CHAPTER XXIII.

"But I won't be a nun; I can't be a nun;I'm so fond of pleasure that I can't be a nun."

"I greatly fear, yer riverince," said he, affecting the broadest Irish brogue, "y'ill have to phray a great deal yet afore you convart her from her resolution."

"We must submit to the decree of the Lord in all that he has planned from the beginning of the world, Murty," said the parson, resignedly.

"Think the Lord has decreed Mary for the nunnery, reverend and learned sir?" said Murty, affecting great politeness.

"Not exactly, Murty; but the Lord, by his inscrutable decree before the creation, has passed sentence on all accountable beings: some he has delivered over to irremediable wrath, and others he has predestined to glory and bliss eternal; and no efforts of men can reverse these irrevocable decrees."

"O, dreadful!" said Murty. "I always heard that God willed all men to be saved; that it was in every man's power to avoid evil, and do good; that the giving of the commandments supposed the perfect liberty of men; and that, supposing the grace of God, all men had the means of salvation within their reach. If your system were true, all efforts of man to save himself would be useless, and all your pulpits and sermons would be worse than useless; for they would be a gross imposition, and a loss of time."

"There is where you are in error, Murty," said the parson. "Churches, pulpits, Bibles, and ministers are the machinery the Lord makes use of to secure the perseverance of the elect."

"That talk appears to me silly," rejoined Murty. "The elect are to be saved, or they are not; if they are to be saved by the decree of God, then there is no use of you and your machinery; if they can lose their 'election,' and become reprobate, then your theory is contradictory, absurd, and grossly perversive of the gospel. Take your choice of the horns of the dilemma."

The parson here entered into a very unintelligible explanation of a subject which constitutes, in defiance of common sense and of the plainest teaching of the gospel, the leading dogma of Presbyterianism; namely, foreordination, or the eternal decree of every man's election or reprobation, irrespective of free will, good works, or even the all-saving merits of our Lord Jesus Christ.

"How contradictory the tenets of sectarianism!" said Murty. "You, that accuse Catholicity of teaching absurd and incredible doctrines, are yourselves enslaved by the most incredible and contradictory creeds. It is the same in every sect. Take the Methodists, and they are the very contrary of what their name signifies. Instead of following anymethodin their mad orgies, they would seem to be,intellectually, the successors of the ancient bacchanalians. They would carry man back to his primitivewoods, and, by the medium of plenty of 'straw,' would annihilate the distinctions between the sexes, by introducing a promiscuous intercourse, and legalizing, by custom, the most indecent practices."

"You have been at a camp meeting then, I see," said the parson, glad that attention was turned from his own sect to one that was a rival of it.

"Yes, sir, I have, I regret to be obliged to confess," said Murty; "and I must say that the Methodists, by their conduct there, showed themselves more ingenious in inventing the means of election than those of the church of Calvin."

"How so, Murty? In what do they exceed the Presbyterians?"

"Why, in this, that they have beat you hollow in securing salvation. You make use of churches, pulpits, parsons, Bibles, and anti-Popery lectures to secure the election for the brethren; but the Methodists secure the same gift by means of some 'straw.' At the camp meeting held last year at M——ville, of which the Irish laborer who spent a night there said, 'that there were moresouls made therethan convarted,'—at that meeting, where there were twenty thousand persons present, I heard a preacher cry out, 'More straw! more straw! Fifty souls lost for the want of straw!' Now," continued Murty, "this is what I call progress, to make as much out of a good bed of straw as you do out of all your church machinery for saving souls."

"Ha! ha! ha!" said the parson, turning to Mrs. Prying. "He is right; I saw and heard them myself at such absurdities."

"Then," said Murty, "you or any other Americans who are aware of such gross impositions on the credulity of your people, and of their gross ignorance, should be the last persons on earth to reproach the Irish or any other people with ignorance, superstition, credulity, or fanaticism. Good night, parson, and every time you are tempted to reproach an Irishman with ignorance, think of 'More straw! more straw! Fifty souls lost for the want of straw!' and that this sermon was preached in enlightened America of Bibles!"

After the departure of Murty from the room, Gulmore, to make amends for his senseless conduct in his attempts to convert Mary Prying, became very complaisant, and, for the want of a better subject, resumed the subject of the extravagances of the Methodists where Murty left off. He knew, also, that old Mrs. Prying had an antipathy to that sect.

"The Irishman is an amusing fellow, I perceive," commenced he; "he is not far wrong in his description of the Methodists, I can tell you."

"I never could bear that denomination," said Mrs. Prying, "especially since the time that Morefat carried on over in Vermont; and I am still more displeased since that Minister Barker seduced Amanda to his meeting, together with others of our regular members."

"They are a horrid set!" said the dominie. "Did you not hear of the donation party at brother Funny's, last new year's?"

"No. Do you mean the talk about Miss Talebearer?"

"Worse than that, although nothing secret. Nothing that the whole town has not heard. You know Mr. Funny was rather poor, having been but a few months on the 'circuit;' and so Mrs. Plumpcheek, wife to Aaron Plumpcheek, while he was off in Virginia, went to the party, and there offered to kiss every man that would pay her a dollar for the proceeds of the donation! The consequence was, that she realized seventy-five dollars in hard cash, though most of the boys paid her but two shillings. And thus poor Brother Funny made a handsome sum by thefree charmsof Mrs. Plumpcheek! Ever since her husband is made jealous, and I think he has reason."

Sectarians, you who are so loud in your pretended zeal for education and morals, you who talk so much and loudly about the corruption of Popery at home and abroad, why do you not cast the beam out of your own impure eyes, and then you may see in your own land of plenty, carried on under thesanction of what you call religion, scenes such as the annals of paganism can scarcely parallel.

We can prove the facts related above by Parson Gulmore to be literally true, and to have happened annually for years under the sanction ofreligiousministers, and exposed to the cognizance of fathers and mothers accompanied by theirdaughtersandsons.

We publish these things reluctantly, on account of our readers; but we must tell the truth, though it be piecemeal and in fractional parts, rather than in the full view of its naked reality.

Is it not time to say to these hypocritical sects, "Physicians, heal yourselves"? Look into the conduct and constitutions of your own bodies ere you turn censors on others. The corruptions and deformities of your own bodies will take all your zeal, all your energy, and all your lives, to correct, purify, and eradicate, leaving the Catholic church to reform whatever abuses may have crept into the lives or morals of her children by the ordinary resources, which are ample, and always within her reach.

Really, the hypocrisy, audacity, and malice of the Pharisees of old, in persecuting Jesus Christ in the flesh, were not equalled, in degree or intensity, to the malice and hypocrisy of sectarians, under every Protestant title, in their unrelenting hatred of the same divine Person in his mystical body here on earth!

'Tis all nonsense to reproachCatholicswith conduct similar, or as gross, as these instances of immorality which we justly charge on the Protestant sects. Catholics, as individuals, may be, and have been, guilty of grave crimes and scandalous immoralities; but does the church countenance or connive at their conduct? No; we say, emphatically, No. On the contrary, she condemns vice in every shape, and denounces, like another Baptist in the wilderness, the wrath of Heaven on the workers of iniquity. Is there one of her precepts, counsels, or rules, that guards not against sin and its occasions? According to the accusations of her enemies themselves, who reproach her, with too much severity, of imposing too many restrictions on the passions, is she not continually preaching up to her followers the necessity of self-denial, humility, purity, charity, prayer, fastings, watchings, and, above all, OF SHUNNING THE OCCASIONS OF SIN? Hence, in the whole volume of her history for eighteen centuries and better, we read not of onecamp meetingsanctioned by her, nor that she ever authorized her ministers tofeel "for the change of heart" in young ladies, to proclaim the use of "more straw" for the conversion of both sexes, or to raise funds by the abominable practices of the "donation parties" for the support of her institutions. And mind, these scandals the sectarian churches sanction and carry on under the sun of heaven, by day as well as by night, exposed to the jeers and ridicule of one another, and to the condemnation of the Catholic church. When they are such in "the greenwood, what would they be not in the dry"? If, like the Catholic church, they had the world to themselves for "a thousand years and more," what abominations would their spurious churches have not only tolerated, but have instituted and approved? If they have produced Mormons, Transcendentalists, Universalists, and spiritual rappers, in the nineteenth century, what monsters would they not have produced in the ninth?

In the "dark ages," the Catholic church saved the world, preserved literature, civilized real barbarians, and, above all, practised, as well as preached, apure morality. The Protestant sects in this enlightened age, by their novelties, by their dissensions, and, above all, by the low standard of morals which they inculcate, threaten to throw the world back again to the dark chaos from which Catholicity has drawn it, and to substitute for the glory of Christianity the miserable philosophism and superstition of the degenerate days of paganism.

In proof of these statements, we refer any candid mind to the "spiritual rappers," "women's rights," "Mormonism," "gold hunting, and other manias," which, within the last few years, have sprung from the sectarian systems and their teaching, and from no other source.

We are horrified at the morals and tenets of the Gnostic sects, the Manicheans, the Albigenses, and other defunct heresies of old; but we doubt if any thing more impious, immoral, or absurd happened under the auspices of these by-gone sects than the blasphemies, delusions, and corruptions carried on under the cloak of your "camp meetings," "revivals," "mediums," "spiritual wife system," and other modernreproductionsof the Protestant Christian churches, falsely so called.

The events recorded in the foregoing chapters, as you are aware, good reader, happened principally among the poor and humble of life; and this was in accordance with the scope of our narrative, having no higher ambition than to chronicle the lowly annals of that numerous class of the community.Nunc paulo majora.Now we must introduce you into high life. We turn our eyes to one of those grand mansions of the rich,—one of those palaces of the "upper ten,"—where few of the humble are privileged to enter, much less to be introduced or admitted on terms of familiarity. It is our privilege to introduce you, friend of the blistered hand and dusty coat, but of the honest heart, into that palace of the merchant prince of the second city in the Union, in order that you may see and judge for yourselves whether or not more happiness dwells there than in your homely residence. See the imposing structure, with the neatly-mowed lawn in front. Observe the taste and artistic skill with which the walks, the little hedges, and the shrubberies are laid out. You can yet get but an imperfect view of the proud edifice itself, which seems as if a monarch, that looks down with dignity and authority on the countless array of ordinary buildings that extend as far as the eye can reach on every side. The gates, as you enter the enclosure, are of massive iron, painted green, and, by the help of machinery, yield to the gentlest pressure of the hand, as if some spirit of the ancient fabled Olympus kept guard at their hinges. It is a complete "rus in urbi," inside the outer wall. Here the luxuriant grape vine creeps along in graceful festoons, groaning under the pressure of her full paps; there the lofty and beauteous palm spreads his cooling and protecting branches.

On one side see the fruitful lemon and orange trees, bending under the weight of their golden and emerald productions; on the other the fragrant apple, the sweet pear, and mellow peach borrow support from the strong granite wall to bring their burdens to maturity. Behold there two fountains casting their crystal and refreshing contents aloft, as if making restitution to the thirsting atmosphere for what they stole from him under ground. The water falls back again, however, and is received by the marble basin at the base, to form a neat pond, where gold and silver fish sport and gambol. A little at a distance, to the rear, the fragrance of honey and the busy hum of the bee are perceived by your grateful senses. The place looks like an earthly paradise; every thing there seems to laugh without restraint, from the creeping rose fastened to the hedge to the tall, princely-looking mountain ash, with its bunches of red berries.

The only one living thing that seemed pensive and sad there was a lovely, delicate fawn, which rested, with her head drooping, at the foot of a rose bush, on the summit of the little green mound which was the centre of this delightful spot. Perhaps the lovely creature is after being weaned from the udder of its affectionate dam; or, perhaps, she grieves for the absence of some favorite in the palace of whom she is the pet. But that the creature grieves is evident, for you could see the two moist tracks furrowed on the smooth face, from the tears that have flowed there.

But the inside of the "great house," who can describe it? From the ground floor to the uppermost attic, the rooms presented that waste of furniture, in the shape of sofas, ottomans, easy chairs, couches, carpets, tapestries, curtains, paintings, pier glasses, plate, and a thousand other articles contributive of ease and luxury, which the most extravagant expenditure could procure or vanity suggest. In truth, the interior was the exact counterpart of the exterior, in the artistic arrangement and splendor of every thing. To the eye of an observer, on an ordinary occasion, every thing appeared gorgeous in the extreme; but on the occasion we describe, when preparation was making for a grand reception, all was joy, mirth, luxury, and happiness. Servants of every color and hue were seen moving through the labyrinths of the saloons and chambers of this great palace, uncovering the long-concealed splendors of valuable articles, and arranging every thing for the most advantageous show.

And

"Now through the palace chambers moving lightsAnd busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites;From room to room the ready handmaids hie,Some skilled to wreathe the headdress tastefully,Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade,O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid."

Splendid services of gold and silver plate met the eye in every direction, on their way to the grand dining room; while, from the remotest part of the building, the sense of smelling was simultaneously assailed by several currents of delightful culinary exhalations, which, like the winds in the cave of Æolus, struggled for egress from their confined birthplace.

This is one of those occasions on which the Dives of this sumptuous palace, Mr. Goldrich, intends to celebrate his birthday; and as he can't tell where he was born, nor can he show any genuine images of his ancestry, (except that he came down a scion from the great "Anglo-Saxon race,") he is determined to make amends for this calamity he could not help, and the want of taste in his father, whoever he was, by spending an ordinary fortune in the present celebration, and thus combine the splendors of all the possible past anniversaries of his birth in one grand, unrivalled celebration to-day.

"And here, at once, the glittering saloonBursts on the sight, boundless and bright as noon."

The select music of splendid bands now announced the movements of guests towards the grand banquet room. In pairs they enter, and singular; the short procession is now at an end, and the places are filled up with the scanty number of twoscore guests, male and female.

You would have supposed, from the preparation, that the inhabitants of the entire city were invited; but no, the exact number was forty, besides the members of the rich man's family. And this happened not by accident, or because of the penury or avarice of Mr. Goldrich, but because in the whole city there were no more than twenty families who ranked in the sphere of the "upper ten" in which "mine host" moved. These shining figures, that you can scarcely look at without risk to your eyes from their jewelry, are the ladies who leave us in doubt which they love most to exhibit—their charms, or the richness of their ornaments. Among that bright array of female beauty there is missed the fair form of one who was, heretofore, an ordinary occupant of an honorable place at the family table. It was the chair of the rosy-cheeked Alia that was unoccupied at this splendid circle. The presiding queen of the feast, Madam Goldrich, apologized for the absence of "poor Alia," by representing her indisposed; and at the announcement of this dispiriting intelligence, disappointment marked the countenances of the guests, for Alia was the brightest star that shone in that brilliant galaxy of fashion.

Being the oldest among the children of Mr. Goldrich, Alia possessed all that graceful and dignified superiority over those whom she regarded as her younger sisters, which are the acknowledged privileges of age in every well-regulated family, and which her superior talent seemed naturally to enforce.

Years rolled on, and the dear child lived in blissful ignorance of her origin and desolate condition, till the jealousy of her younger sisters excited her suspicions, and she began to mistrust the genuineness, as she felt the coldness, of that parental affection which the pretended authors of her existence so long counterfeited. During many months, if not years, these suspicions preyed on the poor girl's mind; and though she never dared to mention them to any save old Judy, the negro woman, she felt satisfied that her sisters and herself could not belong to the same stock or the same race. The transparent delicacy of her complexion, the rosy tint on her cheek, unrivalled by the costly paint of her sisters, the shining blackness of her splendid hair,—all these circumstances pointed her out and proclaimed her as of a different race to those whom she hitherto regarded as her kindred. Long had she mused on the cause of this disparity, and much had she suffered, in the depth of her soul, from the representations and suggestions of her active imagination in reference to her origin, and many were the tears shed by her while oppressed with these doubts. But the events of this day, added to the late insolent conduct of her sisters, which provoked the reprimand of her peevish mother guardian, who told her to curb her "Irish temper,"—these cleared up all her doubts; and, filled with a melancholy joy at a revelation she owed to the jealousy and vanity of a proud mother and her daughters, Alia retired to her room to give vent to her feelings in sobs and tears.

"Thank God," she cried, "I know what I am, or ought to be. Thank God I am Irish, too, for I often wished I belonged to that much-abused and persecuted people. But O, where shall I find my parents? or how came my lot to be cast in this proud palace, which, alas! I too long regarded as my home? O, who, who will restore this poor 'exile of Erin,' to the home of her unknown parents? How gladly would I exchange all the splendor of this place for the homeliest cot in that land of the shamrock and the cross; ay, the poorest 'cabin, fast by the wild-wood,' in the land of St. Patrick, and my unknown ancestors."

Such were the soliloquies of poor, despised Alia, in her room on the third floor, where old aunt Judy, the negro, having missed her favorite from the grand company, after having sought her in vain in the lower saloons of the house, just entered her room.

"Dere, now, Miss Ali', am poor aunt Judy half kilt from sarching for you all over. What make you be here, and all the gran' gem'men asking for you?"

"Ah, aunt Judy, why have you all along denied of me all knowledge of my extraction, parentage, and race? Did you not know that I was Irish? and yet you always denied that I was, though I have suspected I was, and you must have known it, having lived so long in the family. This is not what I expected from you, aunt Judy," she said, casting a look of gentle reproach at the old negro.

"O, dear, miss—O, dear," cried the poor affectionate creature, bursting into tears; "don't blame dis ole nigger, but massa and missus, and Miss Sillerman, sister to the missus who died last year. They forbid aunt Jude to tell who rosy-faced Ali' was. I was bound to swear not to tell. If they knowed I did hab aparlevit you on de subject, they would turn poor ole Jude out de door to die in the poormaison."

This poor negro woman was a native of St. Domingo, and, at the time of the revolution there, came to New Orleans, in care of a child belonging to one of the white planters who was murdered—which child, by the way, has since become a pious and eminent clergyman. By some accident or other she fell in with the Goldriches, in their commercial visits to New Orleans, and, though brought up a Catholic, the poor thing forgot all practice of her religion, and this accounts for her evasions and denials to the repeated questions of Alia regarding her parentage and birth.

"'Pon my fait, miss," she ever said, "I know nothing about you, 'cept that you are the rose-cheeked Ali', thefleur de lisof the flock."

Promises, and flattering presents, and all other persuasive arts of Alia to get the secret out of Judy proved useless. She had promised to keep it, and no human authority, she thought, could ever cause her to violate that promise. Although Judy had, through fear of displeasing her patrons, given up all public practice of her religion, she nevertheless never denied that she was a "Catholique," and never omitted to recite full five decades of the beads after going to bed. She declared she could not fall asleep till she complied with this rather lazy effort of prayer. Besides these rather faint evidences of her faith, she often told her loved Ali' that she intended calling in the priest at the hour of her death; and she confided to the honor of the young lady this secret desire of hers, and elicited many promises from her Ali' to send for his reverence when she would perceive her end approach. "This is rather a singular notion of yours," Alia used to say. "If you are a Catholic, and believe your faith the best, or the only true one, why do you not practise its teachings, and fulfil all the requirements of your church? I am sure neither father nor mother would blame you."

"O miss, I feard, I feard," the poor, timid soul would answer. "But tink of vat I tol' you; when I go to die, send for thebonpriest, who know how to do the 'parle Française,' and I pray for you when I go to heaven."

"I shall do that for you, poor aunt Judy, or even attend you now, while you are in health, to the Catholic church, where you can go to the sacraments, and become a member again of that church which you have so long neglected, but which yet seems still to retain a strong hold of your affections and heart. Won't this be the best course, aunt Judy? I will attend you to the church of that zealous young Irish priest whom I see so often hurrying along here to his sick calls up town; and as I suspect I am 'Irish' myself, I hope he will not be displeased at my call."

"O, you no Irish, miss, at all, but good Yankee. But tish better not go for de priest till he come to me when I go to die. Now I have religion here inmon coeur; ven I die, I profess her open."

"Well, Judy, act as you wish; but it appears to me your conduct is singular. I shall do my part, however; and if there is a priest to be had in the city when you take to your death bed, you must have him to attend you."

It was by such communings and conversations as the foregoing, during the leisure hours of aunt Judy and her loved Ali', that mutual confidence and disinterested friendship grew into maturity between them—the childish and helpless simplicity of the one, and kind and good-natured condescension of the other, producing the like effects in the hearts of both respectively—that is, disinterested friendship. Yet strong as this friendship was, and enthusiastic as was the love of Judy for her "rosy-cheeked" favorite, they were not sufficient to cause her to reveal the secret of her birth and adoption, even at this hour of Alia's deepest grief and affliction.

There were two causes for this her unaccountable silence. Firstly, she had promised not to mention the slightest circumstance connected with the adopted child, and she feared punishment from the anger of her proud massa, whose disgrace might be the consequence. And again, having been in the habit of hearing all sorts of reflections on the "Irish," whom some mad abolitionists would gladly enslave in place of the blacks, poor Judy thought to save Alia from the mortification of finding herself "Irish," by her equivocation and falsehood.

Paul O'Clery had been appointed pastor of one of the principal churches in the second city in the Union, as we have before mentioned, and already the evidences of the "care of souls" with which he was charged for several years began to manifest themselves on his placid brow. His was a life of unceasing activity. The visitations of the sick, the calls of charity, the hearing of confessions, together with the instruction of youth and the preaching of God's word,—these, the ordinary lot of pastors, constituted but a share, and not the largest one, of his onerous duties. Ever mindful of his own destitute condition while an orphan deprived of both parents, all the orphans of the thickly-inhabited district that constituted his mission became objects of his special care. And at a time when such an institution as a Catholic orphanage was regarded as visionary, or the ephemeral creation of a too ardent zeal, this good pastor succeeded in founding and supporting an asylum which has since become of incalculable value, not only to the Catholics as a body, but to the inhabitants of the whole city and state. A house of refuge for repentant Magdalens, placed under the care of the Sisters of Mercy, commanded his next care. In a word, the founding of schools, hospitals, confraternities, guilds, and other pious institutions exercised all of his time that was not devoted to his strictly ecclesiastical duties; so that his sister Bridget, known in religion as Sister St. John of the Cross, complained a good deal of his want of charity in not having visited her but once in seven years. "Ad majorem Dei gloriam,"—"To the greater glory of God,"—was this pious Levite's motto; and he was dead to all the ties of flesh and blood, and heedless of all calls save those of charity to his God and his neighbor.

In the pulpit, the spontaneous eloquence of his heart chained the attention of his hearers; and his discourses, though rather inclined to asceticism than controversial, went to the hearts, and convinced the understandings, of unbelievers of the divinity of the doctrine he preached. No class of his fellow-creatures was excluded from the influence of his boundless zeal. Protestants—to whom he was very mild, on account of his knowledge of the ignorant prejudices in which they are bound by the malice of their teachers—heard him, and became converts to the church of God. Even the neglected negro race claimed and received a full measure of his zeal. He established a school for the children of these neglected sons of Africa, and never lost an opportunity of visiting them at the death bed or in the hour of serious sickness.

It was on occasion of one of these visits that God rewarded his priest, even in this world, by the joyous disclosure which we here record, and which, next to his grace of vocation to the priesthood, of all the manifestations of God's mercy to him, claimed his sincerest gratitude and thanksgiving. After the end of the grand "birthday banquet," which lasted for a day and two nights, Alia's position at the palace became more disagreeable than ever. The young girls frowned on her and shunned her society, and Madame Goldrich, after she had got over the fatigue of the party, read her a smart lesson on her "ill manners and Irish temper," because she dared to absent herself, to the disappointment of the guests, from a table at which she was denied her proper and usual place. "Alia, this conduct of yours must be reformed, and that quick, or your separation from this family, to which you do not belong, must soon take place. I ain't goin' to let you take precedence of my children no longer."

To this vulgar speech of the "princess, our hostess," as she was flatteringly toasted by a John Bull guest who was there, Alia answered not a word, but, having retired to her room, fell on her knees and prayed long and fervently to the God of her fathers to assist her by his inspirations, and direct her to the best, in her present perplexity. Having unburdened her bosom of a load of grief by a copious effusion of tears, and felt in her spirit that calm resignation which a sense of its own forlorn condition and a total reliance on God are calculated to inspire even in the unregenerate and imperfect soul, Alia now proceeded to the chamber of old Judy, whose expected illness had at last arrived, having been ill now for three days. On perceiving her entrance into the room, the old negress appealed to her in most supplicating terms to fulfil her promise to send for "de priest, for now de hour am come. O Ali', angel, dear," she cried, "do not let me die without the 'bon Dieu,' or I lost foreber. O, haste! O, haste!"

Alia lost no time, but, taking pen and paper, wrote as follows to the bishop of the diocese:—

"The Right Rev. Catholic bishop is respectfully informed that there is a negro woman lying dangerously ill at Mr. Goldrich's, who, being a Catholic, desires the last rites of that church. Being a native of St. Domingo, the French is her vernacular tongue; for which cause it will be desirable, if possible, to send, a clergyman who can speak that language."

A young negro lad was the bearer of this despatch, and he returned in less than an hour, attended by Rev. Paul O'Clery, whom the bishop sent to answer this urgent call, all those of the episcopal residence having been out since early morning attending on the sick in their respective localities. In order to avoid any further cause of displeasure to Mrs. Goldrich, Alia had given the negro lad instructions to bring the priest in through a private door that communicated with the garden, rather than attract attention by entering the hall door. She had a full view of the countenance of the young priest, through the window, while he was crossing that part of the garden that lay next the houses of the city, and, strange! her heart throbbed, and an indescribable sensation passed over her frame.

"How happy," she thought, "must be the sister of such a gentleman as that! how different her lot from mine!"

The priest entered, and was received with a very polite bow by Alia, which was returned profoundly. Declining to take a seat, on account of his many other urgent calls, he was escorted to old Judy's chamber by his fair guide, who, on the way thither, explained to him what sort of a person she was, and how odd in her notions about religion. Having conducted him to her bedside, she made a polite bow, and retired, asking if her services were further needed.

The priest answered, "No; that he believed all the requirements for this holy but melancholy service were prepared, and that he supposed he had to thank her for the nice arrangements he observed."

"Yes, mon pere," said old Judy, in half French, half English, "there is the 'chandel,' the 'eau-benite,' the 'la croix,' and the rest, that I keep many year for my deathday."

It was only when she retired from the chamber that the priest caught a full view of the fair Alia; and now

"A strange emotion worked within him, moreThan mere compassion ever worked before."

He saw in this interesting stranger the strongest resemblance to his own sister Bridget. There were the same raven hair, the same candid and large eyes, the same broad and well-set teeth so peculiar to the O'Clerys, and the same form almost to a line. The groans and urgent call of his penitent Judy, however, soon recalled his mind from its reveries, and he banished all thoughts of Alia, as temptations, or, at least, speculations, which it was for the present useless to entertain. He put on his stole, and after a short aspiration for light and grace to discharge his duty to the sick woman, was just in the act of repeating the prayer, "Dominus sit in corde tuo et in labiis,"—"May the Lord be in your heart and lips,"—when the creature, raising herself up in her bed, prevented him, saying, "Mon pere, I vant, before I begin the confession, to tell you a secret that burden my mind long time."

She then proceeded to tell how that young lady he had just seen had been adopted, or rather kidnapped, by the family she now lived with; how her name was changed from Aloysia to Alia; how this scheme was planned and carried out by Miss Sillerman, Mrs. Goldrich's sister, who died not long since; how, till of late, she was brought up as one of the family; how carefully she was instructed in all the ways of the Presbyterians; and, above all, how they endeavored to conceal her family name, for fear of being claimed by her friends. "But, mon pere," said she, in continuation, "though I forget the family name of this young, lubly lady, I have an article here (loosing an old-fashioned workbag) which may tell her family name."

With that she handed Father Paul a neat ruby necklace, with a rather heavy gold clasp, on which were carved deeply a cross, interwoven with shamrocks, with these words, in italics, "The O'C—— Arms." This was enough for Paul O'Clery; he had no doubt of having seen and conversed with his own dear, long-lost sister, a few moments before. He sunk down on his knees, buried his face in his hands, and tried as well as he could to suppress the emotions that pervaded his bosom. After having prepared old Judy for heaven,—having first prevailed on her to make these disclosures in presence of witnesses, on condition that the circumstances of her revelation should not be published till after her death,—the priest retired from that palace, promising to call again, accompanied with another gentleman, in the afternoon. Lest his feelings should betray him, he retired from the house with as little delay as was consistent with politeness; and he trembled all over as he a second time returned the greeting of his dear Aloysia, as she conducted him to the door.

With as little delay as possible, he sought the office of his legal adviser, and, accompanied by a judge of the Supreme Court of eminent character, and the legal adviser, and a third, all Protestant gentlemen, he sought the sick chamber of the old negress again, and there her deposition, and a confirmation of her previous account of Alia's bringing up and captivity, were obtained. They had scarcely concluded her testimony, when poor Judy bid farewell to the world and its crosses, and the priest had the satisfaction of bidding God speed to her soul in its passage to eternity, having read for her the last benediction a second time.

The presence of so many strangers in the house naturally created some surprise among the inmates, and shortly the death chamber of Judy was filled with the members of the family, of both sexes.

An explanation of this unusual and unauthorized proceeding was demanded by Mrs. Goldrich, which the eminent judge consented to give, provided anadjournmentto a more appropriate court was agreed to.

His honor was in the act of unravelling the mysterious but well-connected development of old Judy—a work of supererogation on his part, as far as madam was concerned—when the fair-faced Alia herself made her appearance; and her reverend brother Paul, no longer able to check his feelings, sprang forward, and, seizing her white hand, kissed it, saying, "My dearest sister Aloysia, welcome to the embrace of your brother! 'You were lost, and I have found you; you were dead, and are again come to life! Rejoice, and be glad.'"

This was too much happiness for Alia to bear up against without momentarily yielding to the shock, and she sank, as if lifeless, on a couch. She was soon restored, however, and surrounded by the seemingly affectionate caresses of her enviousmotherand jealous sisters. She had to hear all their arguments to persuade her to prefer her present splendid misery to the equivocal boon of having found out a poor, destitute brother, though it was not yet clear whether she could call him by that name. Appearances were deceitful.

Father Paul listened meekly to the smooth discourses and flattering promises of the rich lady and her children, not doubting, if she were an O'Clery, which side she would choose.

"You are young, my dear Aloysia, but yet at or near the age of mature understanding; and I know a brother cannot command you as a parent could in this 'free country.' You have your choice—the traditional glory of the old family of O'Clery, two brothers, and a sister as fair as yourself, together with the old faith of St. Patrick,—the gloriousCrossand the immortalShamrock,—all these balanced against this grand palace, probably great earthly comforts, and a religion that 'is not fit for a gentleman.' Have your choice; choose boldly, and at once, and free your brother from suspense."

"Are you my brother?" she said, wildly, "or do I dream? Have I a brother on earth, and one so worthy as thou? O, I have no second choice," she cried, falling at his feet, and wetting them with her tears.

"Plant this Cross in my bosom,And this Shamrock in my hair;And these are the only ornamentsI ever again shall wear."

The spirited girl prepared immediately to quit the splendid palace, and she came to the resolution of taking nothing with her, either of dress, or trinkets, or jewelry. "Naked and bare I came into this family, and with one single dress shall I leave it," said she, "feeling sufficiently enriched in what I have this day found—a brother, with the Cross and Shamrock of the O'Clerys. O, what complete changes! Instead of Alia, I am Aloysia; instead of Goldrich, I am O'Clery."

Paul did not think it prudent to allow his sister to quit the house of her rich patrons so quickly, especially as Mr. Goldrich was from home, and till the public should be satisfied, and all doubts about her identity resolved. There was some opposition made by the parsons, one of whom, a Mr. Cashman, was long fishing for the fair hand of Aloysia; but this little dust raised by the "white necks" was soon hushed, when the record of the baptism of Miss O'Clery was produced, and when the book of heraldry was consulted to verify the armorial bearings of the O'Clerys, which were, as we said, carved on the clasp of her necklace; and, above all, when, on the left-hand ring finger of the young lady, the same impression of a ring appeared which several persons testified having seen on it when an infant.

During thedénouementof the events recorded in the preceding chapter, and the discussion of them by the variousreligiousnewspapers,—each of which, like a well-trained spaniel, tried to bark so as to secure the approbation of those from whom it derived its food,—Father O'Clery continued in the discharge of his ordinary duties as if nothing strange had happened. He addressed one letter on the subject to the leading secular journals of the city, showing, by the most convincing chain of evidence, the identity of the lady passing so long for a daughter of Mr. Goldrich with his own younger and long-lost sister, and satisfying all but fanatics and bigots of his prudence, and the propriety of the steps taken by him for her recovery.

Mr. Goldrich, in the mean time, returned home, and though he could not but feel astonished at the developments which took place in his absence respecting his adopted daughter, he was too shrewd and too keen a man of business to make himself a tool in the hands of bigoted parsons, or to deny the validity of the evidence proving her to be no other than Aloysia O'Clery. This was enough. What now was become of all the talking, writing, swearing, and preaching of the dominies? To what purpose was this big talk, loud exclamations, puzzling interrogatories, and flaming articles of the Babylonian press? For a whole month nothing was published by the editors but "leaders," "articles," "paragraphs," "communications," "reports," "speeches," "lectures," "sermons," "mass meetings," "resolutions," "protests," and "letters of correspondents," regarding this "Popish plot," "this Romanist aggression," "this priestly insolence," and a thousand other names, threats, and unflattering epithets against persons and institutions, whose only connection with the case of Miss O'Clery was, that they belonged to the Catholic church, or dared to speak the truth, or claim their rights. Now the hundred-headed Cerberus of the press is silenced, and skulks into its dark lair, beaten and silenced, but not ashamed of the filthy dribblings of its lying tongue. Now all the talk, articles, and "leaders" go for nothing, since Mr. Goldrich acknowledges "the priest is right; she is his sister." But did not that clamorous press, that bellowed and hallooed on the rabble to rob, murder, and destroy,—did it not recall its words, apologize for its naughty language, and retract every charge groundlessly made? Like a convicted felon, did it crypeccavi—I have sinned, been misled, or misinformed? No; not a sign of repentance has been manifested, not an apology made, not a word of retraction uttered by these self-styled philosophers of the press, who think they are responsible to no law, human or divine, and who say they have a world to redeem, and nations and peoples to regenerate. We have read countless folios of calumnies, misrepresentations, and black libels on every thing sacred and venerable on earth, by the American press, during several years that we have read newspapers; but we never yet found one editor to retract, apologize, or mend his manners and language, except when compelled by the cudgel or by the law. What an anomaly does the observation of the conduct of the world present to us! They refuse "to hear the church," or be guided by the teaching of men who have spent their lives in preparing and qualifying themselves for the office of public teaching; and they submit themselves blindly and without control to the guidance of men whom they know not, who have not always the best moral characters, and whose training, in most instances, does any thing but qualify them for the dangerous office they fill.

The instance which is here given of the almost unanimous hostility of the press to the cause of justice, truth, and honor, illustrates what we say; and the obvious conclusion is, that the "fourth estate" itself needs reclaiming—the great modern reformer needs reformation.

Soon after Mr. Goldrich's return home, he called on Father Paul O'Clery, and, with a great deal of good nature, congratulated him on his very providential discovery of his sister, "my dear adopted child. And now, reverend sir," said he, affectionately, "I beg to tender you the hospitalities of our house. As your sister has been for so many years one of the family,—and not the least loved one, I assure you,—I hope I may, without impropriety, by right of relationship by adoption, claim you as a member also."

Father Paul answered by assuring him he appreciated his kindness; that he acknowledged the honorable connection in full; and that, though this very affectionate advance had not taken place, Mr. Goldrich would ever be regarded by him with feelings of veneration and love, on account of his affectionate kindness to his sister, in giving her such a superior education, and treating her on terms of equality with his own children. The highminded and liberal gentleman, after having shed tears at the idea of losing his dear adopted girl, departed, having previously extorted a promise from Father Paul to attend a great party in honor of Aloysia, at the palace, on the evening of the next day.

In the mean time, Aloysia's room was besieged with crowds of anxious visitors and voluntary condolers on her resolution of renouncing wealth, pleasure, and Protestantism, for poverty, Popery, and penance. Rich merchants came, offering to settle annuities on her for life; rich widows came, with their tracts and Bibles in one hand, and their real estate deeds and scrip in the other, hoping to conquer her resolution; and eloquent parsons, with their "sweet speeches and flattering discourses," were chasing one another, like clouds driven by the winds, to and from the well-furnished boudoir, all charged with the same apostolic office of saving a soul, a beautiful, interesting one, from falling into that world-wide "net" of Popery with which St. Peter and his successors have never ceased to "catch men," since the days of Jesus Christ. All the discourses, prayers, entreaties, threats, crocodile tears, flatteries, misrepresentations, legacies, settlements, and other seductive allurements have miscarried, this time. A Catholic Aloysia was baptized, and a Catholic she is resolved to live and die, with God's grace.

The "big dinner" was prepared at the rich man's house, where Father Paul through courtesy attended, and where he was obliged to defend, in a speech of some length, the violent assault of that Parson Cashman, who we told was fishing for the hand of Aloysia, but who now, because she rejected him with scorn, had the bad taste to insult the whole company by hischampagne-inspired attack on Ireland, her creed, and her children.

Paul completely refuted his charge of ignorance of the Irish, by contrasting their religious knowledge with that of the English and Americans; in the former one of which countries there are seven or eight millions of pagans, and in the later so many thousands who follow such impostors as Miller, Smith, spiritual rappers, Transcendentalists, Fourierites, and other impostors notorious for their crimes.

"The reverend gentleman forgets," said he, "that Ireland was once, and for ages, the most enlightened country on earth, and deserved to be called "the Island of Saints;" and that whatever of ignorance, poverty, and crime—which, thank God, is little—she is afflicted with, was inherited by her from the curse introduced into her by the upas tree of Protestantism. Ah, sir, the eulogy of England comes with a bad grace from the lips of a son of America, which she oppressed, and which, but for Catholic arms, might be now, instead of a great republic, a badly-ruled province of Protestant England. Study history, sir; study history; and you will soon think better of Ireland and Catholicity, and less of England and her persecuting Protestantism." And with that he retired.

The remaining part of our tale is soon told. Paul O'Clery, from being a good priest, became, in addition, a great man; his virtues, learning, and genius soon attracted the notice of the princes of God's church. He was consecrated bishop, "in partibus infidelium," and he is now a pillar of God's church, and an ornament in his sanctuary, as archbishop in one of the great cities of British India, in Asia. Behold, my young readers, how the church opens the gates of her treasures, and encourages the promotion of the humblest of her children. Virtue and genius are the only titles to nobility which she regards. Every office in her gift (and she has stations too high for angels) is open to the humblest aspirant to perfection. How many scores of young men might be now shining lamps in God's sanctuary, instead of being degraded to the level of the drudges of the earth and the slaves of the world, if they only resisted the glittering bait of temptation at first, and took as their model Paul O'Clery, the orphan boy!

What became of Aloysia, do you wish to know? She joined her sister Bridget in the nunnery, and after atoning by her tears and repentance for thematerialheresy of her youth, she lately fell a victim to fever, contracted by her in caring for the poor negro slaves of New Orleans. She preferred to die a saint than live a princess.

Eugene, as you already know, died a martyr for his faith, having been persecuted to death by Parson Dilman and Mr. Shaw Gulvert of evil memory.

Patrick returned to Ireland, where he has lately purchased an estate under the encumbered estates law—the very same estate on which his father lived under Lord Mandemon.

You recollect Van Stingey, the first persecutor of the orphan family, was blown up by powder, and perished miserably. Amanda Prying met a fate little better. Having been in the habit of imbibing strong drafts of chloroform, for purposes of intoxication, she was found dead in bed one December morning, after having imbibed too strong a dose.

The youngest child of Reuben Prying met with his death in this way: Willy, the youngest but one, hearing that somebody was to be hanged, asked his pa how the operation was performed. The father, of course, believing that "knowledge was power," taught the child how to act the hangman, and the lesson was not taught in vain; for, the next day, Willy, experimenting on the "knowledge" communicated, hanged his younger brother, Lory, dead. Thus perished the darling son of him who combined with the parson to kill Eugene O'Clery.

I forgot to say that Mary Prying, the innocent, good girl, and the admirer of Paul, became a convert, and is now a nun, called Sister Mary Magdalen.

But what of the Parsons Grinoble, Gulmore, Barker, Scullion, and the others, who had a hand in robbing the orphans of their faith? They are all alive yet, and, according to their limited capacities, doing all the harm it is possible for them to do, in propagating error and disseminating discord. And your friend Dr. Ugo, who was instrumental in saving the orphans, is yet living, and battling for the faith, never omitting to inculcate fidelity to theCrossand attachment to theShamrockon all his beloved parishioners and hearers. Amen!

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