Cover

THE DEMANDS OF ROME

Elizabeth Schoffen as Sister Lucretia

Elizabeth Schoffen, Lecturer and Author

DEDICATION

In the name of all that is good, kind and Christian, I humbly dedicate this book to those two dauntless Americans, my friends and benefactors, Mr. and Mrs. E. U. Morrison.

"The Demands of Rome"

—By—

ELIZABETH SCHOFFEN (SISTER LUCRETIA)

Second Edition

Her Own Story of Thirty-One Years as a

Sister of Charity in the Order of the

Sisters of Charity of Providence of

the Roman Catholic Church

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR, PORTLAND, OREGON

Copyright, 1917,

by

ELIZABETH SCHOFFEN

(All rights reserved)

PREFACE.

After many entreaties and a sincere vow, it is now "mine to tell the story" of "The Demands of Rome" as I have lived them during my long life and faithful service in the Roman Catholic Church and sisterhood. I would sound this story in the ear of everyone who has the interest of the oppressed at heart—in the ear of everyone who has the interest of disseminating knowledge, the light and power of which would be a great help to the freeing of the captive from religious bondage. For as I view it now, religious bondage is the most direful of all.

In a few words, "The Demands of Rome" from the individual are from the "cradle to the grave," and they do not stop there, he is followed through "purgatory" and into eternity. In the commercial world, you must listen to "The Demands of Rome" or the Roman Catholic trade goes elsewhere, and the anathema of the church is invoked upon you.

The church of Rome demands property, and when they have it, demand that they be not taxed for that privilege; they demand wealth, never being satisfied, but forever demanding; they demand the suppression of liberty; they demand life; they demand death.

Now, as a sister in the church of Rome, it is demand from the very day she enters the convent, as I have explained throughout this book. The first demand is the hair of the victim. The Word of God says, "If a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her," but what does the church of Rome care what the Bible says? It is the demand from the church, and blind obedience of the subject to that demand that Rome cares about. It is their endless demands for supremacy of heaven, earth and hell.

We have all heard of the dumb animal which would run back to his stall in case of fire; nevertheless, we must take an interest in the faithful old horse and use every effort to save his life from the horrible death that he would rush to.

How much more must we take an interest in the lives of the poor, oppressed humans, the over-burdened, entrapped nuns behind the convent walls, though she may imagine that she is enjoying the greatest freedom and the happiest life. Yes, we must all look well to the doors that stand between Liberty and bondage, even though those doors seem bright with "religious" paint.

Let me say with the poet, that I cannot hope to "live but a few more days, or years, at most," and my one aim is to give to the world a book that will stand the crucial time of the changing years—a book that shall be known and read long after the author is forgotten. I write it with a fond hope that it may be helpful to "those who have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge," those who may be floundering in the meshes of a crooked and perversed theology. I want no other monument.

ELIZABETH SCHOFFEN.
February, 1917.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE DEMANDS OF ROME

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY

In writing this story of thirty-one years of my service in the Sisterhood of the Roman Catholic Church, I have no apologies to make. From the treatment I received after I left the cruel and oppressive Romish institution, I feel that there are thousands of Protestants, so-called, that need to know what is required and demanded of the poor, duped girls that are in these prisons of darkness that dot this beautiful country of ours from one end to the other, guising themselves under the cloak of religion.

Then, there is the Roman Catholic, who has been brought up in that faith, and yet feels that the system as practiced in this country is not in accord with the American principles. To these I wish to give my message, that they might know the inner workings of these damnable institutions, falsely called "charitable and religious."

With malice toward no one, but for love of God, charity and liberty to all, I tell this story of my life, with a sincere hope that it may—in some little way—help you, dear reader, and your posterity from drifting into the now threatening condition of pagan darkness and the indescribable, as well as uncalled for, unnatural, inhuman tortures I escaped from.

Protestants are brought up in such grand freedom and liberty of spirit, both civil and religious, that it is almost impossible for them to believe that there can be anything to prevent Roman Catholics (I now mean the good Roman Catholic) from enjoying the same rights and privileges that they do. If my Protestant friends will just stop one moment and think about the difference between Americanism and Catholicism, then they will realize how it is that the good Roman Catholic cannot enjoy the true liberal government that their forefathers fought, bled and died for, and which they are enjoying today.

Americanism means true democracy—the rule of the majority in matters civil, and the protection of the rights of the minority.

Americanism means freedom of thought, conscience, speech and press.

Americanism means the right to worship God according to the dictates of your own conscience.

Americanism means that liberty of body, soul and spirit which tends to the development of all that is noblest and best in the individual.

Does Roman Catholicism mean these great principles?

Let me say emphatically, NO.

Catholicism means the rule of the Pope.

Catholicism means restriction of thought, speech, and censorship of the press.

Catholicism means the worship of God in no other manner than set forth by the Popes, and the persecution of heretics, even unto death. You weak Protestants will probably say, "Oh, not that bad." Well, let me tell you, that you had better open your eyes. Let me quote from the "Golden Manual," a prayer book I used while a Sister. This book has the approval of John Card. McCloskey, then Archbishop of New York, page 666: "That thou wouldst vouchsafe to defeat the attempts of all Turks and heretics, and bring them to naught." And according to the Roman Catholic Church, a heretic is anyone who does not believe all the teachings of that church. So you Protestants are each and every one heretics and the Roman Catholic church has no use for you, so why should you cater to them?

Catholicism means repression of individuality and the subjection of the body, soul and spirit to a ruling class (the priests) by the terrible doctrine of infallibility, for we, as Catholics and sisters, believe that the priest cannot sin, as priest.

With these Roman Catholic principles, which I learned and practiced as a sister, so diabolically opposed to our American principles, it can readily be seen why a good Roman Catholic cannot enjoy the freedom which the Constitution gives to every American citizen. And, my dear American Protestant, if you do not get any other thought from this book, I wish to give you one here in the introductory which will be well worth your earnest, thoughtful study: If these principles of the Roman Catholic system are allowed to continue being put into practice, there is a possibility that we may lose our precious heritage of freedom which has been handed down to us. I was deprived of all the rights of an American citizen till about five years ago. I was buried in pagan darkness and superstition and my soul longed and was dying for light and life, and I did not know how to obtain freedom because of the ignorant manner in which I was raised in the parochial school, and the damnable instructions I received from the so-called representative of Christ on earth, the priest. I have heard that there are about eighty thousand sisters in the convents of the Roman Catholic system in the United States, and if this power can keep that number of girls in subjection and ignorance, do you not think that they will do the same with the seculars, if they had a little more power?

Just think it over, and read of the demands of Rome I had to yield to for thirty-one years. Read the dark history of the Roman Catholic Church, and remember that Rome never changes; 'Semper eadem—' "As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen." Then maybe you will cease being Protestant in name only, and begin to protest.

Why are we Protestants? What is the meaning of the word Protestant?

Protestant is one who protests, and we are called Protestants because at the time of the Reformation the people who protested against the cruelties and superstitious practices of Rome took the name Protestant, and we are supposed to protest against the same teachings and cruelties today.

But how many true Protestants have we today? Very few, indeed. If you would be a true Protestant, you must protest twenty-four hours a day, and seven days in every week in the year. Thank God, the American people have, in the last few years, begun to wake up, and see the evils of this terrible system, which is gnawing at the very vitals of our free institutions. And, if the American people do not become indifferent, as they have in the past, Rome will meet the same fate here that she has met, or is meeting, in nearly every country where she has held sway for any length of time.

History tells us in no uncertain language of the downfall of the once powerful country of Spain, of the suppression of the convents and monasteries in Portugal, Italy and France, and without the system of convents and monasteries, priestcraft can amount to naught. With these historical facts staring us in the face, the convent and monastery system is becoming a power in this land, and the inevitable is sure to come—the suppression of all closed institutions. "History repeats."

Therefore, I wish to give to the world my experience of thirty-one years in a convent, that I may help hasten the time when these institutions will be open, and the captive set free; that I may help, if I can, the real true, red-blooded American citizens from returning to sleepy indifference.

I cannot write this story in the language of an educated person, for as you will learn in the succeeding chapters, my education was sadly neglected. There will, no doubt, be many grammatical errors, which I ask my readers to overlook, as it is not intended as a work of rhetoric, but a message from the heart. I will write it in my own language, that which I had to learn mostly by myself, and it took a great many years of hard work and a great deal of deception on my part to be able to tell it even as well as I will. And, if I can convey to my American brothers and sisters any new light on the workings of these damnable institutions, or, if I may be the means of influencing a few more to be real, true, honest Protestants, then this effort will not be in vain.

I have no tale of immorality to tell, as the order of which I was a member was what may be classed as one of the "open orders," and the institutions in which I worked most of my so-called "religious" career, were among the most modern operated by the Roman Catholic system in this country. I have heard and read a great deal about the nameless infamies and the degradation of the "cloistered" orders, but that story I must leave for some other to tell. I will tell the unvarnished, plain truth of my experience in the "modern" institutions, and let the reader draw his or her own conclusion as to the life the sisters in the closed orders have to live.

CHAPTER II.

My Early Life and Schooling

I was born in 1861, in Minnesota, of German parents, who had come from Germany in quest of greater liberty and a home in a free land.

My mother was a most devout Roman Catholic, absolutely under priest guidance, and by his instructions to her the children were reared and schooled. My father was a broad-minded Roman Catholic, not very strong in the faith. I have heard him speak of the teachings and superstitious practices, as "priest foolishness." But, that there might be peace in the family, he would leave matters regarding the children to mother, and leaving these things with her was leaving them with the priest.

When I was five years old, we migrated to the State of Washington near Walla Walla (then called Fort Walla Walla).

I was the eighth child of a large family, and as my parents could not afford to send all of us to the convent or parochial school, it was my lot to go to the public school a few weeks occasionally for three years. This was when I was at the age of eight, nine and ten years. But, for fear of imbibing the "Protestant godless spirit," as my mother called it, I was given only a reader and speller. Nearly every day my mother would question me as to what the Protestant children would say to me at school. She cautioned me many, many times not to talk to them, as they were the children of bad Protestants, that they would grow up bad and wicked the same as their parents were, without belief in God and church, as Protestants were people who fell away from God by leaving the true church and following a very wicked man, named Luther, who became proud and disobedient to the Pope.

These Protestant godless (public) schools were greatly deplored in my home by my mother, and yet my father was a teacher and director in these public schools for a great many years. Because the Roman Catholic people had to pay taxes to keep these schools running, there was much murmuring against that unjust government of an infidel people, as it was called. With these contentions continually wrangling in my home, it did not require serious excuses for my being kept out of school. I have heard my mother make the statement many times that it would be better to have no education than to have this Protestant godless public school education.

When I was eleven years old, my mother and the priest decided that it was time for me to go to the convent school to learn my catechism, confession, my first communion, the rosary—my religion. In fact, during the three years I attended this school, that was about all I learned. True, there were classes of reading, spelling and arithmetic, but the books I used in these studies were of a lesser grade than those I used during the short time I went to the public school. By the order of the sister who taught arithmetic, I had to teach smaller children what little arithmetic I learned from blackboard study in the public school, having my class in the back of the room we occupied. The sister who taught reading (Sister Agnes) told us that before she came to that school to teach, she had been a cook in an Indian Mission. Well qualified, wasn't she? The catechism teacher (Sister Mary Rosary) taught sewing and catechism alternately, in that part of the building known as the wash-house.

Three years of my life were wasted in this manner, learning practically nothing but Roman Catholic catechism and pagan religion. Three years of just that time of a child's life which should be spent laying the foundation for something nobler and grander.

And now, after all is said and done, I was prepared to take my first communion. This was administered to me on May 23d, 1875, by "Father" Duffy, in the parish church of Walla Walla. I was confirmed the same day, in the same church, by Bishop Blanchet, of Vancouver, Washington.

I thought that I now had religion, and as I thought that was the one objective of the convent schooling, I took my few books home and told my mother that I would not go to that school any longer. I wanted to return to the public school, but mother said we were Catholics, and as such, we had to go to the Catholic school. Finally, after a great deal of persistence, I was permitted to go to the public school, but it was only for a very short time again. Mother took sick, and regardless of the fact that there were two sisters and a brother younger than I, and a sister and brother older, at home, this was a very good excuse to get me out of school.

From this time till I was twenty years old, six years, I did nothing but idle away the most precious time of one's existence. Oh, what stupid, lonely, sorrowful girlhood years they were. I knew in a dreamy way that I was being cheated out of my right of education, but what was I to do? I was tempted many times to leave home and work for schooling. I once made mention of this intention to mother. I was threatened with all sorts of punishments if I ever attempted a thing of this nature. She told me that I could study the catechism at home, that that was enough for me to know—that I would not forget the things that would take me to heaven and keep me from going to that terrible hell-fire with the devils. If there would have been any reasonable excuse for all this, I would have nothing to say. But there the school was at our very door, free to all, without price, with the exception of the few books that were needed, and yet I was denied that privilege. And why? All in the name of religion.

Oh, my American friends, can you not see the folly of it all? Can you not see the folly of allowing this one-man power to continue building these institutions all over this fair land of ours? Every time you see a parochial school in the shadow of a cross, just think that there is the institution taking the place of our public schools, and you can rest assured that even the parochial schools would not be here if it were not for the public schools. Institutions supposed to be educational, when in reality they are institutions for the purpose of teaching Roman Catholic paganism.

You may say that there are Roman Catholics who are well educated. Yes, there are. But where you will see one who is well educated, there will be hundreds and maybe thousands who have only a duped education, a fooled education, so to speak. I have given you a fair example of Roman Catholic education in my own life.

Six years before I entered the sisterhood, I had nothing to do outside the few home chores, kept in inexcusable ignorance, deprived of every opportunity for any enlightenment, even for my own future home life. I could hear nothing but punishments, purgatory, hell-fire and everlasting damnation. Prayer to the crucifix in honor of the five holy wounds, to the holy Virgin Mary and her badge—the scapular—for protection; confession, the church, the priest-Christ—these were my schooling. No reading, no society, except one Catholic neighbor family, and I was being continually cautioned to beware of them, as they had little of the Roman Catholic religion, were too worldly and were given almost entirely to dress and nice times.

Be assured that I had a real Roman Catholic raising, absolute ignorance, steeped in Popery, superstition, idolatry filled with Roman fanaticism. One of the Popes has said, "Ignorance is the mother of devotion." Yes, superstition was the name of my Roman Catholic mother; indifference was the name, in effect, of my Roman Catholic father. But the Lord God, the pope, through the priest, the devil's hellish system, was the school I was raised in. It was this cunningly devised, diabolical system which was responsible for the ignorance and mental blindness of my good, honest, but deluded parents, as it was to blame for the awful wrongs, injustice and the wretched life of abject convent slavery I had to live so many years.

So I had been compelled to hear and see nothing but the one sided teaching of the Roman Catholic catechism, the priest's hell and damnation preaching, had been held back and down in Roman Catholic ignorance, darkness and superstition, until at length I became as one deaf, dumb and blind, which very well explains the principle of the teachings of the Roman Catholic system.

During the last few years of my home life, all home and priestly influence was brought to bear on the convent life as the preferable choice for a girl. I had a great ambition to be a teacher, and the Jesuit priests (Father Jordan and Father Cathaldo) assured me that in the convent the sisters taught everything a girl needed to know; music, singing, needlework and the necessary education for teaching. The beautiful, glowing picture of convent and a sister's life were constantly being brought to my mind, till I could at last think of nothing else.

The world was pictured as terrible and sinful; the people being educated in the public schools, living under the influence of an unbelieving government, parents having no religion, people of irresponsible character and loose morals, caring for nothing but the material things of this world and good times, which consisted of sinful pleasures. And, living in this manner, there was no hope of eternal life for them, as there was no one to whom they could confess their sins, and "nothing defiled can enter heaven."

With these things constantly burdening my undeveloped mind, and the thought of the great work I could do for the church and priests, and of some day being a great sister-teacher, I at last consented to be a sister for the Roman Catholic system.

Very natural, under this kind of home life and influence, when every thing human, natural, ennobling, elevating and commonly decent and Christian was withheld and kept out of my life, and all of nature's endowments and rights distorted and put to my mind as something deceptive and leading to sin and deplorable wrongs.

CHAPTER III.

My Novitiate Life

My last two confessions, in preparation to entering the convent were made to "Father" Ceserri. When I had finished the last one, and he was expounding and explaining my admirable choice of sisterhood life, he raised his right hand while pronouncing the words, "I absolve thee, etc." and then he put his arm around my neck and very "fatherly" kissed me. In the midst of my sanctifying confusion I did not know whether it was the Holy Ghost, or if it was meant in brotherly love. But, I quieted my mind with the happy thought that as the priest was Christ in the confessional, it must have been Him who had kissed me, and I believed myself highly favored by this mark of His love.

This same priest, "Father" Ceserri, took me from my home, which was in the Palouse country in the eastern part of Washington, to Walla Walla, which was two days' travel by stage, and a few hours on the railroad. At the end of the two days' stage travel, we were in Dayton, Washington. It had been very warm and dusty all day. The clerk of the hotel showed us to a large room prepared for two. "Father" Ceserri, in a laughing, jolly, good-natured manner, remarked that the clerk took us for man and wife. The priest left the room while I was dusting and arranging myself. When he returned, he had a couple of bottles of porter, he called it, and two big goblets. He opened the porter and filled the goblets, handed one to me and kept the other himself. I would not take it, telling him that I never took liquor. He pleaded that I should drink it as it would do me good after the tiresome travel of the day. He could not prevail upon me to take it, so he left the room again, returning soon with some beer, saying that this was milder and insisted that I take it. I refused as before. He told me that if I wanted to be a sister that I had to learn to obey, as sisters made vows of obedience. So I consented to taste it in obedience to him. He was then satisfied, as I had obeyed.

The next day we went to Walla Walla, where I remained about a month with the Sisters of Charity, who took me to Vancouver, Washington, where I entered the convent.

It was understood between the priest and my mother, before I left home, that I would have a year's schooling before entering the Sisterhood. This promise had also been made to me by the Reverend Mother John of the Cross.

On the day set by the sisters, July 30th, 1881, I was notified that I was to be received into the novitiate that evening. I reminded the reverend mother of her promise to me in regard to school, and she told me that she had not forgotten it, that the two years' novitiate was all schooling. I believed her, and, as I had already had a few lessons in obedience, I thought it best for me to do as she directed. I had learned that the reverend mother superior was the same over us in the convent as the priest in the confessional and church. So I yielded in all confidence to her for my future interests.

Elizabeth Schoffen, One Month Before Leaving Home for the Convent.

On entering the novitiate, I was given a formula, which I said kneeling, as follows: "Reverend Mother, I beg to enter this holy house, and will submit to all the trials to prove myself worthy to become a servant of the poor, and pray for perseverance." I was then led into a large, barn-like hall or room, with a long, sort-of-workshop table in the center, and a number of plain chairs—this was all the furniture. There were a few holy pictures on the wall which broke the awful bareness. The frames were black, coffin-like strips of wood, very forcibly impressing the idea of death on my mind.

I was then led to a graded oratory where there were various statues and lighted candles, before which I knelt, ahead of the novices and the Mistress of Novices, and prayed: "Veni, Creator Spiritus," meaning, "Come, O Holy Ghost," and the Litany of the Saints. With this introductory ceremony over, the Mistress came to me with a large pair of scissors and cut off my beautiful, golden-brown hair, my only beauty. This was the first "mark of the beast," the first preparatory act for Rome's "holy" institution.

I was then a "postulant" which means on probation. The postulant period generally is six months. During that time the sisters decide whether or not the candidate has a religious calling—that is, to find out more intimately her character, disposition, temperament, inclinations, disinclinations—to see if she has the bodily fitness and soul requirements to be permitted the next step of advancement in this "holy" calling.

I was told by the mistress that the closing of the door of that "holy" house was a complete separation of myself from the sinful world. That if I wanted to be a spouse of Christ and a good sister, I had to absolutely forget everything outside the convent, even to my own parents and relations. "He that is not willing to leave father and mother for my sake is not worthy of me." The one important obligation that was repeatedly impressed upon my mind was that I had entered the convent to become a religious to save my soul. The quotation, "Let the dead bury their dead," was translated literally to me, and I was not to worry about any one outside the four walls that enclosed me.

As a postulant, I was to learn the fundamental virtues of the community of the Sisters of Charity—Humility, Simplicity and Charity. For the acquisition of these virtues I had to learn to diminish in my own estimation; be glad whenever I was given an opportunity to abase, to renounce or to mortify myself. By the interior and exterior practice of these virtues I had to prove myself. By true humility of heart, I had to bear all things and refuse the soul its desires. The poor and humble in spirit pass their life in abundance of peace, I was taught.

One of the first humiliating experiences I had, to illustrate the above teaching, was one Sunday evening soon after I entered. The sister who was to relieve me in the department I was working in, had failed to report and I had not had any supper. The next exercise was benediction in the church and I could not absent myself from this without being dispensed by my superior, and then for only very grave reasons. I went to the novitiate room about eight o'clock, and the mistress of novices rebuked me severely for not being in rank with the novices. I told her that I had not had any supper yet, as the sister officer had failed to replace me in time. I had broken a rule by being absent from supper without permission, so I went on my knees and asked a penance. The mistress told me that I could go to the pantry and get some eatables and take them up to the novitiate room and eat my supper before the novices. She also informed me that I had done wrong for blaming a professed sister for the breach of the rule.

This seems like a very childish occurrence, and so it was. But it was humiliating for me to sit before a number of novices eating a cold supper, and Rome had made her point by demanding from one of her dupes, and the dupe responded.

Almost from the first day I entered, I had to learn Latin prayers. This was probably the education I was promised. It would have been alright had I been taught Latin so it would have been of some benefit to me. But these prayers were taught me in a sort of parrot-like manner, the mistress of novices telling me how to pronounce the words in Latin, and I knew what they meant in English, having learned the prayers previously. If I were to see the same words written, explaining something I had not previously memorized, I would not be able to read or understand the meaning of them. I learned prayers in French in the same manner.

I will give you an example of a Latin prayer. This is the Angelical Salutation, or Hail! Mary:

Ave, Maria, gratia plena; Dominus tecum; benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Jesus.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

Quite often during my postulant period, while I was learning these Latin prayers, I would have to do sewing. This was a beginning of the vow of poverty, which I hoped to take in the near future—learning to be a religious, and at the same time working my hands for the Roman Catholic system.

The candidate is assigned her work by the mistress of novices and goes through a test to see in what way she can become useful in the service of God as a Sister of Charity. It is a case of getting all the work possible out of the girls from the very start, for these so-called "holy" institutions.

My two years' novitiate training was served in the boys' department of the Orphanage of the Sisters of Charity at Vancouver, Washington. There was an average of about seventy boys in this institution, ranging in age from three to fourteen years. Two sisters had all the care of these children, except the cooking of the food. And, oh, the care these poor children received. They were physically and mentally weak from having been underfed and poorly cared for, and being taught by two sisters who had a parochial school education such as I had.

One of my duties was to awaken these poor, little waif children for Mass at five thirty in the morning. If, on arising, I found that any of them had failed to get up during the night to attend to nature's call, it was my duty to whip them with a substantial leather strap, which was provided for that purpose. If some of the larger boys needed this persuasive remedy for their ills, they would be taken to the attic, stripped, and some sister would be there to administer the medicine in prolific doses. With this kind of treatment, it was no wonder that we had to be continually on our guard to keep them from running away. I have known as many as six at one time to run away for two or three days, and sometimes some of them would not come back at all.

On the twenty-fourth day of February, 1882, I was admitted to the "holy habit," in most orders called the taking of the "white veil," the next step to my "religious perfection."

I was now a "novice" and I must present myself every two weeks to the mistress of novices, and in order that she may direct my soul in the spiritual life, I must kneel to her in private and make what is called "manifestation of conscience." That is, to lay bare my heart and mind in everything I can possibly think of, excepting grave sins. If the mistress, who is a cunning director, has any dislike for any of the novices, this exercise is very cruel, for these "saintly" nuns know better than any one on earth how to cunningly torture those in their power—the system forcing them to it.

Every week I had to go to the priest for confession, whether I had anything to confess or not. Very often I had to search my heart and mind to find something to tell this "Christ" in the confessional.

Soon after I became a "novice," we were called to the novitiate for spiritual instruction. "Father" Louis de G. Schram was the chaplain. An orphan boy had been taken out of the orphanage on account of one of the younger sisters having talked a little too much. "Father" Schram said, "Now, sisters, always tell the truth, but to tell the truth you do not have to tell everything you know. Suppose, Sister O'Brien, if somebody would come and ask you, 'Is Johnny Morgan here?' you would not have to say 'Yes, Johnny Morgan is here.' You place one hand in the sleeve of the other hand, and you say, 'No, Johnny Morgan is not here,' and you will mean that Johnny Morgan is not up your sleeve."

This story was given as a spiritual instruction, but it very truly represents the system I lived for thirty-one years—deception, from beginning to finish. With teachings of this nature constantly before us, it was a case of lying, stealing, thieving and "swipping" among ourselves, from morning till night, to make life a little more comfortable for ourselves.

A novice is not allowed to talk in general conversation with a professed sister during her novitiate period, with the exception of the mistress of novices and the mother superior. These two sisters, and the priest, are the only confidents we have, as we are taught to talk among ourselves on religious subjects only, and if we hear another novice talking in any other subject or breaking any other rule, it is our duty by rule and conscience to report her to the mistress of novices. We are told that we are all "monitors," which means, carry the reports to the mistress of novices.

This practice destroys confidence and causes us to regard one another with suspicion, the result of which is distrust and hatred, and a general spy system. This is one of the most devilish practices taught in this part of a sister's life, one that stays with her throughout her whole sisterhood. Tattling, accusing, charging one another with the most trivial, cruel, and very often wicked acts. Many times the sister accused is innocent of any wrong doing, but there is nearly always a penance imposed upon her, and if she is not in the good grace of the mother superior, the penance is often very severe.

"Father" Louis de G. Schram (Johnny Morgan Story)

From the first day we enter, we are not allowed to send or receive mail, without it first being censored. This is another manner Rome has of keeping the girls in the convent after they are once there. The practice of censorship of mail is absolutely against the postal laws of the country, but it is done in the convents every day. Why should the postal authorities permit the continuous disregard for the laws? Are the sisters in the convents American citizens and under the protection of the laws of the country, or are they not American citizens? If you would open mail belonging to some other person, unless you could give a very good reason for so doing, you would find yourself in the clutches of the law, and would have to account to the Federal government. But you never hear of a superior of a convent being held for opening another sister's mail. Why this discrimination? Is it not breaking the law in one instance the same as the other?

While I was in the novitiate, a letter that I had written to my parents, was returned to me by the mistress of novices, with the instruction that I rewrite it and leave certain parts out, as it would cause my people to think that I was not happy. Yes, dear reader, that is it exactly. It did not make any difference how I felt, whether I was happy or not, the fact was that I was in the convent, seemingly, for better or worse. It was the impression I left on the outer world that Rome was most interested in.

The fact of the matter is, that I was not happy and wished to leave, but did not know what to do or where to go. I knew that I would not be welcomed in my own home or among Roman Catholics, and with the bringing up I had received and under the influence of this religious training, I believed it impossible to be saved among Protestants. Several times I made mention of my unhappiness to the Master of Novices in the confessional. He implored me to be faithful and God would reward me, and if I was not faithful there was small chance of saving my soul.

Nearly always after telling the Master of Novices of the unhappiness in the convent, he would, at the next "spiritual" instruction, give us a long talk about girls who had lost their vocation by leaving the convent, and that they nearly all came to a bad end.

My dear reader, you can readily understand why more of these poor, deluded sisters do not leave these institutions, when, from the very beginning these principles are ground in their very hearts and minds until they become as one bound, tied and gagged.

CHAPTER IV.

A Virgin Spouse of Christ

My First Mission

My novitiate training of two years being finished, I was now ready to be prepared to become a "Virgin Spouse of Christ." My "canonical examination" was conducted by "The Right Reverend" Aegedius Jounger, Bishop of Nesqually. This examination was a very private affair. It consisted of rigid questioning in regard to the vows I was about to take, poverty, chastity and obedience, and especially the vow of chastity. I was asked what I understood by the vow of chastity, and if I thought I could keep it through my life. I was also questioned very closely as to my fitness to take a vow of this nature.

I was informed that my examination had been satisfactory, and on the sixth day of August, 1883, I made my profession as a Sister of Charity of Providence, in the convent of that order, the House of Providence, in Vancouver, Washington. Bishop Jounger officiated at this ceremony, assisted by "Father" Schram and several other priests.

This ceremony included the "nuptial mass" which is the wedding ceremony between the novice, or candidate, as the bride, and Jesus Christ, the absent bridegroom. At this ceremony I received my wedding ring (which I have yet) and took the perpetual vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. These three things—the wedding ceremony, receiving the ring and the taking of the vows—made me a "virgin bride of Jesus Christ." The head-gear of the garb was changed at this ceremony of my "religious profession," which was the only difference between the garb of the novice and the professed sister in the order I had entered. I also received my number, 554, which meant that I was the 554th sister to enter that order, and which I kept throughout my sisterhood life. All clothes and articles assigned to us for our use are marked with the sister's number, just as seculars (people of the world) use their names or initials, or the numbering of convicts in the penitentiary.

The following is, in substance, the form of the final and perpetual vows I took:

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. I, Elizabeth Schoffen, in religion Sister Lucretia, wishing to consecrate myself to God as a daughter of charity, a servant of the poor, do hereby make to the Divine Majesty the perpetual vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, under the authority of the General Superior, and according to the constitution and laws of the institute and organization.

"I humbly beg the Divine mercy through the infinite merits of our Lord Jesus Christ, the intercession of His glorious Mother and the prayers of the Patron Saints of this Institute, to grant me the grace of being faithful to these vows of poverty, chastity and obedience; for the dispensation of which I will humbly submit to my Mother General and the Holy Father, the Pope. Amen."

After the taking of these vows, there is more mass during which the act of "Consecration to the Holy Virgin Mary" takes place. I had just been consecrated to Jesus Christ as His virgin spouse, but now I must be consecrated to His mother. Let me say right here that once each year the sisters are required to renew their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience, and the act of consecration to the Holy Virgin Mary.

The act of consecration to the Holy Virgin Mary is as follows:

'O, Holy Virgin, virgin among all virgins, and queen of all religious associations, we humbly prostrate ourselves at your feet in order to acknowledge that after God, it is to you, O good mother of ours, that we owe the grace of our vocation—devoted and consecrated in a special manner to the devotion of your sorrows. Being called to take care of your dear Son in His poverty, His suffering and to assist Him when dying, we desire that you make us share in your feelings as a mother. Therefore, please make us partake of your compassion for all the spiritual and physical miseries of the children that you have begotten on the cross. Be pleased to look at us as the daughters of sorrow. Deign to receive us in your most amiable heart—this heart of yours that was pierced with the seven swords of sorrow We willingly love this heart of yours so good. You know the dangers we go through in the exercise of Charity; take great care of us in the midst of our perils, O you who are the helper of all Christians. In acknowledgment of your kindness, we shall work with all our strength to make all people love, serve and glorify thee. Amen.'

Allow me to explain, in a concise manner, the three vows, poverty, chastity and obedience:

By the vow of poverty, I had to give up all the material goods I possessed and all that I ever hoped to possess either by service or inheritance—being guided according to the Lord's counsel, "If thou wilt be perfect, go, sell all thou hast and give it to the poor." Even my material body no longer belonged to myself, I was an inherent part of the order. Nothing belonged to me—the clothes I wore, even to a pin, belonged to the community. I had to always say, "This is ours," never say "This is mine." If any presents were given to me in any of the work I was to do, I had to turn them over to the superior. Not a minute of time is mine any longer, the twenty-four hours of the day belongs to the community, and if I wish to do anything other than the daily routine, I must be dispensed by my superior.

By the vow of chastity I was forbidden to think of a man or marriage. I was not allowed to kiss and fondle children, especially male children, or to kiss another sister. After a long absence, sisters may embrace and greet each other by rubbing head-gears against the cheeks. I was not allowed to enter the curtained-off apartment of another sister in the dormitory. I was not allowed any more liberty towards even my mother or any of my relatives than I was towards strangers. I may, as my book of rule reads, see them for one-half an hour, upon permission from my superior, and if the time is extended I must be dispensed by my superior for the non-observance of this point of the "holy" rule. Now, when I had this permission to speak to some of my relatives, or some one else, I must never speak in a language not understood by the sister in near surveillance. If these visits occur more than once or twice a year, it is ample ground for humility, and mean, cutting things said by the superior and sisters. This is also a breach of the vow of poverty, as the time spent talking does not belong to the sister but to the community. She is told that it is a bad example to others who may wish the same privilege. It is a continual determined vigilance, keeping the sisters from any communication with the outside world. The rule particularly emphasizes that the sisters shall not keep birds or pet animals, as it would take time, which is not hers, and divert her affection which, as a sister spouse, must be given entirely to her heavenly spouse, Jesus Christ.

Another great teaching of this vow of chastity is modesty. A sister is taught to keep her eyes modestly cast down, fold her hands in the big sleeves of her garb when in the presence of the "opposite sex" (as men are called), and never look them in the face any higher than the chin. I tried this teaching for some time, but somehow Mother Nature was still with me, and every once in a while I would take a quick look at a man full in the face to see if he was good-looking, and if I could not see a good-looking man, I would look at the priest to see if he was handsome.

As an example for this virtue of modesty, we were told of the young Jesuit priest, St. Aloysius, who was so good and pure and holy, that he never looked his own mother full in the face.

By the vow of obedience a sister is to yield entire obedience of thought, word and understanding to her superior. The will of her superior must be her will, believing that black was white if the superior said so. Literally, she was like a corpse in her superior's hands, and still a tool to work for the Roman Catholic system. What is worse than mental slavery, the stultifying of all our intellectual powers and bringing them under the despotic will of another, and this behind the prison walls and barred doors of the Romish religious convent?

Obligations to convent life and practices crush all natural instinct. If the sister desires to aim at the high "ideals" taught in the sisterhood, she must abase and humiliate herself. If she has not the courage to make a fool of herself, by abasing and humiliating herself, she must ask her superior to give her some humiliating penance to suppress her feelings of higher nature as proud and coming from the devil. The more sinful and criminal a sister can believe herself in the eyes of God, and the more deserving of prisonlike treatment, and as a worm under the feet of all her companions, the more perfect and saintly she becomes in her own eyes and in the eyes of her superior, who can then use her as a better tool for the benefit of the system.

Any one who knows anything about nuns knows that they are nearly all like children, for under the ironclad, narrow and restricted rule, the sisters retrograde from the day they enter, and as time goes on they become as the rule itself—bitter and heartless, from a sense of morbidness and from the unnatural conditions, circumstances and environment surrounding them. There are the sisters who are childish and silly; others who are the cunning hypocrite. The latter type become the schemers among the sisters for the system, and believe me, they will leave nothing undone to gain favor with the heads of the order and the priests that they might gain some high office for themselves.

For nearly a year after I took my vows, I remained at the Orphanage in Vancouver.

As you already know, I was raised on a ranch, and was accustomed to being in the open air and having plenty of sunshine. These three years of almost complete confinement in this institution, and the long hours of hard, tedious work had begun to tell on my health. And, now as I could hardly attend to my duties, I was transferred to an Indian Mission at Tulalip, Washington, about June, 1884.

I was at this Mission five years. The first eight months I worked in the boys' department, assisting in the industrial training of about seventy-five Indian boys. The part I had in training these boys was more manual service than real instruction. But my labors kept me out of doors considerably and at the end of the eight months, my health was practically restored.

I was then given charge of the girls' department of the Mission where the work was again very confining.

Imagine, if you can, the terrible conditions I had to contend with at this school. There were about sixty girls, ranging in age from five to twenty-five years. They all slept in one large dormitory with beds so close together, that there was barely passing space, and I occupied one corner of that room. The accommodations for cleanliness were very poor, and the stench in that sleeping room was simply nauseating, and there was no remedy for it, with the existing conditions. In the morning, I had to dress about twenty-five of these girls, and care for the running, mattering sores of many, who were diseased (scrofulous), with an ointment supplied for that purpose by the government physician.

After this doctor had made a few visits and I had become a little acquainted with him, the superior came to me and asked me about our conversation. When she found out that we had talked about some things that were not strictly business, I was not allowed to be in the room when he came again. She told me that I should be very careful around a man, that I might lose my vocation.

I had to take my turn in the laundry nearly every week, and I remember one instance which occurred which will illustrate how the Roman Catholic system makes a "mountain out of a mole hill" and causes so much sorrow over practically nothing. I had damaged a little red-flannel shirt belonging to one of the children, while washing it, and I never heard the end of this terrible thing until after I wrote to my father and asked him to send me five dollars, that I might replace it. A very trivial thing in itself but the superior kept talking about it, causing me very much sorrow and grief that I shed many tears over it.

While I was at this Mission, I received a letter from my father informing me that my mother was very ill, and that in all probability would soon pass away. This letter had been addressed to Vancouver, and my Mother Superior had opened it and knew the contents. When she forwarded it to me, she inclosed a letter to my superior at Tulalip, telling her to tell me that if I could get some one to take my place and get the money necessary for my fare from my father, she would give me permission to go home to see my mother before she died. She knew very well that it was an impossibility to get any other to take my place, as I did not have the assigning of sisters to work of any nature, and none but sisters were allowed in the Mission. The answer was simply that my mother died and I never saw her after the day I left home to enter the "holy" convent.

Again, after four years of confining work in this department of the mission, my health absolutely failed. I asked to be transferred to some other house where I might have a chance to recuperate. About the first of September, 1889, I was transferred to the Indian Mission at Colville, Washington. At this Mission I had charge of the sewing and assisted in the dining-room. The responsibility was much less than it had been at Tulalip, and, having been relieved of this strain, and depressing conditions, I gradually regained my health.

I had now spent a little over six years in Mission work, and being naturally of an active disposition, both mentally and physically, I knew that I could not endure this banishment much longer. I say "banishment" very thoughtfully, for banishment it was. No companions with whom to converse, as the other sisters in these Missions were generally foreigners who could speak very little English, and as for being companions they were little better than no one. Then, the work was very tiresome and monotonous, with no physical exercise attached to it, nearly all being done in a sitting posture, with nothing to use or enlighten the mentality.

So, realizing these conditions, I asked to be given some work of a more active nature. And, about the first of December, 1890, I was transferred to the Sacred Heart Hospital, Spokane, Washington.

I was at this hospital only a short time, but while there I had charge of the laundry, which meant doing most of the work in that department, and also charge of a ward of fourteen patients, regardless of the fact that I had never had any previous experience of this nature. And, believe me, there were many trying, disagreeable experiences both to myself and the sick, due to my being untrained.

I recall one instance when I nearly injured myself for life lifting a patient when I did not know how to handle a person in a helpless condition. My back was crippled for about a month, but they say experience is the best teacher, and I had had my first lesson of this nature.

A physician had prescribed a seidlitz powder for a patient I was attending, but I had never given one and did not know how to proceed. I asked the sister superior, and then endeavored to carry out her orders. I took two large tumblers half filled with water and a powder in each. Hurriedly I poured the contents of one tumbler into the other and the effervescing saline ran all over the poor man and bed, while he was making desperate efforts to drink a little. All the men in the ward raised their heads to see the experiment and enjoyed a hearty laugh, while the patient received his prescription and a shower bath, both at the same time.

This was one time in my convent life that I received what I had asked for, in fact, it was just the opposite extreme of what I had been experiencing in my previous Mission. I was on my feet from morning till night, and even for recreation and diversion, I was sent to the kitchen to assist in the work there.

CHAPTER V.

My Begging Expedition.

St. Vincent's Hospital—Routine of a Sister.

During the spring of 1891, the Province of the Sisters of Charity of Providence of the Pacific Northwest was divided, and by an order from the head Mother House at Montreal, the sisters were to remain in the provinces where they were when the division went into effect. I was ordered to report to the Mother House at Vancouver, Washington. This was in March, 1891. On my way to Vancouver from Spokane, I had to pass through Portland, Oregon, and while there the order went into effect, and the sister superior of St. Vincent's Hospital claimed me as a subject of the Oregon Province.

I was at St. Vincent's Hospital about a month, when I was transferred to Astoria, Oregon, to St. Mary's Hospital, where I practiced on typhoid patients and became more efficient in laundry work, for a little over a year.

In June, 1892, I was missioned to St. Mary's Hospital, New Westminster, B. C. My duties in this hospital were practically the same as in the other hospitals I had worked in.

It was while I was at this hospital that I was sent on my principal begging expedition. On July fourth, 1892, Sister Ethelbert and myself were commissioned to go north to the logging camps on the islands in the Gulf of Georgia (near Alaska) to secure contributions in the name of Charity for the Roman Catholic Church and to sell tickets for ten dollars each, which would entitle the holder to care in St. Mary's Hospital, New Westminter, B. C., for a specified time.

The hardship and terrors of this trip are indescribable. Crossing the stormy straights in small canoes, camping out at night in the wildest woods, our lives were endangered many times. Arriving at the camps at all hours of the night, tired, wet, cold and hungry; being lifted into bunks by the men when we were so cold, in fact nearly frozen, that we could hardly move; being carried on the backs of the men across muddy and wet places where the water was too shallow for the canoe, or boat, to land. Oh, yes, in the convent we were taught to be so modest—modesty to the very extreme, but it is all right, in the Roman Catholic Church, to send sisters to such places as this, where, as some of the men told me, they had not seen a woman for from three to eight years. It was all right in the Roman Catholic Church because we were getting the money for the fat living of the priests and to enrich the coffers of the Pope of Rome. Believe me, dear reader, no benefit do the sisters ever get from the hardships and indignities imposed upon them on a trip of this nature.

Sister Ethelbert, my companion on the "begging trip" to the Gulf of Georgia, near Alaska. She told me this was her seventh trip to this part of the country on a mission of this nature. She died at the age of thirty-six years.

At one camp we visited, the men refused to keep us over night, so the men who had rowed us all day, began to row us to the next camp. About ten o'clock in the night, a storm arose, and we had to land, as it was too rough to go farther. The shore space was very limited, as there were huge mountains on one side and the breakers on the other. Dry wood was very scarce so the fire we had was little better than none at all. There were four of us—two sisters and two men—and all the covering we had was one double blanket, with the rough, rocky shore for a bed. About two o'clock in the morning, the storm subsided and we embarked again and continued our journey, arriving at the next camp about four o'clock. Two of the workmen very kindly gave us their bunk, but because of the cold there was very little sleep. When we arose, the Chinese cook took us to the kitchen and had us warm our feet in the large oven. He was a very good and kind sympathetic friend for he looked so sorry for us and said, "You have hard time."

Since I had to go begging, I was very pleased to have Sister Ethelbert for a companion because I knew that she was not a trouble-maker, but a truly good and sisterly person. I had hungered and longed for many years to be with some sister that I could talk with on some other than the written religious subjects and I was sure that this was the opportunity. I tried to talk to her, and she would smile at me, and she tried to talk to me, and I would smile at her. It was very apparent that our vocabulary was very limited and simple, when it came to talking on outside subjects. It was not till some years later that I realized why this condition existed. It was from the long silence and suppression, of not only speech, but our very thoughts, having been in bondage so long.

We were away from St. Mary's Hospital just three weeks and brought back a little over eleven hundred dollars in checks and cash. Is it any wonder that Rome can build such magnificent institutions?

As a result of the exposure and hardships on this trip I contracted sickness from which I did not completely recover during the remainder of my convent life. And oh, if I could only explain what it means to be a sick sister! I was not receiving the proper care, so I wrote to my Mother House, located in Portland, Oregon, pleading that something might be done for me. I waited for three weeks for an answer, but received none. I wrote to my Superior again, and told her that if the community could not give me the care I needed, I would write to my father and ask him to see that I received medical assistance. This was a very bold thing for a sister to do, but I was certainly very sick and little did I care what the community would do to me.

When the Mother Superior received this letter, I was immediately recalled to the Mother House by telegram. I arrived at the Mother House, St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, on the seventh day of July, 1893.

I received fairly good care for a short time; then I was handed a picture of our suffering Lord, and told by the Mother Provincial, Sister Mary Theresa, to practice resignation and make novenas to this miraculous picture for help. (Novena means nine days' prayer.)

For years I was not sick enough to be confined to my bed, although I should have been there many times when I was drudging away, working for the Church of Rome. A sick sister need not look for any care until she is about ready to pass to the Great Beyond. The climax of my sickness came many years later when I had to submit to an operation.

During the first eight months I was at St. Vincent's Hospital, I had very little use of my left hand and arm. I thought it was partial paralysis. A very prominent physician of the hospital staff, whose name I purposely withhold, diagnosed my case and gave it a technical name, which my unintelligible mind could not comprehend. But in my presence he told Sister Mary Bonsecours, who was my officer and who had received orders to see what the doctor could do for me, that I would never be any better. Nevertheless, he prescribed for me which improved my condition to a certain extent.

In this condition I assisted in the caring of patients, doing the best I could, experimenting, as it were, and learning a little here and there at the expense of the suffering sick. We had no instructors or books on nursing until after I had been there about three years, when we were furnished one book, a manual of nursing, and whenever a sister was lucky enough to get it she would keep it until some other sister would have a chance to "swipe" it. A sister once "swiped" it from me, and it took me eight months to get a chance to "swipe" it back. Also, about this time we were allowed to attend certain lectures given by the staff doctors. One of the "certain" lectures we were not allowed to attend were those given on maternity, and yet the sisters were held responsible for any errors in caring for cases of this nature. To sum it all up in short, we were instructed to pray that God would bless us and our work and that nothing wrong would happen to the patients.

During the first six years of my experience at St. Vincent's Hospital and after I had recovered sufficiently from my sickness, I was sent to St. Mary's Hospital, Astoria, Oregon, off and on, for short periods to assist in the work there.

In 1895 the new magnificent, six-story brick St. Vincent's Hospital was finished, and we took charge in September of that year.

Here I had charge of ten rooms, and had the serving of two meals daily to the entire floor, which meant about fifty patients, and the only assistance I had was one girl who was neither sister nor nurse, but very good and kind to me. Besides these duties, I had to take my turn in the laundry, do sewing, and above all else, attend to the numberless religious obligations.

In order that you might realize of what these numberless religious obligations consisted, I will here give a program of the daily routine which I had to follow throughout my Sisterhood career:

Caught in the Act of Kissing the Floor, a Very Common Penance for the Sisters in the Order I Was a Member of.

In addition to these, the following must be observed:

Every hour of the day when the clock strikes, each sister must rise to her feet and say, "Let us remember that we are in the holy presence of God. Blessed be the hours of the birth, death and resurrection of our Lord, Jesus Christ. O my God, I give thee my heart, grant me the grace to pass this hour, and the rest of this day in thy holy love and without offending thee," and one "Hail, Mary."

An hour each week must be spent in the chapel in honor of the Blessed Sacrament.

From fifteen to thirty minutes every Friday evening after evening prayer for the exercise called the "culp," in some orders called "chapter." This exercise consists of each sister kneeling before the superior, and all the other sisters charges her with every mean, contemptible, petty wrong, usually a breach of some rule of the order, which they have remarked in her during the past week. Then the "culprit" so charged acknowledges some of these faults, adds a few more herself, and, kissing the floor, asks a penance of the superior. The superior has the authority to impose any of the accustomed penances.

One Sunday of each month is called "retreat day," which means additional prayer and devotion, that the sister may be fortified spiritually for the next month. During this day there are three meditations in addition to the regular daily routine. Each sister must present herself to the superior to tell her spiritual advancement and the difficulties she has had in the work. Sometimes all the sisters do not have the time to appear before the superior on this day, but she must do so the first opportunity she has during the week, and then it is generally a reprimand for not being there sooner. This retreat day is ended with a long Te Deum, which means a canticle of thanksgiving.

An explanation of some of the daily exercises will no doubt be of interest to most of my readers.

The morning meal is eaten in silence, except on Feast days or unusual occasions. During the noon and evening meal some sister is appointed to read, generally from the "Lives of the Saints" or "Roman Martyrology," narrations very repulsive and revolting to nature. In this manner we mortify the senses. If we wish something passed while we are eating, we make signs for it. Ten minutes is about the time spent in consuming the gout defying food supplied us. There is a dish-pan with about two quarts of warm water in it on the table, and the first sister finished eating has this pan passed to her and she washes her dishes, dries them and places them in her private drawer in the table at her place. From six to ten sisters wash their own dishes in this same water, and no difference if some of these sisters are diseased, as I have seen them, they would be wasting time to make a change of water, and that would be a breach of the vow of poverty. In all my thirty-one years of convent life, I never had a chair with a back to it more than a dozen times in the refectory (as the dining-room is called). It was either benches or stools.

The following will show the spirit in which a sister should receive her food, given at my spiritual instruction during retreat:

MEALS.

"Attention and devotion in saying the prayers before and after meals, eyes modestly cast down, a deep sense of my own misery, a pure intention in this animal exercise. Never to pick or choose of what comes to table. If anything is disagreeable, to thank God for having given me an opportunity of mortification."

According to rule, we are allowed two hours' recreation each day, which, in reality, are about the busiest two hours of the day. Oh, no, Rome does not give her sisters any two hours' real recreation, or rest, during her long hours of labor. Such work as preparing fruit for canning or vegetables for cooking, folding clothes that are often very damp, picking over unsanitary gauze, tearing rags for carpet, picking over feathers from old pillows, and other undesirable work is done during these two hours; and then they say the sisters have plenty of recreation and rest.

At three o'clock every afternoon the sister must repair to some private place for profound prostration. That is, she must kneel and bend forward and say: "Jesus Christ became obedient unto death, even unto the death of the cross. Son of God, dying upon the cross for the salvation of souls, we adore thee; eternal Father, we offer Thee this, thy divine Son; accept, we beseech thee, His merits in behalf of the suffering souls in purgatory, for the conversion of all poor sinners, and of all in their agony." In addition to this prayer, she must say the "Hail! Mary" and the "Our Father" three times each, or remain kneeling the time it would take to say them and meditate on the prayer said. Then, this exercise is completed by kissing the floor.

Three times each day, five minutes is spent in examining our conscience. We write in a little book provided for that purpose, our faults and imperfections. Before going to confession we are supposed to look over this book and in this manner we forget nothing the priest should know.

A bell called the "regulation bell" calls us to each and every one of these "holy" exercises, and no matter what the sister is doing when this bell rings, even if a patient is sorely in need of her care, she must stop and go to her religious duties. If she is late to any of them, it means punishment, either by reprimand or penance, or maybe both. My readers can draw their own conclusions as to the care a patient gets from a sister-nurse, when these religious duties comes before the duties of nursing.

One of the great inconveniences and discomforts of a sister-nurse is the clothes which she is compelled to wear. The garb which I wore for thirty-one years weighed about fifteen pounds, and there is no change of weight in this "holy habit" for cold or warm weather. Our petticoats and stockings are the only garments that are changed in weight for the different temperatures. We are allowed two garbs at a time, but a sister wears one nearly all the time until it is worn out. All the cleaning these garbs get is a little brushing with soap and water, and when it gets discolored, it is dyed to its original color. One of these garbs I had for twelve years, and when I discarded it, there was only a small piece of the original left. Think of the cleanliness and sanitation of these poor girls, wearing such clothes, perspiring over the sick, and from cooking and doing laundry work, and even being under the rule of asking permission to take a bath. Over all this when we cared for the sick, we tied a large white apron, slipped on a pair of white sleeves, and then the patients would say, "How sanitary these sisters were." Poor, deluded public; poor, secluded girls; they are not to blame, they do the very best they can under the gag-rule of Rome. Is it any wonder to you that the average sister dies between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five years, when they are compelled to live in this manner and endure the terrible practices I have mentioned in this chapter?

CHAPTER VI.

How I Educated Myself.

I Become Superintendent of the Third Floor at St. Vincent's.

In the order of the Sisters of Charity of Providence, the rules restrict the members to certain reading. The books we were allowed to read were those on the Roman Catholic religious practices, such as "Christian Perfection" by the Jesuit, Alphonsus Rodriguez, a set of books on "Meditation" by St. Ignatius, also a Jesuit, a book on the "Conferences of St. Vincent de Paul," a prayer book, a manual of community prayers, and a book of rule. If a sister should wish to read any other books, outside of a few like these I have named, she must have permission from her superior, even to the reading of "The Lives of the Saints."

The reading of secular, or profane, as it is called, books are never allowed under any conditions. No magazines, newspapers or periodicals are they ever allowed to read. If there happened to be an article in some religious magazine or paper that it was decided to let the sisters read, it was cut out and handed to them, hereby having permission to read it. Think of the terrible darkness the poor girls are kept in, with nothing to develop their mental faculties, nothing to read except the few chosen books, and when you have read one you have read all, and this over and over again, year in and year out.

When I came to St. Vincent's Hospital, I had been in the order about twelve years. Twelve years of almost silence; twelve years of Latin prayers; twelve years of communion and confession; twelve years of Roman convent-slavery; twelve years of retrogression.

I found myself almost lost as to how to talk intelligibly to the doctors and patients. My vocabulary was certainly very limited. I felt the grave necessity of doing something to aid me in my work. But how? That was the great question in my mind for some time. I had been taught that God would punish me if I dared to read anything except what I was allowed. And, believe me, even twelve years' experience in the convent had changed my views of Romanism but very little, if any.

Finally, one day while on the daily routine, a newspaper came to my notice, and I dared to read just one line. I waited a day or two to see if God would punish me. Then, when nothing extraordinary happened, I dared to read a few lines more, and I waited a few days again to see what God would do.

At last the opportunity came. In one of the rooms I found a book, by the name of "At the Mercy of Tiberius." I dared to read it, and oh, how I enjoyed that novel. It was the first book of that nature, profane reading, that I had ever read. But trouble was brewing. Some sister had seen me reading, and although she did not know exactly what it was, she knew that it was not a religious book, and she reported me to the superior. When the superior asked me about it, I told her I had been reading a book, where it could be found and offered to go and get it for her. But I had her "bluffed" and she told me to never mind.

It took me about six months to read this first book, as I had to steal away and read for only a few minutes at a time. Where do you suppose I went to do this un-Roman, "un-Christian" act of endeavoring to enlighten my mind? In dark closets, bath-rooms, and in fact any place I could secret myself, so I would not be seen by some of the other sisters. For it would mean a reprimand and very often a penance, and the sister thus charged with having broken this point of the "holy" rules, is held under suspicion.

For some time after this it was a problem to my mind as to how I was to obtain other reading. In time I made friends among those who came to the hospital, and very often these good people, mostly Protestant or non-Catholic, would present me with some little token, showing their appreciation of the kindness shown them, as is done to most sisters. Instead of accepting money or other gifts, which by rule had to be turned over to the superior, I would ask them to give me some book, generally leaving the nature of it to their discretion, if I thought I could trust them. Then I would warn them to be very careful when they gave it to me that no sister saw them do so, as it would mean trouble for me.

In this manner I received much good reading, books that were very instructive. When a book was too large to carry around in my big pockets, I would cut or tear off a piece of it, and throw the remaining portion on some old, dusty cupboard in the attic, until I had read the piece torn off, then get a small ladder or box and tear off another piece, and so on until I had finished reading the entire book. One good friend gave me a small dictionary, which was a great help to me. Another gave me a book of word study, which I covered with a prayer-book cover and studied in chapel. This was a case of "Johnny Morgan wasn't here."

By stealing, thieving and lying, so to speak, in this manner I read and studied for a great many years, and I credit my final escape from darkness and ignorance largely to the fact that I had independence enough to read and friends kind enough to give me these books.

During the summer of 1899, I was appointed to the superintendency of the third floor of St. Vincent's Hospital. In this position, which I held for twelve years, I found a few more minutes occasionally to read, and to exercise the little independence I possessed. The result, the more I read, the more independent I became, and this was one of the grave charges brought against me when I was at last transferred, or, I might say, dragged from Portland.

One of the great responsibilities of the office of superintendent was the caring of the priest's apartment which was on my floor. There was the chaplain of the hospital who resided in this apartment, and he nearly always had from one to four "wafer God manufacturers" visiting him, and you may be sure it was not a small care to see that these "gentlemen" had everything of the best, principally in the dining-room. I always had to take particular care to see that there was plenty of cream for their tables when possibly some of the patients had to do without or take skimmed milk, and many times the over supply would sour before it could be used. I just mention cream, but it was the same about many other things, it was always the very best of everything obtainable—cigars and liquors included. Yes, I have carried many bottles of wine to these priests, as well as carrying baskets of empty bottles down the back stairs, that had been emptied by these "holy celibate men of God." A large refrigerator was kept especially for this apartment with a large padlock on the door. It might have contaminated these "holy men of God" if their food had happened to have been mixed with that of a wicked secular, you know.

St. Vincent's Hospital, Portland, Oregon, Where I Served Eighteen Years of My Sisterhood Life.

Another very interesting feature of this new office was the care I had to give sick priests. There was nearly always some priest occupying a private room on my floor, sometimes sick, as they are only human and susceptible to the same ills as others, but many times on "sick leave," in other words, just plain drunk. Many times they would stay with us a month at a time, and once I remember, one made a nice long stay of a year, or more, but he was not drunk. I had to help these "gentlemen" many times, when they were much more able to help themselves than I was. But I was a woman, "a spouse of Christ," and these so-called men were the "representatives of Christ," and that made the difference.

Soon after I had received the appointment of officer of the third floor there were many complaints from the patients and physicians about the food and the manner in which it was prepared. So it was decided that some of the sisters should go to a cooking school which was being conducted by a woman by the name of Miss Porter, in the Exposition Building, Nineteenth and Washington Streets. I happened to be one of the chosen number, and we took a series of twelve lessons, principally on preparing dainty dishes such as could be used for the sick.

After I had completed this course, I was appointed to teach cooking to the nurses in the training school and the young sisters in addition to my other duties. I conducted this class from two to three-thirty in the afternoon.

Our rules prescribe that the hour from two to three be observed by profound silence, and also that no sister shall partake of any food outside of the dining-room without special permission from the superior. During the teaching of this class on cooking, I was compelled to talk to the sisters, and it was also quite necessary that they should talk to me, in order that they could get the proper instruction. When they would cook some dish I would request them to taste it, that they might judge for themselves as to the seasoning. These were serious breaks of the rules, and it caused trouble for me after I had been instructing the class about six weeks.

My young sister pupils plotted with the superior to cause my removal, and wrote to the Mother Provincial, Sister Mary Theresa, who was at that time in Oakland, California, instituting a new house of the order. Sister Mary Theresa did not write to me about the matter, but took it up with my superior, who came to me and said that there was so much complaint about me causing the sisters to break the rule that she would have to change me. She was going to take the superintendency of the third floor away from me and send me to the basement to the fruit cannery to teach cooking. I told her that I could not do that. I had learned how to cook because she had wanted me to, and that if I was going to teach it, I was going to teach it right; and if she would delegate some other sister, I would teach her all I knew about cooking and I would be through with it. But she did not want me to do that, she wanted me to keep the class.

I had done the very best I could with the class, and all this trouble was caused, not because I was unsuccessful, but because the sisters broke some of the rules of the order, which could not be avoided if they wished to learn. The action of the superior had caused me much distress, both of heart and mind, and with the assistance of two stewards of my floor, I placed all the cooking utensils and supplies of the school in a large box and sent it to the superior's room. For weeks she tried to prevail upon me to take the school back, but I refused to have anything more to do with it.

This instance may not be very interesting to my readers, but I relate it to show how little petty happenings cause so very much trouble, and very often serious trouble for the poor girls in these institutions. There are many more instances of this nature I could relate, but I do not care to burden you with them. My action in this little matter caused me to be looked upon with great suspicion and a certain amount of contempt from the other sisters. It was this sort of treatment that caused me to write notes of the cruelties I, with other sisters, had to endure. I expected to give these notes to some trust-worthy friend to read after my death, but for some unknown reason I kept them and have them at the present time.

About this time, also, I had a class of about twenty young sisters to whom I taught what nursing I had acquired, principally from experience. This was soon abandoned, for the reason that it interfered with evening prayer and retirement at nine o'clock, the only time that could be found during the day to hold the class.

Of all the superstitious and pagan practices that enforces the vow of obedience, is the traditional exercise of penances or penalties. The most inhuman, unjust, humiliating and very often torturing punishments are imposed upon the sisters for breaking any of the many childish rules—rules that just as really and truly bind the poor victim as though she was a criminal in the penitentiary.

A sister is only human. The "holy" black garb she wears does not change her. She is subject to the same sorrows, the same joys, the same love, the same hate, the same humility, the same pain as you. But here in these hellish, soul-destroying institutions, walled high "to keep the Protestants out," they say, there is a system in vogue that holds women in servitude—yes, slavery—and for failing to heed the "voice of God," which is the voice of the priest, or superior, or the toll of the religious bell, or the observance of the book of rule, there is a penalty imposed, penalties such as will torture or humiliate the poor subject.

Some of the torturing penances are the wearing of the armlet—a chain with little prongs on it to prick the flesh; the scourging of the bare body with the "discipline" or cat-o'-nine-tails—constructed of heavy, knotted cord; kneeling and praying with arms extended in the shape of a cross; and the wearing of the chastity cord—constructed of heavy, knotted cord. This practice ties up our virtues and keeps us chaste and pure.

Some of the humiliating penances are the kissing of the floor many times a day, kissing the feet of our companions, fasting, silence, eating off the floor, and many other little, petty practices and self-denials too numerous to mention.

Think of it, a system here in free, Protestant America, in this day of advanced civilization, holding women in subjection and demanding practices of this nature!

To illustrate the teaching of this system in regard to penances, I wish to quote from "St. Rita's Prayer Book," compiled by Rev. Chas. Ferina, D.D., and this publication has the imprimatur cross of John M. Farley, then Archbishop elect of New York. On pages 35-36: "She (St. Rita) renounced her property in favor of the poor, renounced every earthly tie to devote herself entirely to austere penance. She professed to have no compassion for her body. She scourged herself thrice every day, the first time being the longest and the instrument composed of little iron chains. Vigils, hair-shirt, the discipline, and rigid fasts were the arms used to afflict her body, knowing that penance is the only means of expiation and salvation for fallen man, although our material age would utterly ignore it. In changing her costume Rita had no need to change her habits, for, as we have seen, as a girl, a wife and widow, she had ever led a stainless life. Her aim now was to attain the height of perfection. But amidst her penances, she had the sweetest consolations; and during her lengthy prayers, her fervent colloquies with God, her daily and nightly meditations on the passions of our Lord Jesus Christ, rapt in her Creator, her soul totally absorbed in Him and almost detached from her body, experienced heavenly delights."

CHAPTER VII.

Sacrament of Penance—Mass and Communion—Extreme Unction—Indulgences—Annual Retreat.

I have previously mentioned that I was compelled by rule to go to confession every eight days. I wish to comment on this Sacrament of Penance, as confession is called, and some of the other practices and ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion.

Of all the practices that holds adherents to the Roman Catholic system, the telling of the many faults to the so-called mediator between God and man—the priest—stands paramount. Why not? Roman Catholics are raised to think and believe that by confessing their sins to the man representative of Christ in the confessional and receiving absolution, God has also forgiven them. God's Word says in 1st Timothy, second chapter, fifth verse, "For there is one God, and one mediator between God and man, the man Christ Jesus." Not any representative of Christ, but Christ Himself.

The confessional box is a trap for the convent, and after the poor girls are once there they are shackled more than ever in the faith of the religion by the priest in the confessional. The girls abandon themselves, body, heart and soul, to the instructions and directions of this ungentlemanly man—for no true gentleman would ever ask the dirty, filthy, indecent questions in public or private that these men ask many of the girls and women in this so-called holy private place, the confessional—this man, whom we, as sisters and Roman Catholics look to as the mediator between us and God, often in the form of a drunken man. Yes, I have known not a few, and have waited on them in my work at the hospital for a great many years, and I cannot call to my mind one of these "holy men of God" who did not partake of the best liquors obtainable, and I have had to protect more than one from the people there so there would be no scandal.

Then to these liquor-soaked priests I was forced to turn and kneel to confess my sins, to lay bare the innermost thoughts of my soul and most sensitive feelings of the heart and then submit to the most humiliating, shameful questions—so shameful and degrading that I am not permitted to print them or to repeat them.

The priest is the sister's only confident—she must talk to him on subjects that she would not tell her mother. He is to her what Christ would be if He would come from Heaven and sit there with her. He is her justifier, as she is absolutely in his wily meshes and victimized in his hellish power—for nothing less than hell on earth is the confessional to sisters. It is the destroyer of womanly purity, womanly refinement—destroying the higher instincts and ennobling qualities. A sister does not talk in the confessional of what is best and noblest in her, but is racking her brain all week preparing and gathering everything that is mean, low, degrading, contemptible—digging up secret things to tell and talk about to the priest. The thought of having to stoop and grovel so low and worm-like is sickening, not only soul sickening, but often agonizing physically to the extreme, in the act of ejecting and getting rid of a vast amount of much imaginary wrong and scruples. It keeps the mind poisoned and enslaved in the powers of darkness, busily endeavoring to become sanctified on the mistaken road of pagan degradation, dispair and hell.

A form of beginning and finishing confession. This is precisely the same form I used all my life in the church of Rome, but I will copy from Deharbe's Catechism, translated from the German by a Father of the Society of Jesus, of the Province of Missouri, published by Benziger Brothers, Printers to the Holy Apostolic See, and with the Imprimatur of John Card. McCloskey, then Archbishop of New York. Page 110, question 55:

"How do you begin Confession?

"Having knelt down, I make the sign of the cross and say: 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I confess to Almighty God, and to you, Father, in His stead, that since my last confession, which was ... I have committed the following sins.' (Here I confess my sins.)"

Question 56. "How do you conclude your confession?

"I conclude by saying, 'For these and all my other (P. III) sins which I cannot at present call to mind, and also for the sins of my past life, especially for ... I am heartily sorry. I most humbly ask pardon of God, and penance and absolution of you, my Ghostly Father.'"

Question 57. "What must you do then?

"I must listen with attention to the advice which my Confessor may think proper to give me, and to the Penance he enjoins; and whilst he gives me absolution I must excite my heart to true sorrow."

Now, if the priest is good and kind enough to say the magic words, "I absolve the, etc." and absolve the penitent, he is just as pure and free from sin, according to the Roman Catholic belief, as if he had submitted to baptism, and he can go and sin again, so long as he will return to the priest for absolution.

Jeremiah J. Crowley, in his book, "Romanism—A Menace to the Nation," tells of the "moral theology" which the priests have to study to become priests, and which I think will interest my readers. Mr. Crowley was a priest in the church of Rome for twenty years.

Page 74. "Moral Theology of the Roman Catholic Church, printed in Latin, a dead language, containing instructions for auricular confession, is so viciously obscene that it could not be transmitted through the mails were it printed in a living language; neither would priests and bishops dare to propound said obscene matter in the form of questions to female penitents if their fathers, husbands and brothers were cognizant of the satanic evils lurking therein; in fact, they would cause the suppression of auricular confession by penal enactment.

* * * Confessors search the secrets of the home, and so are worshiped there, and feared for what they know.

(Page 76.) "If it is the purpose of state or government to prevent crime and eradicate its causes, the whole of this diabolical system called the Confessional, which is known to worm out the secrets of families, the weaknesses of public men, and thereby get them under control—to either silence them or make them active agents in the Roman Catholic cause—above all, the debauching of maids and matrons by means of vile interrogatories prescribed by Liguori, and sanctioned by the Church—should be abrogated by a national law in every civilized country on the globe."

While I was a novice, the Master of Novices in his religious instructions to the novices, told us that the worst Catholic stood a better chance of saving his soul than the best Protestant, because the Catholic, no matter how many or grievous the sins he might commit, could confess them to the priest and be forgiven; while the Protestant, though he might be a very good man, had no priest to confess his sins to, and cannot be forgiven. Therefore, he dies in sin, as every man is sinful, and is lost, for the Scripture says, "Nothing defiled can enter Heaven."

Three things are necessary for absolution—contrition, confession and penance. Of course, the priest pronounces the words of absolution before the penance is performed, but the remission of the sins confessed is not complete until the penance is performed. Every sin must be confessed to the priest, the most secret and grievous, or there can be no remission, according to the Roman Catholic teaching.

With these teachings and this papal practice of confession you can readily understand how this one sacrament of the Roman Catholic Church, more than any other binds the people to it. Let me say as Mr. Crowley said to the American brothers, husbands and fathers who have sisters, wives and daughters being entrapped in this terror of all terrors, the confessional—get educated on this subject. And let me say that when you do, if there is any manhood in you, the confessional in the Roman Catholic Church will cease.

"Mass is the perpetual sacrifice of the New Law, in which Christ offers Himself in an unbloody manner, as He once offered Himself in a bloody manner on the Cross." (Deharbe's Catechism, page 98.)

To hear mass, we are witnessing in a sort of "mummyfied" manner, a show at the altar, which is lighted with candles, decorated with flowers, costly images of the Blessed Virgin Mary and Saints, holy pictures, relics of the saints, gold or silver ciboriums and ostensoriums, and many other articles of altar and sanctuary use too many to enumerate.

During this or other ceremonies, the priest is dressed in a long oriental robe covered with a kimona-style surplice—which is often nearly all costly lace—chasuble, cope, maniple, stole, mitre, and other gaudy-colored, gold-fringed, embroidered pieces of apparel.

The mass must be recited in Latin. The priest at the altar with his back to the congregation, recites Latin prayers for from one-half to three-quarters of an hour. During these prayers the act of "transubstantiation" takes place. That is, the changing of the wine and bread into the actual body, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ. That is the actual belief of the Roman Catholic adherents, as in the creed of Pope Pius V, it says, "I profess, likewise, that in the Mass there is offered to God a true, proper and propitiatary sacrifice for the living and the dead; and that in the most holy sacrament of the Eucharist there is truly, really, and substantially the Body and Blood, together with the soul and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ; and that there is made a conversion of the whole substance of the bread into the Body, and of the whole substance of the wine into the Blood; which conversion the Catholic Church calleth Transubstantiation. I also confess that under either kind alone Christ is received whole and entire, and a true sacrament." (Chamber's Ency., Collier 1890, under Roman Catholic Church.)

To receive communion, the sisters in the convents where I have been, marched to the altar by twos, knelt and received the "body of Christ," but never the "blood." No one is allowed any of the wine, or "blood," except the priest or "substitute Christ."

If, during this ceremony, a crumb of the "body of Christ" should happen to drop on the communion cloth, that spot must be marked, and after the ceremony is completed, the priest sprinkles some "holy water" on the spot, says a few Latin words, makes a few signs with his "holy hands," then it is purified, and whatever is used in this purification is burned, or sometimes washed. The Corporal, which is a piece of linen used for handling the "body and blood of Christ" in the mass, must always be washed or rinsed by the priest before it goes to the laundry, because the sisters who do the work in the laundries have not "holy hands," and the priest's fingers have been consecrated and are therefore "holy."

In speaking on transubstantiation, William Cathcart, in his book, "The Papal System," says (pages 170-171), "The priests scorn the idea that there could be any figure in the declaration: 'This is my body,' but when Paul says: 'For as often as you shall eat and drink the chalice,' they must grant that it is not the chalice but its contents that are to be drunk. If it is not a figurative expression, the priests of Rome should swallow the cup as well as the contents. The words, 'I am the vine, I am the door,' are literal if the expression is not figurative, 'This is my body.' No community would suffer more than the Catholic Church from a non-figurative interpretation of every scripture word. In the Catholic New Testament, Matt. xvi. 22, 23, it is said: 'And Peter taking him began to rebuke him, saying: 'Lord, be it far from thee, this shall not be unto thee'; who turning said to Peter: 'GO BEHIND ME, SATAN, THOU ART A SCANDAL UNTO ME, because thou savourest not the things that are of God, but the things that are of men.' If the words, 'This is my body,' must be taken literally, we would mildly insist that Christ's address to Peter shall be taken literally too when He said to him: 'Go behind me, Satan, thou art a scandal unto me.' According to that interpretation, Peter is the chief of devils, and the Church of Rome, built on Simon, is founded on Beelzebub himself. A literal interpretation of the words, 'This is my body,' leads to sacred cannibalism; and of the saying in Matt. xvi. 22, 23, makes Peter the devil, and Lucifer the foundation of the Papal Church. A figurative view of both passages is the true one."

"Extreme Unction is a Sacrament, in which by the annointing with holy oil and by the prayers of the priest, the sick receive the grace of God, for the good of their souls, and often also of their bodies." (Deharbe's Catechism, Page 114.)

Extreme Unction is commonly known as the Last Sacrament of the Roman Catholic Church. It is administered only when there is danger of death.

I often had to prepare the dying for this sacrament. The articles used were a crucifix, holy water, lighted candles, a piece of bread, and five "wads" of absorbing cotton. The priest would come, unwrap his silk bag containing the holy oil (chrism), dip the cotton in the holy oil and apply to the parts of the body where the five senses are located—the forehead, to cleanse the mind of the sins of thought; the eyes, for the sins committed by the sight; the mouth, for the sins of speech; the ears, for the sins of hearing; and the hands and feet, for the sins of feeling. The last members of the poor suffering, I often had a difficult time to get handy for the priest to apply his chrism, particularily in paralysis or accident cases. During all the ceremony the priest is reciting Latin prayers.

The piece of bread is for the priest to cleanse his fingers after the ceremony. It must be destroyed, together with the cotton used, by fire so that no particle of the holy oil will be desecrated.

This sacrament is supposed to help the soul of the person receiving it to heaven, but it does not keep him from the torments of purgatory.

Before a person is entitled or can accept this sacrament he must be baptized in the Roman Catholic Church. The sisters in the hospital must do all in their power to convert Protestants to the Roman Catholic faith before death. I was instructed that I was not a secular nurse, but a religious and Sister of Charity, and as such it was my duty to convert all Protestants and non-Catholics possible.

I remember one very interesting case of this kind that happened soon after I went to St. Vincent's Hospital. My officer, Sister Mary Bonsecours, requested me to go with her to a room occupied by a Methodist lady who was dying, and she would show me how to make converts. In addressing the lady, among other things, she said that the Roman Catholic Church was the only true church. All who were not baptized in it would not be saved and would surely never see God. The lady simply remarked that she was satisfied with her religion. About the third time I accompanied the sister to the lady's room, she was passing into the last agony, and the sister leaned over her and shouted into her ear that her soul was going to hell forever for not being a Roman Catholic. That is the manner in which many of the sisters endeavor to obtain the patient's consent for baptism into the Roman Catholic Church, and if they are yet rational, they are entitled to the last sacrament, Extreme Unction.

A very convenient practice for the Roman Catholic adherents is that of gaining Indulgences.

"An Indulgence is a remission of the temporal punishment due to our sins, which the church grants outside of the Sacrament of Penance." (Deharbe's Catechism, Page 112.)

"Can Indulgences be applied also to the Souls in Purgatory?"

"Yes, all those which the Pope has declared to be applicable to them." (Deharbe's Catechism, Page 113.)

"Temporal punishment due to our sins" is that which we have to suffer here on earth or in purgatory. This includes the penance imposed upon the penitent by the priest after confession. If the penitent is truly contrite for his crime, the priest has the privilege to relax the penance and grant indulgence, that is, he cannot be granted indulgence unless he is in a "state of grace," which is after having confessed and having been absolved, and fulfilled the requirements of the absolution.

One of the means of gaining indulgences for the sisters was the saying of short prayers, for each one said, so many days indulgence being gained. For instance, for saying:

"My Jesus, mercy! Mary, help!" 200 days' indulgence.

"Sweet Heart of Jesus, be my love." 300 days' indulgence.

"Sweet Heart of Mary, be my salvation." 300 days' indulgence.

If we should have some friend or relative dead whom we thought was in purgatory, we could offer these prayers, with many others, for them and in that manner shorten their days of torment in that middle region, as well as shorten our own sufferings there.