In another letter, he writes:—
"I am frequently assailed with black doubts about the prudence of all my proceedings; but these pass by, and I go on again with brighter spirits than ever, and, in the end, I am astonished how Providence has carried me clear of danger and perplexities when they have threatened me the most. I trust it will be so now.
"I beg your Paternity will write to me again what you decide about St. Wilfrid's functions, and tell me what I can do by writing letters or otherwise. I feel better qualified to do what I am told, than to give advice what others should do."
As may be seen from some of the letters introduced above, Father Ignatius had to endure trials from the want of sympathy with his ways, in many of the English converts. One celebrated convert went so far as to prohibit his speaking of the conversion of England to any of the members of a community of which he was Superior. Another used to tell him that "England was already damned," and that it was no use praying for it. A third treated him to some sharp cuts about the work of his little missions, when answering an application of Father Ignatius to give one in his parish. These and many other crosses of the like nature, he used to complain of with deep feeling among his fellow religious. It is remarkable that those who crossed him had great respect for his holiness, and, very likely, their opposition proceeded from not giving him credit for much prudence.
An incident that happened to him in one of his journeys in Ireland will give an idea of how he bore humiliations. He was walking to one of the principal towns in Tipperary, and a vehicle overtook him on the road. The man in the car took compassion on the poor old priest, and asked him to "take a lift." Father Ignatius took his seat at once; before they had proceeded far together, his companion perceived that he spoke in an "English accent," and began to doubt his being a priest. There had been some ugly rows in the town, lately, on account of a gang of "soupers" that infested it, and it struck the good townsman that his waggon was carrying a veritable "souper. "What," thought he, "if the neighbours should see me carrying such a precious cargo?" And, without asking or waiting for an explanation, he unceremoniously told Father Ignatius "to get down, for he suspected he wasn't of the right sort." Father Ignatius complied at once, without the least murmur. When the man was about a mile ahead of his late fellow-traveller, and could not stifle the remorse occasioned by his hasty leave-taking, he resolved to turn back and catechise him. The result satisfied him, and the good father was invited to take a seat a second time. To atone for his almost unpardonable crime, as he thought it, the man invited him to stay at his house for the night, as it was then late. Father Ignatius said he was due at the priest's house, but in case he found nobody up there, he should be happy to avail himself of his friend's hospitality. They parted company in the town; Father Ignatius went to the priest's, and the other to his home. They were all in bed in the presbytery, and no answer was returned to the repeated knocks and rings of the benighted traveller. He went to the friend's house, but found they, too, were gone to bed. No word was left about Father Ignatius, and his strange accent made the housewife refuse him admittance. He went off without saying a word in explanation. The man bethought himself shortly after, and sent messengers to seek him, who overtook him outside the town, walking off to the next, which he expected to reach before morning.
Another time he undertook the foundation of a convent in Staffordshire. With his usual indifference in matters temporal, he made no material provision whatever for the reception of the sisters, except a bleak, unfurnished house. The reverend mother came, with three or four sisters, and was rather disconcerted at what she found before them. Father Ignatius was expected in a day or two, and as the time of his arrival approached, the reverend mother went into the reception-room, and there sate—
"A sullen dame,
"Nursing her wrath to keep it warm."
Father Ignatius got a very hot reception. The lady scolded him heartily for his carelessness, and descanted most eloquently on the wants and grievances she had to endure since her arrival. He replied calmly that it was not his fault, that that department of the proceedings devolved on the parish priest. This only fired her the more—"Why didn't he tell the parish priest?" He then waited, quietly standing until she had exhausted her stock of abuse; whereupon he asked if she had done, and on receiving a nod in the affirmative, he said: "Oh, well, I know how I must approach your ladyship in future, I must make three bows in the Turkish fashion." So saying, he bowed nearly to the ground, retreated a step and bowed again, a third step backwards brought him to the door of the apartment, and when he had bowed still deeper than before, he stood up straight, took out a purse with some sovereigns in it, and spun it to the corner of the room in which the good nun sat petrified with astonishment:—"Take that now, and it may calm you a bit," was the good morning he bid her, as he closed the door after him, and went his way.
The tongue of slander assailed him again the last year of his life. We will give the occurrence in the words of the only one to whom the reverend mother told it in confidence. Father Ignatius himself never spoke of it.
"As our dear Lord loved him much, he wished to try him as he had tried the dearest and best-beloved of his servants. Therefore he permitted that his character should be assailed in the most vile manner by one who, through mistaken zeal, gave out the most injurious insinuations regarding our dear father and the late reverend mother. When Father Ignatius heard of it, he sent for the reverend mother to exhort her to bear the calumny with love and resignation. In speaking to her he said that God had asked all of him, and he had freely given all but his good name, and that he was ready now to offer as it had pleased God to ask for it; for all belonged to Him and he thanked Him for leaving him nothing. 'Will you not.' he continued, 'do the same? Do you not see that God is asking you for the dearest thing you can give? Give it, then, freely, and thank Him for taking it, for don't you see that by this you are resembling Him more closely? Besides, He has permitted this to happen, and if we do not give up our good name, which already belongs to Him, cheerfully and willingly, He will take it, in spite of us, and we shall lose the merit of our offering. How foolish, therefore, is it to go against God! Let us resign ourselves unreservedly into his hands. However, to remove any scandal that might follow, and to show this good priest that I have no ill-feeling against him, I will go and visit him on friendly terms.' And so he did."