"Holy obedience afterwards stationed me," continued the Reverend Father, "at the Gesú. About two years later, I was called upon to instruct a prisoner condemned to capital punishment. 'He appears to have been a desperate man,' said the jailer, as he drew aside the enormous bolts of iron that held fast the door of a corridor leading to a dismal dungeon; 'now, however, he is a little subdued; he even seems contrite at times, and I hope he will die penitent.'
"I visited the prisoner several times; he was always glad to see me, but it cost him a great effort to open his heart, and make a full confession. His birth and parentage, and advantages for a liberal education, should have brought him to a widely-different destiny. He had loved adventure naturally, but had taken a wrong direction. He might have become a famous military man, whereas he was only a rough, desperate highwayman. To win him to God, I began to listen to narratives of his wild brigand exploits. I affected to be interested in these daring adventures, and then succeeded in pointing out to him the sin that abounded in each and every act. One day, as he was speaking of the latest years of his life, I was greatly surprised to hear him recount the identical incident with which I began my story. He described to me in the most graphic terms the wonderful manner in which his hands and those of his comrades had been held by an invisible, irresistible power, saying that they had returned to their mountain haunts perfectly dismayed; that some of them appeared to have a vague and conscientious alarm, though revelry and song soon banished such misgivings. He told me that they knew the carriage was full of Jesuit priests, and that they had been promised a great pecuniary reward by a prominent member of the Freemason Society if they should succeed in seizing our luggage.
"I then made known to my penitent my share in that providential escape; he at once fell on his knees, wept long and bitterly, and finally asked my forgiveness. I prepared him for his dreadful end, and believe he died at peace with God, so great is the mercy of Jesus to the contrite soul, 'even though his sins be as scarlet.' I asked his permission to narrate the particulars of his portion of the story, and he gladly gave it, hoping to merit something for his sin-burdened soul by that act of humility."
We were all much impressed by the Reverend Father's narrative, and as we bade one another good-night, the doctor remarked that a kind deed performed for others was sure to merit a blessing in return, even though it were so small a favor as that gained by his favorite practice of saying the De Profundis.
"Yes," said Father G——, "charity never fails."—Ave Maria,
Nov. 24th, 1883.
CONFIDENCE REWARDED.
The following fact took place in Montreal, Canada, some three or four years since. We shall leave the zealous member of our association who related it to us to tell his own story:
"One morning," said he, "coming back from Mass, I saw Mr. C——, who was also coming out of the church. He was a worthy man, fearing God and fulfilling his duties faithfully and conscientiously. I said to myself: 'There is a man who deserves to belong to our association.' For is it not always a favor when God deems us worthy to do something for Him?
"I approached and asked him if he would not like to become a member of our association. 'What association?' 'The Association of the Way of the Cross and Masses. It is to relieve the dead by prayer and alms, two powerful means.' 'Ah! I knew nothing of it. What has to be done?' 'It suffices to make the Way of the Cross once a week and pay for a Mass once a month.' 'I love the souls in Purgatory,' he said, 'and I do all I can to relieve them. But, you see, things are not going well with me just now. I have been a long time sick, and am hardly able yet to discharge my ordinary duties.'
"At these words I cast my eyes on the speaker, and saw what I had not before noticed, that he looked pale and worn. He went on: 'As for paying anything, it would be impossible for me to do it; I have contracted debts, and if my ill health should continue,' he added, in a faltering voice, 'I shall be obliged to sell my little house.' Then he stopped, his heart evidently full, and tears in his eyes. 'But Providence watches over you, and nothing happens without God's good leave. If a single hair of our head cannot fall unless He will it, what have you to fear? Do something for God whilst you can. If you are liberal to Him, He will be more so towards you. Do you remember the promise Our Lord made to St. Gertrude? 'I will give an hundred-fold,' said He, 'for all thou shalt do for my beloved ones in Purgatory.' This promise was not for St. Gertrude alone; it was likewise for you. For one dollar that you give, you will gain ten; and if you are resolved to help the poor souls all you can, they will get you health to do it.' 'Ah! what you say touches me much, and truly I know not what to do.' After a moment's hesitation, he quickly resumed: 'Well, sir, although I am actually in distress, I am going to try; it may be the best means of getting out of it.' 'Yes, try; we run no risk when we make the Holy Souls our debtors.'