who chooses to use them. We .are
not here merely to make money.
"What is man
If the chief good and market of Ms
„,time be but to feed aud sleep?
A beast—no more."
Our lives arc of very little impor
tance if we fail to do some good.
And we can do good by giving our
neighbor some principle or some
eohvietioli to live by. Truth is the
possession of every man who eares
to seek it, and good is done by every
man who seeks to spread the Truth
that he possesses.
1. With two wings a man is lifted
up above earthly things that is, with
simplicity and purity.
Simplicity must be in the intention,
purity in the affection.
Simplicity aims
at God, purity
takes hold of
and tastes Him.
No good action will hinder thee if
thou be free from inordinate affec
If thou intend aud seek nothing
but the will of God and the profit Of
thy neighbor, thou" slialt enjoy etor
nal liberty.
If thy heart were right, then every
creature would be to thee a uiirrof
of life and a book of holy doctrine.
There is no creature so little and
contemptible as not to manifest the
goodness of God.
2. If thou wert good and pure with
in, then wouldst thou discern all
things without impediment and under
stand them rightly.
A pure heart penetrates heaven and
If there be joy in the world, cer
tainly the man whose heart is pure
enjoys it.
And if there be anywhere tribula
tion and anguish, an evil conscience
foels the most of it. (Rom. ii, 9.)
As iron put iuto the fire loses the
rust and beeomes all glowing, so a
man that turns himself wholly to God
puts off his sluggishness and Is
changed into a new man.
3. When a mail begins to grow
lukewarm, he iy afraid of a little labor
and willingly takes external comfort.
But when a man begins to perfectly
overcome himself aud to walk man
fully in the way of God, then he
makes less account of those things
which before he considered burden
eodte to him.* —ThommaA.Kempia.
Have you sorrows? You must bear
Without murmur, without moan
Thiuk not you may shirk or share
Keep them for yourself alone.
But if you hive joys—oh, show them,
Broadcast to the winds go throw them,
Seed-like through the world go sow
And be slad when they are sown!
fiLEANINfiSSty. itllgAYSIDE.^
Have you trials? You must face them
Without grumble, without groan
Burdens? Then be sure to place them
On no shoulders but your own.
But if you have aught that's cheerful,
Give it forth to calm the fearful,
(jive it forth to soothe the tearful,
Sing it, ring it, make it known!
Thus it is the noble-hearted
Live until their day is flown
Thus they lift and thus they lighten,
As a bugle-blast is blown
Thus it is they help and heighten.
Thus they lift and they lighten
Soulslesa steadfast than their own!
—Dents A. McCarthy.
This mundane sphere possesses a
plethora of people who are soured on
it aud ou themselves all that is good,
sweet, enjoyable seems to have lost
its glamour and attractiveness most
things are to be looked upon with
suspicious questioning because, for
sooth, these keen observers have dis
covered that not everything is what
it purports to be. Thousands have
the distressing habit of groaning
silently to themselves, and quite aud
ibly to others, and the burden of their
refrain is, "Things are not what they
seem." And still tbis disguesting hab
it is but an exaggerated form of a
weakness very common to all of us,
the propensity to note faults and fail
ures where by contrast the cheerfully
inclined and well disposed can ob
serve success.
Self-appointed critics do not fit into
the run- of things, and while they
maintain that they seek merely to bet
ter themselves and others, the root
of the matter, the real explanation of
their conduct is that they are discon
tented with their lot in life. They
have set an immense ralua ,on.,a,
higher salary, more leisure, greater
fame or some other equally easily
ruptured bauble. Life tb tliem is a
chance to "get things" "merelyv be
cause someone else is enjoying them
Life is made for action, for-the'ac
quisition of good repute aud money,
for notoriety this they proclaim con
stantly by the plans they hatch as
well as by the plans that fail.
What a contrast to those who live
such lives are the lives of those who
know the philosophy of content.
These seek their daily work and the
spirit with which they assume their
accustomed duties elevates it into the
realms of prayer and sacrifice. They
inure themselves to the setbacks of
life, take thiugs as they come or as
they go with a feeling that all th®
little trials and discouragements,
tribulations and sufferings are rneand
offered them to climb the stairs of
self-regulation. They never bemoan
the curtailment of their liberty, never
seek to reflect upon the ability or
wisdom of their superiors. They do
not deplore the darkness of the world
nor the evil .proclivities of the people
surrounding them but they make of
what dreariness there happens to be
a background for the light that shines
day by day and if perchance there
comes a dark day, they immediately
make a comparison with the bright
days that have gone before, not to
demonstrate that today is-a dark day,
but there have been, not so long ago,
bright days, and there will he others
What a beauty there is in such
lives! What an inspiration they are
to people inclined by nature to seek
the dusky side of things and persons!
How they contrast with the habitually
disgruntled, the chronically unsatis
fied! A mind attuned to good things
soon learns to see them without ef
fort. If we can but persuade our
selves of this, there will come into
our lives a greater degree of humor
and content. No great strain is re
quired to bring them, for sunshine
diffuses itself with amazing rapidity
in all directions. If we give it a lodg
ing in our thoughts, if we make
brightness a state of mind, life will
take on a new meaning, greater pos
sibilities will present themselves and
they Will produce for us more lasting
All liail, theft, tothe philosophy of
Now, my cognates and brothers In
Hath not old custom made this life
more swreet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not
these woods
More free from peril than the envious
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam
The season's difference—as the icy
And churlish chiding of the winter's
Which, when it bites and blows upon
my body
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile
and say,
This is no flattery these are coun
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity.
Which, like the toad, ugly and venom
Wears yet a precious jewel in his
And this our life, exempt from public
Finds tongues in trees, books in the
running brooks.
Sermons in stones and good in every
—William Shakeapwni.
The things that bring success are
the things that belong to character
To succeed one must mould the char
acter aright. Nothing influences the
character so ciuch as companionship
Make companions of weak people and
one becomes weak make companions
of strong people and one becomes
O Rita, if there isn't Aunt Ellen
going over to sit with that woman
in black!"
And she'll tell her all our family
history from the day we were born.
She'll tell her how funny it is that
you don't like rice pudding, and how
much the lace for my new waist cost,
and what size of shoes I wear, and
how I hate the freckles on my nose!"
Rita's voice was full of almost tear
ful indignation. Two pairs of stormy
young eyes looked down the car to
where Aunt Ellen was already begin
ning to talk to the woman in black.
"We ought to have kept her with
one of us—that's the only, way!"
Madge groaned. "When we know how
she always talks to everyone!"
'We surely will next time," Rita
vowed frequently.
It was an hour's ride home. All the
way the girls' sensitive young pride
conjured up new embarrassments. Of
course Aunt Ellen was a dear—either
one of them would have defended that
proposition vehemently—if only, only
she would not talk to strangers—any
kind of strangers, anywhere!
"Do you suppose she has told-her
the name of every boy who has called
on you since you were five years old?"
Madge asked, dimpling in spite of her
"You needn't say anything. I'm sure
she has you married and your house
all furnished," Rita said, giggling.
"Isn't it a blessing we are almost
at the station? I don't think I could
have stood the strain five minutes
longer. Look, Madge Whitaker—If
she Isn't kissing her—some one she
had never seen in her life until an
hour ago!"
Aunt Ellen's sweet face was grave
as they left the train. She turned
and waved at the car window before
she joined the girls.
"Poor little woman!" she said. "It
seems as if I couldn't bear to let her
go on alone. Her only daughter is at
the hospital to be operated on tomor
row morning—she's just two days
than you, Madge. She had just
taken her down today, and she was
almost wild. I told her all the en
couraging things I could think of—
how terribly ill you were with appen
dicitis, and how splfendidly you camo
through, and about when Rita had ty
phold and everyone gave her up ex
cept her mother and me. I cheered
h6r up some. I'm going to send a spe
cial down to the hospital while she's
waiting tomorrow."
Rita's eyes met Madge's the eyes
of both were full of tears.
"O auntie," Rita cried, "couldn't we
send her a little note, too? Do you
think she would mind? Wo wouldn't
seem quite like strangers after you
had talked with her—and when her
daughter is just Madge's age."
Lord Jesus, Thou hast known*
A mother's love and tender care
And Thou will hear
While for my own
Mother most dear
make this birthday prayer.
Protect her life,. I pray,
Who gave the gift of life to me
And may she know
Prom day to day
The deepening glow
Of joy that comes from Thee.
As once upon her breast
Fearless and well content I say,
So let her heart,
On Thee at rest,
Feel fear depart
And trouble fade away.
Ah, hold her by the hand,
As once her hand held mine
And though she may
Not understand
Life's winding way,
Lead her in peace divine.
I cannot pay my debt
For all the love that she has given
But Thou, love's Lord,
Will not forget
Her due reward—
Bless her in earth and heaves..
—Henrp Van Dakc.
"You are slighting that work, Ben,"
remarked old Henry, the foreman
standing beside Ben Perry's bench.
"Pooh! what are the odds? No
body is going to see this it will be
covered up all right," responded the
young workman carelessly.
"Yes, it will be covered up that is
true. But something it is bound to be
taken apart and the Workman who
does it, if he knows his business, will
say. 'The man who did this job was
either a shirk or a poor workman.'"
Ben laughed good-naturedly
"Pshaw! what if he docs? I will not
be there to hear his opinion, Henry
You know there is nothing very partic
ular about this, and I am in a hurry
to get it out of the way."
"But you wilLknow it yourself, won't
you?" demanded the old man.
"Eh? what do you mean?" and Ben
turned a puzzled glance upon him.
"Why don't you like to know in your
own heart that the work you do is all
"But what are the odds, when no
body is going to see it? It will never
be found out who did it."
"I tell you," said old Henry, shak
ing his head, "a lie is sure to be
found out."
"Who has told a lie?" demanded
Ben. with some heat.
"You are telling one now, my boy,'
said the foreman, calmly. A slight
in your work is a lie that is what
have always believed. Let me tell you
a slight in a job will be surely dis
covered. ,s
"This makes me think of a couple»of
men I know once who were building a
piece of wall," went on the old 5242
"One of them in setting a brick found
it' just a grain ticker on one side than
on the other. The other man said, 'It
will make your wall untro®. H^nrv
7'~ r'+f 1 ..if.
Yes, I admit I ws the man be spoke
"'Pooh! that makes no difference,'
said I. 'You are too particular.'
'It will make a diiterenco. You
wait and see,' said he. 'Sooner or
later that lie will show itself.'
And would you believe it," pursued
the foreman, shaking his long finger at
Ben, "he was right. I kept on laying
brick and carrying the wall up, higher
and higher, right up to quitting time
at night, and as far as I could see,
the wall I built was just as good as
"But when I came back in the morn
ing that lying brick had worked the
end of all lies. The wall, getting a
little slant from it, had got more and
more untrue as I carried it up, and
during the night the whole business
had toppled over, and I lost my job.
I tell you, Ben, a slight is a lie, and
a lie doesn't pay
But his listener was ready undoing
the hasty work he had performed, and
later did it all over again.
If mother would listen to me, dears,
She would freshen that faded gown
She would sometimes take an hour's
And sometimes a trip to town.
And it shouldn't be all the children,
The fun and the cheer and the play,
With the patient droop of the tired
And the "AIqther has had her day."
True, mother has had her day, dears,
•When you wete her babies three,
And she stepped about the farm and
the house,
As busy as ever a bee
When she rocked you all to sl6fcp,
And sent you all to school*
And wore herself out, and did with
And lived by the golden rule.
And so your turn has come, dears
Her hair is growing White.,
And her ej'es are gaining the far
That peers beyond the night.
One of these days in the morning,
Mother will not.be here
She will fade away into silence—
The mother so true and dear.
Then what will you do in the daylight?
And what in the gloaming dim?
And father, tired and lonesome then
Pray what will you do for him?
If you want to keep your mother,
You must make her rest today.
Must give her a share in the frolic,
And draw her tnto the piay.
And if mother would listen to
She'd buy her a gown of silk,
With buttons of royal velvet,
And ruffles as white as milk
And she'd let you do the trotting
While she sat still in her chair.
That mother Bhould have it hard all
It strikes me isn't fair.
—Martaret ti. Songster.
(Continued fvoin Pag* 6')^.
"What a terrifying mystery those
words /were to my, youthful imagina
tioft—Immaculate Conception." Then
half to herself: "And the unutterable
beauty of the solution.
"Those years at the convent were
peaceful and happy, as well as momen
tous ones for me. I used to wonder
sometimes why mother sent, us there
I knew from things I had heard them
say that both my parents were preju
diced against the Catholic religion.
"I was a dreamy, romantic child
given to weaving stories about every
incident of my daily life. The idea
that I had been sent to the convent
for some special purpose, yet unreveal
ed, became a favorite theme with me
Little did I guess in those days what
the real purpose was.
"When I was told that a statue
much admired in the chapel was that
of the Immaculate Conception, I went
there frequently and knfelt at the
shrine as the other girls did. It seem
ed the best placfe to study out all that
so puzzled me.
"That shrine and the lovely statue
had a peculiar fascination for me
particularly did I love to be alone
there at dusk.
"Gradually things that had seemed
so mysterious were mysteries no long
er. I read and, studied every book I
could find that treated of the religion
practised by those about me.
"And it was in that dear old con
vent chapel, about a year, before
graduated* that my last doubt fell
away, and I saw with the clear light
of faith. How happy I was—for
"Then came temptation.' I tried a
thousand times to tell Sister Superior
to write my mother, but ever my tour
age failed me. Oh, I have been such
a coward!
"When mother came to visit us and
I looked at her sad face, I told myself
that I would be an ungrateful daugh
ter to repay all her kindness by add
ing to her sorrow. She had lost one
dear one it would kill her to lose an
other. From her point of view,
would indeed be lost to her. That I
ascertained by judicious questioning.
"It .never seemed to occur to her
that Angela or I could in any way be
influenced by our surroundings. She
had not the faintest notion of the real
truth. Nor indeed has she to this day
"You see, I have been weakness it
"My last days at the convent were
comparatively happy, for I had con
vinced myself that once at home
would tell mother all and be baptized
whatever happened.
"But w hen that time came I had less
strength than before. None of our
friends were Catholic, and I dreaded
the curiosity and ridicule that I fan
cied my change of religion would ex
"Mother's careworn face and abeorp
tion in her sorrow was a constant re
minder of our peculiar loss. I longed
with all my heart to do something to
rerrtore her happin^r. Daily if b«
came more difficult to do that which
my conscience kept urging, for I
thought it might banish all hope of
happiness from her.
"I used to put my hands over my
ears to shut out the sound of the bell
of St. John's ringing for services. To
me those deep tones said: 'He that
loveth father or mother more than
me,' 'He that loveth father or mother
more than me,' over and over again,
as the bell at the convent used to do.
"One day I happened to be passing
the church, and could not resist the
impulse to enter. I went to Our
Lady's altar and wept out all my bit*
teruess at her feet.
Memories of the old days came
over me, and I prayed as I had not
prayed since then. I recalled the nove
nas made at the convent before spe
cial foasts or for particular requests.
In a sudden access of fervor I re
solved to make a uovena for my fath
er's return. I promised that If within
month from the day the utfvena
closed he was restored to us, or if we
heard something definite concerning
him, I would make open profession of
the faith in my heart,
Well, the nine day's prayer was
said, and in perfect confidence I await
ed the answer.
You know, Joseph, for you have
heard it often, the story of my father's
return, but you don't know that that
Sunday evening of his coming home
was the last day of the month follow
ing the close of my novena. Neither
could you imagine that the wife you
think so brave could be such a coward
in an hour like that.
'When I realized that it was really
father, when I saw mother in his
arms, her dear, pale face lit up with
joy, my first thought was oue of in
tense gratitude that my prayer was
answered. Then 1 remembered my
promise! All my happiness vanished.
How could I break up that home a
second time? I asked myself that
question in bitter anguish a thousand
times in the days that followed.
"Then, to still my torturing con
science, I took a foolish step. I in
duced Angela to become an Episcopal
ian, and we were received into that
Church. It was the next thing to the
Catholic Church, I told myself, but it
was no use. I was more miserable
than ever.
'I went into society more than for
merly, and was very gay. People
thought I was happy because of fath
er's return. Oh, if they could have
known how wretched I was!
"It was about that time that Father
Stephen asked me to sing at the Vin
centian benefit concert. And then
Joseph, I met you.
When I knew that you loved me—
it seemed so wonderful. I told myself
that God wanted me to wait for this
that I would not worry: that it was
according to His will that things had
so happened.
"In all my life I was never so happy
as I was in those days ^ust before we
were married. They were golden
days, full of golden promise for both
Yours have all been kept, Joseph, but
mine mine—" She dropped her
head on her folded arms with a tear
less 86b. Her husband was at her
side inan instant, consoling aruis
about her. Father C'asgrain wisely
left them alone for a while.
"Joseph," she said brokenly, "can
you ever clire for me again, after to
"My darling, bow can you ask?
Have you not been the dearest, sweet
est wife that ever man had? You
used to puzzle me so when I first
knew you, Mary, but since we've been
married, since the years have drawn
us closer together, I have read more
of your thoughts than you guessed
Mother has prayed so hard for you
dearest. 1 think that she, too, under
stands EOme things of what has been
troubling you. You are v6ry dear to
her, sweetheart."
"You have been so good to me, both
of you, so beautifully good and kind
When she was calm again, and
Father Casgrain had returned, she
told what remained of her story.
"When we were married I found, to
my grief and despair, that the habit
pf concealment and delay was too
strong to break. There was the dread
too, of having my husband know w hat
a weakling I was. Then Our. Blessed
Lady once more held out a beckoning
hand,, and I did not follow.
"You remember Joseph, the time
was so ill, and you all thought I could
not possibly live. Your mother had
sprained her ankle, and so could not
come to me. But she sent her own
scapulars, and told the nurse to put
them on me. 'Mary will take care of
you,' was her message. And she did.
In that hour the crisis was safely
passed, and I came back to life—and
to my old ways.
"And why did I change tonight? I
don't know, except that suddenly ex
traordinary strength was given me.
"When my husband had gone to the
chufch, Father, I tried to put away all
thoughts of the mission and think of
him alone. But my thoughts could not
but follow him, and they led me here
again and again. Then the bell rang
out with the old dreaded reiteration.
I tried to sing to drown the sound,
but it was no use.
"I felt an unutterable longing to be
where Joseph was, to be with him al
ways. There came a sudden terror, a
fierce conviction that we should not be
together through eternity that he
alone would be saved. Then I fled to
the church. The manner of my going
I cannot remember. You see, it wa3
human love which led me, after all."
"Thank God, my child, that it has
led you to Him at last. And you wish
to be baptized
"As soon as possible, Father to
morrow if I may. I will not be con
tent till that is accomplished. I have
put it off so long."
All arrangements being made, Jos
eph and Mary, too unutterably happy
for words, went out into the dim, de
serted church to kneel for a while be
fore the altar, where long ago Mary
made the promise that was to be ful
filled at last.
It "book cas tell you sotbiag of
talus yon ought to cut it as you shcrald
an acquaintance who is a bore, latent
upon burplintr roiir tinae.
358-380 St. Peter Street
105 Hackney Bldg.
N. W. Phono Cedar 96
Tri-St»te Phon« 1728
332 Third Ave. South
Fhon* Mein 3U4
TCenter 4303
A general hospital, for the care of surgical, medical and maternity cases.
No contagous diseases admitted.
Our departments are in charge of competent medical and surgical specia
lists and trained nurses, who devote their entire time to the hospital ser
vice. Patients admitted rcccivc the attention of the entire stafT without
an extra fee. All surgical operations arc attended by at least two surgeons.
Patients arriving ou trains are requested to come directly to the hos
pital, which is located opposite union depot.
Fpr further information write: SR. SUPERIOR.
If you are ignorant concerning the
qualities of coal you must then
rely upon the advice of the coal
salesman or upon the sayso
neighbors or friends.
This is not so with
You have the word of Government
Officials of long experience, that
It is the best coal to buy, because
in their bids they specify that the
o a u s e u o E A I N
Have your coal bin filled tomorrow* Ask
your dealer to supply you or call
No. 11 Lumber Exchange
John M. Gleason
Jfatrral Strertur twit luttbaim**
Drake Marble and Tile
91*78 Plato Ave.
007 2nd At*. SO.
Fstirth Flee?
N. W. Main IMS
T. S. CmiIMT 1M3
We recommend our Special Library Glasses. They are made of
Tortoise Shell and are the most comfortable glasses for reading and study
ing. If you cannot call write to us for further information.
Most expensively and elaborately
equipped in the Northwest
131 Cast Fifth Street (over Burkhard's) John O'Brien, Prop.
I-""""" I ..Mill II iijgB
Ventilating and Engineering Contractors
Tri-Statc and Northwestern
The Maloney Hotel
1 8 0 E E U O O S
Car. Jackson and 8th SU* St. Paul, Mlaa.
Plain and Ornamental Plastering
Repair Work Promptly AH«ni)td to
Tri-Stat* Ption« North 358
2200 Dupont Atr*. N. Minneapolis, Minn.
V mi
2'"? CteSTS
5T1S N. D:'s
680 St'.fcj Avenue SA!?T FAUt
We feature Accurate and Prompt Delivery

xml | txt