COUSIN SUSAN'S NOTE-BOOK JOTTINGS ON THE LIFE AND WORK OF FATHER CHINIQUY.
The Cow, the Sucking Pig, and Purgatory.
"The tree is known by its fruit."—Matthew xii. 33.
Mr. Chiniquy died very suddenly, when his little son Charlie was only twelve years old. The boy had been fetched home from the house of a relative who lived at a distance, and where he had attended a good school, kept by a Protestant gentleman. He had gone through various lessons with his father, and delighted him with the progress he had made. They had read the fifteenth chapter of Luke, and retired to rest full of joy; but before the next day dawned, the boy awoke to his mother's heartrending cry, "Oh, my dear child, you have no more a father! He is dead!"
Poor child! He felt he could not believe it. He ran to his father's bed, kissed him, pressed his hands, and prayed that he might live. But it was too true. The breath had fled, and only a lifeless corpse remained.
After such overwhelming sorrow, surely they needed the tenderest sympathy; but only a few days elapsed before the parish priest (who had, years before, tried to get their Bible away) called on them, and, after a few cold words, he said that something was owing for the prayers that had been offered for the departed, and he would be glad to receive it! Poor Mrs. Chiniquy assured him that, although her husband had received a considerable income as a notary, yet their expenses had been so heavy that he had left her little besides debts. The house he had had built, and the piece of land he purchased not long ago, were only half paid for, "and I fear," said she, "I shall lose them both. I hope, sir," she added, "that you are not the man to take away from us our last piece of bread."
"But, madam," was the cruel answer, "the money for the masses offered for the rest of your husband's soul must be paid!"
For some time the widow sat shedding silent tears. At length she raised her tearful eyes, and said, "Sir, you see that cow in the meadow? Her milk, and the butter made from it, form the principal part of my children's food. I hope you will not take her away from us. If, however, such a sacrifice must be made to deliver my poor husband's soul from purgatory, take her as the payment of the masses to be offered to extinguish those devouring flames."
"Very well, madam," said the priest, rising, and walking out.
They anxiously watched to see what he would do; and, to their horror, he went straight to the meadow and drove away their useful and cherished favourite. Poor Mrs. Chiniquy nearly fainted; and when able to speak, she said—