Shortly after, Mr. S—— became the owner of the estate, the heirs of which, preferring to live in Europe, had permitted its sale, in order to divide and enjoy the proceeds. As Mr. S—— had planned, a college was there founded, and before long it was under the control of the Society of his aspirations and his enthusiastic love.—Ave Maria, Nov. 15, 1884.

THE VIA CRUCIS

In November, 1849, Prince Charles Loewenstein Wertheim Rosenberg died. A lady who filled a subordinate office in his family as governess, communicated to the author the incidents which follow. At the prince's deathbed, which she was permitted to visit, she made a vow to say certain prayers daily for the repose of his soul, in accordance with a wish which he had expressed. When the family was residing at the castle of Henbach on the Maine, it was this lady's habit to spend a short time every evening in the private chapel. After one of those visits, about three months after the prince's death, she retired to rest, and in the course of the night had a singular dream. She was in the chapel, kneeling in a tribune; opposite to her was the high altar. She had spent some time in prayer, when suddenly, on the steps of the altar, she saw the tall figure of the deceased prince, kneeling with great apparent devotion. Presently he turned towards her, and in his usual manner of addressing her, said: "Dear child, come down to me here in the chapel; I want to speak to you." She replied that she would gladly, but that the doors were all locked. He assured her that they were all open. She went down to him, taking her candle with her. When she came near him, the prince rose to meet her, took her hand, and, without speaking, led her to the altar, and they both knelt down together. They prayed for some time in silence, then he rose once more, and standing at the foot of the altar, said: "Tell my children, my dear child, that their prayers and yours are heard. Tell them that God has accepted the Via Crucis [1] which they have daily made for me, and your prayers also. I am with God in His glory, and I will pray for all those who have so faithfully prayed for me." As he spoke, his face seemed lighted up as with the glory usually painted round the head of a saint. With a farewell look he vanished, and she awoke.

[Footnote 1: Way of the Cross, more commonly called the Stations of the Cross.]

At breakfast she appeared agitated. She sat beside the prince's granddaughter, Princess Adelaide Loewenstein, afterwards married to Don Miguel of Portugal. This lady asked her what was the matter. She related her dream, and then begged to know what prayers the princesses had offered for the repose of his Highnesses' soul. They were the Via Crucis.—Footsteps of Spirits. [1]

[Footnote 1: Published by Burns & Lambert of London.]

STRANGE INCIDENTS.

When the Benedictine College at Ampleforth, in Yorkshire, was building, a few years ago, one of the masons attracted the attention of the community by the interest which he took in the incidents of their daily life. He had to walk from a village three miles off, so as to be at the college every morning by six o'clock. He was first much pleased with the regularity of the community, whom he always found in the church, singing the Hours before Mass, on his arrival in the morning. By degrees he was taught the whole of the Catholic doctrine, and was received into the Church. None of his family, however, would follow his example. Exposure to cold and wet brought on an illness, of which he died, in a very pious manner. A short time after his death, his wife was one morning sweeping about the open door of her house, when her husband walked in, and sat down on a seat by the fire, and began to ask her how she did. She answered that she was well, and hoped he was happy where he was. He replied that he was, at that time; that, at first, he had passed through Purgatory, and had undergone a brief purification; but that, when this was ended, he had been taken to the enjoyment of the bliss of God in heaven. He remained talking to her some little time longer, then he bade her farewell, and disappeared.

The woman applied to a Catholic priest for instruction; and it was found that, although she had never in her life read a Catholic book, nor conversed about the Catholic religion with any one, she had acquired a complete knowledge of the doctrine of Purgatory from that short interview with her husband. She, too, became a Catholic. The author was told this story by one who was a member of the community of Ampleforth at the time.

A missionary priest at B—— (in England), a very few years ago, promised to say Mass for a woman in his congregation who had died. Among other engagements of the same kind, he unconsciously overlooked her claim upon him. By and by her husband came to him, and begged him to remember his promise. The missionary thought that he had already done so. "Oh! no, sir," the man replied; "I can assure you that you have not; my poor wife has been to me to tell me so, and to get you to do this act of charity for her." The priest was satisfied of his omission, and immediately supplied it. Soon after, the poor man returned to thank him, at the woman's desire. She had told her husband that now she was perfectly happy in heaven; her face, which had appeared much disfigured at her first visit, was surrounded with a halo of light when she came again. This anecdote reached the author through a common friend of his own and of the missionary.

A similar anecdote is told of a nun in the English convent of Bruges, between thirty and forty years ago. A relation of Canon Schmidt had died in the house, and Miss L——, another nun, much attached to her, saw her friend one night in a dream. She seemed to come with a serious countenance, and pointed to the Office for the Dead in an office-book, which she appeared to hold in her hand. Her friend was much perplexed, and consulted Miss N——, a third nun, who suggested that perhaps Miss L—— had not said the Office three times, as usual, for her deceased sister. Miss L—— was nearly sure that she had; but as she had a habit of marking off this obligation as it was discharged, it could be easily ascertained. On examining her private note-book, it turned out that she had not said the three Offices. Miss N——'s sister, who was educated in the same convent, told the author this little story, and afterwards was good enough to revise his narrative of it. So that this account is virtually her own. Though seeming to have passed through two channels on its way to this book, that is, through the author's memory and his friend's, yet having, submitted to the latter a written memorandum of the narrative, and received and adopted his friend's corrections, the story is as authentic as if it had passed through only one intermediate channel. For there is no doubt that the value of a story diminishes rapidly with every additional hand through which it passes.— Footsteps of Spirits, 113-14.

A TRUE STORY OF THE "DE PROFUNDIS."

One evening in the month of July, 184—, a happy group were gathered in the wide porch of a well-known mansion in Prince George's County, Maryland. A little Catholic church had been recently built in the village of L—— by the zealous and wealthy proprietor of "Monticello," and as the means of the newly-formed congregation were too limited to support a resident pastor, one of the Reverend Fathers from Georgetown kindly came out once a fortnight to celebrate Mass and administer the Sacraments. On the eve of the favored Sunday, Doctor J—— took his carriage to the railway station and brought back the Reverend Father named for that week's services; and his visit was always looked for with delight by all the household at Monticello, domestics and children, but by none so much as by three recent converts to our holy faith, who often took occasion to propound to their amiable and learned guest any doubts on religious questions that had arisen during the course of the intervening weeks.

On the evening above mentioned, the priest who came was an Italian Jesuit, the Reverend Father G——. He held his little audience entranced with a fund of edifying stories and interesting replies to the questions asked. The calm serenity of the night, the gentle, refreshing breeze that came from a neighboring wood of pine-trees, the beautiful glitter of the flitting glow-worm, and the rich perfume wafted from the purple magnolia grandiflora—all added to the enchantment. The doctor broke the charm by saying: "Reverend Father, we shall be obliged to leave early to-morrow morning. The carriage will be ready for you at 6 o'clock."

"Is it a long drive to the church?" asked Father G——.

"No; only four miles," answered the doctor; "but there will be many confessions to hear and, perhaps, some baptisms to administer; hence, unless the work is begun early, Mass will not be over before 12 o'clock."

"I hope, then," replied the Father, smiling, "that you will not fail to awake betimes."

"As to that," rejoined the doctor, "when I have to arise at any particular time, I recite a De Profundis for the relief of the suffering souls, and I am sure of awaking promptly at he right hour."

"I can easily credit that," said Father G——.

"It is a pious practice which was recommended to me by the late Dr. Ryder, of Georgetown, when I was at the College," said the host; "and I have never found that any one to whom I taught the practice failed to find it truly efficacious."

"If it would not detain you too long beyond your customary hours," said Father G——, "I would add to my long list of anecdotes one more on the De Profundis."

All present besought the priest to favor them; in truth, the worthy household never wearied of pious conversation.

"It happened," began the good priest, with religious modesty, "that about twenty years ago I accompanied a number of prominent members of our Society who had been summoned to the Mother House, in Rome, on business of importance. The Fathers carried with them precious documents from their several provinces; and, besides the purse necessary to meet their current travelling expenses, certain contributions from churches as Peter's Pence, and donations for the General of the Society. Our way lay across the Apennines, and we were numerous enough to fill a large coach. We knew that the fastnesses of the mountains were infested by outlawed bands, and we had been careful to select an honest driver. Before setting out, it was agreed that we should place ourselves under the protection of the Holy Souls by reciting a De Profundis every hour. At a given signal, mental or vocal prayer, reading or recreation, would be suspended, and the psalm recited in unison.

"Luigi, the driver, had been instructed, in case of any apparent danger, to make three distinct taps on the roof of our vehicle with the heavy end of his whip. We travelled the whole day undisturbed, without other interruptions than those called for by the observance of our itinerary. Just as the evening twilight began, we reached the summit of a lofty mountain. The air was cool, the scenery wild and majestic, and each of us seemed absorbed in the pleasant glimpses of the receding landscapes, when we were startled by three ominous knocks on the roof of our coach. Before we could ask any questions, Luigi had given his horses such blows as nearly made them throw us out of the vehicle, and sent the animals running at a break-neck speed. We looked, we listened, and, to our amazement and horror, beheld about a dozen bandits on either side of the road, with arms uplifted, and holding deadly weapons, as if ready and determined to strike with well-aimed precision. But, strange to say, they all remained as motionless as statues, until we had gone on so far as to leave them a mere speck on the descending horizon.

"Each one of our party had kept exterior silence, but inwardly put his trust in the Most High. At last, Luigi halted. His horses were white with foam, and panting as if they would never breathe naturally again.

"A miracle!" cried Luigi, signing himself with the mystic Sign; "may God and Our Lady be praised! I tell you, Fathers, it is a miracle that we are not dead men!" "'Indeed, a very special protection of Divine Providence said the superior pro tem.; 'and we must all thank God with our whole hearts.'

"'I tell you,' broke in Luigi, 'those were horrible men; I never saw any look fiercer.'

"'Then, as soon as your horses are able, we had better move on. Shall you be obliged to change them before we get to our proposed stopping- place?' asked the superior.

"'Oh, we must not stop to change! we should be tracked by some of their spies. We had better go on; and, as the road descends gently, I think this team will make the remainder of the route.'

"'Well,' said our superior, as we re-entered the coach, 'we must all offer a Mass in thanksgiving to-morrow;' to which we all heartily assented, and found subject for conversation the rest of the way in recalling the particulars of our wondrous escape.

"Holy obedience afterwards stationed me," continued the Reverend Father, "at the Gesu. About two years later, I was called upon to instruct a prisoner condemned to capital punishment. 'He appears to have been a desperate man,' said the jailer, as he drew aside the enormous bolts of iron that held fast the door of a corridor leading to a dismal dungeon; 'now, however, he is a little subdued; he even seems contrite at times, and I hope he will die penitent.'

"I visited the prisoner several times; he was always glad to see me, but it cost him a great effort to open his heart, and make a full confession. His birth and parentage, and advantages for a liberal education, should have brought him to a widely-different destiny. He had loved adventure naturally, but had taken a wrong direction. He might have become a famous military man, whereas he was only a rough, desperate highwayman. To win him to God, I began to listen to narratives of his wild brigand exploits. I affected to be interested in these daring adventures, and then succeeded in pointing out to him the sin that abounded in each and every act. One day, as he was speaking of the latest years of his life, I was greatly surprised to hear him recount the identical incident with which I began my story. He described to me in the most graphic terms the wonderful manner in which his hands and those of his comrades had been held by an invisible, irresistible power, saying that they had returned to their mountain haunts perfectly dismayed; that some of them appeared to have a vague and conscientious alarm, though revelry and song soon banished such misgivings. He told me that they knew the carriage was full of Jesuit priests, and that they had been promised a great pecuniary reward by a prominent member of the Freemason Society if they should succeed in seizing our luggage.

"I then made known to my penitent my share in that providential escape; he at once fell on his knees, wept long and bitterly, and finally asked my forgiveness. I prepared him for his dreadful end, and believe he died at peace with God, so great is the mercy of Jesus to the contrite soul, 'even though his sins be as scarlet.' I asked his permission to narrate the particulars of his portion of the story, and he gladly gave it, hoping to merit something for his sin-burdened soul by that act of humility."

We were all much impressed by the Reverend Father's narrative, and as we bade one another good-night, the doctor remarked that a kind deed performed for others was sure to merit a blessing in return, even though it were so small a favor as that gained by his favorite practice of saying the De Profundis.

"Yes," said Father G——, "charity never fails."—Ave Maria, Nov. 24th, 1883.

CONFIDENCE REWARDED.

The following fact took place in Montreal, Canada, some three or four years since. We shall leave the zealous member of our association who related it to us to tell his own story:

"One morning," said he, "coming back from Mass, I saw Mr. C——, who was also coming out of the church. He was a worthy man, fearing God and fulfilling his duties faithfully and conscientiously. I said to myself: 'There is a man who deserves to belong to our association.' For is it not always a favor when God deems us worthy to do something for Him?

"I approached and asked him if he would not like to become a member of our association. 'What association?' 'The Association of the Way of the Cross and Masses. It is to relieve the dead by prayer and alms, two powerful means.' 'Ah! I knew nothing of it. What has to be done?' 'It suffices to make the Way of the Cross once a week and pay for a Mass once a month.' 'I love the souls in Purgatory,' he said, 'and I do all I can to relieve them. But, you see, things are not going well with me just now. I have been a long time sick, and am hardly able yet to discharge my ordinary duties.'

"At these words I cast my eyes on the speaker, and saw what I had not before noticed, that he looked pale and worn. He went on: 'As for paying anything, it would be impossible for me to do it; I have contracted debts, and if my ill health should continue,' he added, in a faltering voice, 'I shall be obliged to sell my little house.' Then he stopped, his heart evidently full, and tears in his eyes. 'But Providence watches over you, and nothing happens without God's good leave. If a single hair of our head cannot fall unless He will it, what have you to fear? Do something for God whilst you can. If you are liberal to Him, He will be more so towards you. Do you remember the promise Our Lord made to St. Gertrude? 'I will give an hundred-fold,' said He, 'for all thou shalt do for my beloved ones in Purgatory.' This promise was not for St. Gertrude alone; it was likewise for you. For one dollar that you give, you will gain ten; and if you are resolved to help the poor souls all you can, they will get you health to do it.' 'Ah! what you say touches me much, and truly I know not what to do.' After a moment's hesitation, he quickly resumed: 'Well, sir, although I am actually in distress, I am going to try; it may be the best means of getting out of it.' 'Yes, try; we run no risk when we make the Holy Souls our debtors.'

"At these words, he drew from his pocket a small purse which contained only half a dollar. 'There is all my wealth, and I am happy to share it with you,' and he gave me the stipend for a Mass. 'I will perhaps put myself to some inconvenience in giving you that sum, trifling though it be; but, blessed be God! I will bear with the inconvenience, thinking that those who suffer much more than I will obtain some relief in their cruel torments. I will also pray for them, and that they may obtain for me the resignation which is so pleasing to God.'

"When I saw the noble sentiments of this man, I shook him by the hand, warmly thanked him, and reminded him that God was always touched by such acts, and that He knew how to reward them.

"From that moment, strange to say, that frail, delicate man began to recover his strength, work came back to his shop, and everything grew brighter around him. And, as an additional reward from Heaven, he was animated by a new zeal for the Holy Souls, for he not only paid his own little contribution regularly, but he also collected the money for as many Masses as he could on one side and another.

"Six or seven months thus passed away amid ever increasing prosperity, when one day he said to me in presence of several persons: 'Last autumn, before I gave my name to the Association for the Souls in Purgatory, I was so sick and so discouraged that I thought I should die; but when I had paid for my first Mass, from that moment, as all may see, my health began to return, and with it my courage. To-day, as you see, I am perfectly well. Moreover, I have found means to pay off one hundred and fifty dollars of debt, and to have fifty dollars' worth of repairs made to my little house. How has all that been done? I know not: for you will admit that, by a poor shoemaker such as I, who works at his bench and without even an apprentice, after such a hard winter, and without any advance before me, to find means, despite all that, to provide for the support of his family and pay two hundred dollars over and above, is something extraordinary.

"'But I know well to whom I owe it all; hence,' he added, with a smile, 'that has given me new zeal. Now, I work not only for myself; every evening I go out collecting for our good Souls in Purgatory, and, blessed be God! I have got one hundred and fifty dollars for the Association of Masses. Have I not, sir?' he added, addressing the treasurer, who was present.

"'Yes, you have, indeed, collected one hundred and fifty dollars, perhaps something more, by twenty-five cents here and twenty-five cents there, with a perseverance and a zeal beyond all praise, and well deserving of the favors you have received.'

"'Ah!' said this worthy man, so admirable in his simplicity and the fervor of his conviction, 'it is that I still desire something; I now expect that they will make me better,' and he sighed.

"Thus was this good man rewarded for his confidence in the Souls in Purgatory, and such was his gratitude to them."—Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory, 1877.

ANECDOTE OF THE "DE PROFUNDIS."

I once heard an anecdote of a good priest who was in the habit of saying the De Profundis every day for the Souls in Purgatory, but, happening one day to omit it, either through inadvertence or press of occupation, he was passing through a cemetery about the close of day, when he suddenly heard, through the hushed silence of the lonely place and the solemn evening's hour, a mournful voice repeating the first words of the beautiful psalm—De Profundis clamavit Domini—then it stopped, but the priest, as soon as he had recovered from the first shock, and remembering with bitter self-reproach his omission, took up the words where the supernatural voice had left off, and finished the recitation of the De Profundis, resolving, as he did so, that, for the time to come, nothing should prevent him from reciting it every day, and more than once in the day, for the benefit of the dear suffering Souls.

A STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN A PERSIAN PRISON.

There is a very strange story concerning Purgatory related by St. John the Almoner, Patriarch of Alexandria, in the end of the sixth and the beginning of the seventh century. A little before a great mortality which took place in that city, several inhabitants of the Island of Cyprus were carried off to Persia and cast into a prison so severe that it was called the Oblivion. Some of them, however, succeeded in making their escape and returned to their own country. A father and mother, whose son had been carried off with the others, asked them for tidings of their son. "Alas!" said they, "your son died on such a day; we ourselves had the sad consolation of giving him burial." The poor parents hastened then to have a solemn service performed for the repose of his soul; this they had done three times every year, continuing in prayer for the same intention. But, marvellous to relate! one day this son, so much regretted, so fondly remembered, came knocking at their door and threw himself into their arms. He had been supposed dead for four years, yet was really alive, he whom the other prisoners had buried having had a great resemblance to him, that is all. "How! is it really thou, dear son? Oh! how we mourned for thee! Three times every year we had a solemn service for thee." "On what days?" eagerly demanded the son. "On the holy days of Christmas, Easter, and Pentecost." "Precisely!" he exclaimed; "on those very days I saw, each time, an officer radiant with light, who came to me and taking off my chains, opened the doors of my prison. I went forth into the city, walked wherever I wished, without any one appearing to notice me; only, in the evening, I always found myself miraculously chained in my dungeon. It was the fruit of your good prayers, and if I had been in Purgatory, they would have served at the same time to relieve me; I beseech you not to forget me when the good God shall see fit to call me to Himself."—Leontius, Life of St. John the Almoner.

A SWISS PROTESTANT CONVERTED BY THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY.

I have somewhere read, says a Catholic writer, that a Swiss Protestant was converted to the true religion solely on account of our having the consoling doctrine of Purgatory, whereas Protestants will not admit of it. He was a Lutheran somewhat advanced in age, and he had a brother who passed for a worthy man, as the world goes, but had also the misfortune of being a Protestant. He fell sick, and notwithstanding the care of several physicians, died, and was buried by a Protestant minister of Berne. His death was a terrible blow to the brother of whom I speak. Hoping to dissipate his grief he tried travelling, but the thought of his brother's eternal destiny pursued him everywhere. He one day, on board a steamer, made the acquaintance of a Catholic priest, with whom he entered into conversation. Confidence was soon established between them; they spoke of death, and the afflicted traveller asked the priest what he thought of it. "What I think is this," replied the priest: "When a man has perfectly discharged all his duties to God, his neighbor and himself, he goes straight to heaven; if he have not discharged them, or have neglected any of those which are essential, he goes straight to hell; but if he have only to reproach himself with those trifling faults which are inseparable from our frail nature, he spends some time in Purgatory." At these words the listener smiled with evident relief and satisfaction; he felt consoled. "Sir," cried he, "I will become a Catholic, and for this reason: Protestants only admit of heaven and hell; but, in order to get to Paradise, one must have nothing wherewith to reproach himself. Now, although my brother was a good man, he was by no means free from those slight faults of which you spoke just now. He will not be damned for these faults, but they will prevent him from going to heaven; there must, therefore, be an intermediate place wherein to expiate them; hence, there must be a Purgatory. I will be a Catholic, so as to have the consolation of praying for my brother."—The Catechism in Examples, pp. 141-2.

THE DEAD HAND.

SISTER TERESA MARGARET GESTA was struck by apoplexy on the 4th of November, 1859, without any premonitory symptoms to forewarn her of her danger; and, without recovering consciousness, she breathed her last at four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day. Her companions were plunged into the deepest sorrow, for the Sister was a general favorite; but they resigned themselves to the will of God. Whilst lamenting the death of one who had been to them a model, comforter, and mother, they consoled themselves by the remembrance of the virtues of which she was a splendid example, and of which they never tired speaking.

Twelve days had passed since her death. Some of the Sisters felt a certain kind of dread of going alone to the places frequented by the departed one; but Sister Anna Felix Menghini, a person of a lively and pleasant disposition, often rallied them, good-humoredly, on their fears.

About ten o'clock in the forenoon, this same Sister Anna, having charge of the clothing, was proceeding to the work-room. Having gone up- stairs, she heard a mournful voice, which at first she thought might be that of a cat shut up in the clothes-press. She opened and examined it carefully, but found nothing. A sudden and unaccountable feeling of terror came over her, and she cried out: "Jesus, Mary, what can it be?" She had hardly uttered these words when she heard the same mournful voice as at first, which exclaimed in a gasping sob: "O my God, how I suffer!" The religious, though surprised and trembling, recognized distinctly the voice of Sister Teresa; she plucked up courage and asked her "Why?"

"On account of poverty," answered the voice.

"What!" replied Sister Anna, "and you were so poor!"

"Not for me," was answered, "but for the nuns.... If one is enough, why two? and if two are sufficient, why three?... And you—beware for yourself."

At the same time the whole room was darkened by a thick smoke, and the shadow of Sister Teresa, moving towards the exit, went up the steps, talking as it moved. Sister Anna was so frightened that she could not make out what the spirit said. Having reached the door, the apparition spoke again: "This is a mercy of God!" And in proof of the reality, with its open hand it struck the upper panel of the door near the frame, leaving the impression of the hand more perfect than it could have been made by the most skillful artist with a hot iron.

Sister Anna was like Balthasar: "Then was the King's countenance changed, and his thoughts troubled him; and the joints of his loins were loosed, and his knees struck one against the other." (Dan., v. 6). She could not stir for a considerable time; she did not even dare to turn her head. But at last she tottered out and called one of her companions, who, hearing her feeble, broken words, ran to her with another Sister; and presently the whole community was gathered round in alarm. They learned in a confused manner what had taken place, perceived the smell of burnt wood, and noticed a whitish cloud or mist that filled the room and made it almost dark. They examined the door carefully though tremblingly, and recognized the fac-simile of Sister Teresa's hand; and, filled with terror, they fled to the choir.

There the Sisters, forgetting the need of food and rest, remained in prayer till after sunset, abandoning everything in their anxiety to procure relief for their beloved Sister Teresa. The zealous Minorite Fathers, who have the spiritual direction of the convent, learning what had happened, were equally earnest in offering prayers and sacrifice, and in singing the psalms for the dead. Many of the faithful likewise assembling, not through idle curiosity, but out of genuine piety, joined in the recitation of the Rosary and other prayers, though the deceased Sister was almost entirely unknown to the people. Her observance of the rule was very strict, and she scrupulously avoided all intercourse with people outside her convent. But still large numbers crowded to join in those devotions for her.

Sister Anna, who was more worn out by excitement than the other religious, was directed to retire early the following night. She herself confesses that she was fully resolved next day to remove, at any cost, the obnoxious marks of the hand. But Sister Teresa appeared to her in a dream, saying: "You intend to remove the sign which I have left. Know that it is not in your power to do so, even with the aid of others; for it is there by the command of God, for the instruction of the people. By His just and inexorable judgment I was condemned to the dreadful fires of Purgatory for forty years on account of my condescension to the will of some of the nuns. I thank you and those who joined in so many prayers to the Lord for me; all of which He was pleased in His mercy to accept as suffrages for me, and especially the Seven Penitential Psalms, which were such a relief!" And then, with a smiling countenance, she added: "Oh! blessed rags, that are rewarded with such rich garments! Oh! happy poverty, that brings such glory to those who truly observe it! Alas! how many suffer irreparable loss, and are in torments, because, under the cloak of necessity, poverty is known and valued by few!"

Finally, Sister Anna, lying down as usual on the night of the 19th, heard her name distinctly pronounced by Sister Teresa. She awoke, all in a tremor, and sat up, unable to answer. Her astonishment was great when, near the foot of the bed, she saw a globe of light that made the cell as bright as noonday, and she heard the spirit say in a joyful voice: "On the day of the Passion I died (on Friday), and on the day of the Passion I go to glory.... Strength in the Cross!... Courage to suffer!..." Then, saying three times "Adieu!" the globe was transformed into a thin, white, shining cloud, rose towards heaven, and disappeared.

The zealous Bishop of the diocese having heard of these events, instituted the process of examination on the 23d of the same month. The grave was opened in presence of a large number of persons assembled for the occasion; the impression of the hand on the door was compared with the hand of the dead, and both were found to correspond exactly. The door itself was set apart in a safe place and guarded. Many persons being anxious to see the impression, it was allowed to be visited, after a certain lapse of time, and with due precautions, by such as had secured the necessary permission.—Ave Maria, Nov. 17, 1883.

A BEAUTIFUL EXAMPLE.

The following fact is related by the Treasurer of the Association for the Souls in Purgatory. He himself was personally cognizant of the circumstances of the case. We leave him to speak:

"Mr.——," said he, "was one of our first and most fervent associates. His devotedness for good works is well known, so that he is everywhere regarded as an acquisition in all pious enterprises. His exemplary conduct rendered him, moreover, one of the most precious auxiliaries of the work. Hence his zeal, instead of slackening, did but go on increasing; and whereas, in the beginning, his collection amounted only to some dollars, after a while he often brought me forty or fifty dollars for the suffering souls. May Heaven bless that fervent associate, and may his example serve as a lesson to the indifferent!

"During eighteen months, or two years, this pious and zealous member brought me every six months,—with other moneys,—the sum of fifteen dollars which was thus periodically sent him; and each time that I asked him whence this money came, he answered that he knew nothing of it himself; that it was sent him by a worthy man without further information, and so he brought it to me without asking, or knowing anything more.

"Desirous of getting to the bottom of this mystery, I resolved to try and find out what it meant. I, one day, asked Mr.——. to tell me the name of this generous protector of the poor souls, for I was going to hunt him up.—'Oh!' said he, 'it is Such-a-one; he lives a long way off, towards Hochelaga, [1] but, indeed, I cannot tell you the exact place.'

[Footnote 1: A suburban town or village of Montreal, situated, like the city, on the banks of the St. Lawrence.]

"Such vague information embarrassed me no little. I, nevertheless, took the City Directory, but, alas! there were fully twenty-five persons of the same name. Resolved, however, to put an end to this uncertainty, I proceeded, with the little information I had, to the place indicated to me; I arrive at a house bearing the name of the new benefactor of our work. I go in at a venture; it was a little shoe-store, scarcely fifteen feet square, somewhat gloomy and not over-clean, owing, probably, to the nature of the business carried on there; the whole appearance of the place was, indeed, very unlike one where much money could be made. Going in, I perceived sitting in the farther end of the store, a man whose face was so expressive of goodness, so open and so calm, that only a good conscience could leave so gracious an imprint on the features, and I said to myself: 'That is he.'—Then I asked aloud: 'You are Mr. Such-a-one?'—That is my name,' he answered, with a pleasant smile.—'But is it you who has sent us every six months for two years, the sum of fifteen dollars,—thirty dollars a year,—for the Souls in Purgatory, apart from your regular contribution?'—'Yes,' said he, quietly, and still with the same smile on his lips.—'Ah!' said I, 'we are very grateful to you, and the Holy Souls will surely be mindful of you. I suppose you have a great compassion for those poor souls who suffer so much, and that that inspires you with zeal, and so you make up this sum amongst your friends and neighbors;—or they, perhaps, bring it to your house, quarter by quarter, as is done elsewhere?'—'No!' said he, still very quietly, 'no, it is my own little share.'—'How! your own little share?' and instinctively I cast a glance around the little store, which seemed hardly to justify the giving of such a sum. 'How! your little share? but we find it a very large and generous one, and we are happy that your zeal and charity make it seem to you so small. Heaven will bless you for it. Still there must be something hidden under these gifts, so often repeated; the Holy Souls must have done you some favor. Please tell me, then, what induces you to give so handsome a sum every year, without being asked?'

"'Well, I will not conceal from you that the Souls in Purgatory have visibly protected me; and to make known to you, in a few words, all my little history, I must tell you that, two or three years ago, I heard people speak so favorably of the Association for the Souls in Purgatory—I heard so much about it, indeed, that from that day forward, I placed all my little business under the care of the Suffering Souls, and ever since, I am happy to tell you, to the credit of those holy Souls, that my affairs go, as if they were on wheels!" (These are his own words.) "I give my thirty-three dollars a year without any injury to myself; on the contrary, all goes the better for it. My store is not much to look at, but it is well filled, and all that is in it is my own. Apart from that, and what is still better, I have not a penny of debt.'

"He then added, in a lower tone: 'I have, moreover, the happiness of honoring in that way the thirty-three years of labors and sufferings which Our Divine Lord spent on earth. That thought does my poor heart good.

"'Ah, sir,' said he, with an impulse of true faith which made my heart thrill—'Ah, sir, if men believed more, they would do wonders, and the word of Our Lord never fails, and He has said that the more one gives the more they receive, for charity never makes any one poor; only we must give without distrust, and without speculation.'

"I warmly shook hands with this admirable man, and returned home as charmed with my visit as delighted with so much faith. Then I said to myself: 'There is a fine example to follow. How many others might have no debts, if they knew how to make sacrifices for the dear Suffering Souls!'"—Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory, 1877

HOW TO PAY ONE'S DEBTS.

Speaking just now of that generous man who had no debts, we called to mind an example that teaches a pretty way of paying debts. We are about to furnish the receipt, so that no one may complain, giving to each the chance of making use of it. In divulging this secret we shall certainly pass for the least selfish man in the world; for, to furnish every one with the means of paying their debts, is it not to procure for each the opportunity of enriching himself? But, dear reader, laying aside all thanks, hasten only to profit by the receipt, and we shall, each of us, have obtained our object.

We take this secret from the Chronicles of the good Friars Minors, an authority to which no one can take exception.

The Blessed Berthold belonged to the great Franciscan family. His fine talents and rare virtues had caused him to be appointed a preacher of the Order. The Sovereign Pontiff, seeing all the good that Berthold was destined to do by his eloquent sermons, had given him power to grant to each of his hearers, an indulgence of ten days; which was a great privilege for the faithful, as well as a mark of esteem and distinction for himself.

Friar Berthold, then, had preached a most moving sermon on alms-giving, and had granted the ten days' indulgence to all who were present. Amongst the audience was a lady of quality who, owing to a reverse of fortune, was in great distress and loaded with debt. She had hitherto been content to suffer in silence, being prevented by a false shame from making her condition known; but overcome by the enthusiastic charity of the good father, she went privately to him to explain how she was situated, giving him thus an opportunity of putting in practice what he had so eloquently preached. But Friar Berthold, who, like his father St. Francis, had chosen poverty for his lady and mistress, could not come to her relief. Nevertheless, as poverty, in the man who suffers and endures it voluntarily for the love of God, becomes strength and even riches, Berthold, strong in his sacrifice and rich in his poverty—Berthold, inspired by the Holy Ghost, repeated to her what Peter of old, inspired by God, said to the lame man at the gate of the Temple who had asked him for alms: "Silver and gold have I none, but that which I have I will give unto thee." He then assured the lady that she had gained ten days' indulgence by being present at his preaching, and he added: "Go to such a banker in the city. Hitherto he has busied himself much more about temporal riches than spiritual treasures, but offer him in return for the donation he will give you, to make over to him the merit of this indulgence, so that the pains awaiting him in Purgatory may be diminished. I have every reason to think," continued the good Father, "that he will give you some assistance."

The poor woman, full of that faith which is so powerful, went as she was told, in all simplicity. God touched the heart of the rich man, who received her kindly. He asked her how much she expected to receive in exchange for her ten days' indulgence. Feeling herself animated by an interior strength, she replied: "As much as it weighs in the balance." —"Well!" said the banker, "here is the balance. Write down your ten days' indulgence, and put the paper in one scale; I will place a piece of money in the other." O prodigy! the scale with the paper in it does not rise, but the other does. The banker, much amazed, puts in another piece of money, but the weight is not changed; he puts in another, then another; but the result is still the same, the paper on which the indulgence is written is still the heaviest. The Banker puts down then five, ten, thirty pieces, till there was as much as the whole amount which the lady required for her present needs. Then only did the two scales become equal.

The banker, struck with astonishment, saw in this marvel a precious lesson for him; he was at length made sensible of the value of the things of heaven.

The poor Souls understand it still better, as, for the slightest earthly indulgence they would give all the gold in the world.

You, then, who have no money to give for the Souls in Purgatory—you, too, who have financial difficulties on your shoulders, offer up indulgences for the poor Souls, and they will make themselves your bankers; they will pay you double, nay, a hundred-fold for whatever you have put in the scale of the balance of mercy. They will pay you not only in spiritual treasures, but even in temporal wealth, which will procure for you the double advantage of paying your debts here below, and those of the other world.—Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory, 1877.

FAITH REWARDED.

"One day, in the month of July," relates a zelator of the Association, [1] "I met one of our members. He was a man of an amiable disposition, and remarkable for his piety and his devotion to good works. He was a merchant of good standing, engaged in a respectable business. Like many others, however, he had seen bad days; and to the commonplace question, 'How goes business?' he replied: 'Ah! badly enough; I can hardly pay expenses, and I am doubly unfortunate. I had a house which brought me in two or three hundred dollars a year, and I have had the misfortune of being unable to rent it this year, so that, losing on all sides, I find myself a good deal embarrassed.'—'Will you allow me,' said I, 'to give you a little advice? Promise some Masses for the Souls in Purgatory in case you have the good fortune to rent your house. It will be, as it were, the tithe of your rent. We too often forget that we owe to Our Lord a part of what He gives us so freely. It is, nevertheless, only an offering that we make Him of His own goods; and, at the same time, an act of gratitude for that He has deigned to give it to us. Furthermore, it is an act of homage, an acknowledgment of His supremacy. And we shall derive the more profit from it according as we do it with a good heart. Besides all that, you have the additional happiness of assisting your relatives and friends who are suffering in the flames of Purgatory.'

[Footnote 1: For the Relief of the Souls in Purgatory.]

"This little exhortation seemed to strike him to whom it was addressed, and, as if awaking from a long lethargy, he suddenly said: 'Why did I not think of that before? I promise,' added he, 'five dollars for the Souls in Purgatory, if I find a tenant.'

"This eagerness to do good, this species of regret for not having done it sooner, this pious disposition which makes us desire to relieve those who are in affliction, must have been very pleasing to God, for, within the week, the gentleman came to me with his five dollars, and said, smiling: 'I lose no time, you see, in keeping my promise.'—'Why, have you already rented your house?'—'Yes, a manufacturer from the country who had just had the misfortune of being burned out, saw my house by chance, came to ask my terms, and we agreed at once. He is to take possession next week.'

"A week passed, even a month, then two, and no tenant, when I happened again to meet my friend, whom I almost suspected of having forgotten his promise. 'Ah!' said he, 'I am worse off than ever, and I was so sure of having rented my house.'—' How! did that person not come back, then?'—' No, and I thought him such an honest man! The disappointment has been a great loss to me.'—'Write to him, then, threatening to make him responsible for the whole rent. But, better than that, wait still, and have confidence; the Holy Souls cannot fail to bring the matter to a favorable issue. It is, perhaps, a want of faith on your part which has delayed the fulfillment of the contract.'

"Three days had scarcely passed when I again saw our Associate. 'This time,' said he, 'I come to pay; my tenant has arrived.'—'But he has made you lose five or six weeks' rent.'—'Not so; he is, just as I thought, an honorable, upright man. He arrived two days ago. It was I that hired your house,' said he, 'and I come to take possession of it.'—'Mr.——,' said I, 'I am very glad, but I expected you sooner.'— 'It is true I was to have come before now, but was prevented from doing so by important business. How long is it since I rented your house?'— 'Just nine weeks.'—'It is only right, then, that I should pay you for the time I have made you lose;' then handing me a sum of money, 'there,' said he, 'is the amount coming to you; and now, my family arrive to-morrow, so we take possession at once of your house, and your rent shall be paid regularly.'

"So there is an end to my anxiety, and you cannot believe how happy I am in bringing you the trifling sum I promised; but while keeping my promise, I thank you very sincerely for the confidence wherewith you inspired me in the Holy Souls. May God bless you for it!"—Almanac of the Souls in Purgatory, 1881.

APPARITION OF A CITIZEN OF ARIES.

LECOYER, in his "Tales of Ghosts and Apparitions," [1] relates a historical occurrence which had great publicity. In the reign of King Charles IV. of France, surnamed the Fair, the last king of the first branch of the Capets, who died in 1323, the soul of a citizen, some years dead and abandoned by his relations, who neglected to pray for him, appeared suddenly in the public square at Aries, relating marvellous things of the other world, and asking for help. Those who had seen him in his lifetime at once recognized him. The Prior of the Jacobins, a man of saintly life, being told of this apparition, hastened to go and see the soul. Supposing at first that it might be a spirit that had taken the form of this citizen, he took, with lighted tapers, a consecrated host, which he held out to it. But the soul immediately showed that it was really there itself, for it prostrated itself and adored Our Lord, asking naught else but prayers which might deliver it from Purgatory, to the end that it might enter purified into heaven.

[Footnote 1: "Histoires des Spectres et des Apparitions."]

THE COUNTESS OF STRAFFORD.

The Countess of Strafford, before her conversion to the Catholic faith, went often to see Monseigneur de la Mothe, Bishop of Amiens, and her conversations with him always made the deepest impression on her mind. But what touched her more than all was a sermon which he preached on the feast of St. John the Baptist, in the chapel of the Ursulines in Amiens. After hearing this discourse, she felt within her a lively desire to believe as did the preacher who had so much edified her. She still had some doubts, however, on the Sacrifice of the Mass and Purgatory. She went to propose them to the holy Bishop, who, without disputing with her or openly attacking her prejudices, deemed it his duty to speak thus to her, in order to undeceive her: "Madam, you know the Bishop of London and have confidence in him? Well, I beg you to ask him what I am going to tell you: The Bishop of Amiens has told me a thing that surprised me; he says that if you can deny that St. Augustine said Mass and prayed for the dead, and particularly for his mother, he himself will become a Protestant." This advice was followed. The Bishop of London made no reply, but contented himself with saying to the bearer of the letter that Lady Strafford had been breathing a contagious atmosphere which had carried her away, and that anything he could write to her would probably not remedy the evil. This silence on the part of a man whom she had trusted implicitly, finished opening the eyes of Lady Strafford, and she soon after made her abjuration at the hands of the Bishop of Amiens.—Vie de Monsgr. de la Mothe.

THE MARQUIS BE CIVRAC. (From une Commune Vendeenne.)

The belief that the living friends may be of use to their friends in the grave, has in it I know not what instructive and natural which one meets in hearts the most simple and unsophisticated. A pious peasant woman of La Vendee kneeling on the coffin of her good master, the Marquis de Civrac, cried out: "O my God, repay to him all the good he has done to us!" Does not this fervent cry of grateful affection signify: "My God, some rays are perchance wanting in the crown of our benefactor; supply them, we beseech Thee, in consideration of our prayer and all he has done for us?" and this is precisely the consoling doctrine of Purgatory.

GRATITUDE OF THE HOLY SOULS.

[Rev. James Mumford, S.J., born in England in 1605, and who labored for forty years for the cause of the Catholic Church in his native country, wrote a remarkable work on Purgatory; and he mentions that the following incident was written to him by William Freysson, a publisher, of Cologne. May it move many in their difficulties to have recourse to the Holy Souls.]

One festival day, when my place of business was closed, I was occupying myself in reading a book which you had lent me, and which was on "The Souls in Purgatory." I was absorbed in my subject when a messenger came and told me that my youngest child, aged four years, showed the first symptoms of a very grave disease. The child rapidly grew worse, and the physicians at length declared that there was no hope. The thought then occurred to me that perhaps I could save my child by making a vow to assist the Suffering Souls in Purgatory. I accordingly repaired at once to a chapel, and, with all fervor, supplicated God to have pity on me; and I vowed I would distribute gratuitously a hundred copies of the book that had moved me in behalf of the suffering souls, and give them to ecclesiastics and to religious to increase devotion to the Holy Souls. I had, I acknowledge, hardly any hope. As soon as I returned to the house I found the child much better. He asked for food, although for several days he had not been able to swallow anything but liquids. The next day he was perfectly well, got up, went out for a walk, and ate as if he had never had anything the matter with him. Filled with gratitude, I was only anxious to fulfill my promise. I went to the College of the Jesuit Fathers and begged them to accept as many copies of the work as they pleased, and to distribute them amongst themselves and other communities and ecclesiastics as they thought fit, so that the suffering souls, my benefactors, should be assisted by further prayers.

Three weeks had not slipped away, however, when another accident not less serious befell me. My wife, on entering the house one day, was suddenly seized with a trembling in all her limbs, which threw her to the ground, and she remained insensible. Little by little the illness increased, until she was deprived of the power of speech. Remedies seemed to be in vain. The malady at length assumed such aggravated proportions that every one was of opinion she had no chance of recovery. The priest who assisted her had already addressed words of consolation to me, exhorting me to Christian resignation. I turned again with confidence to the souls in Purgatory, who had assisted me once before, and I went to the same church. There, prostrate before the Blessed Sacrament, I renewed my supplication with all the ardor with which affection for my family inspired me. "O my God!" I exclaimed, "Thy mercy is not exhausted: in the name of Thy infinite bounty, do not permit that the recovery of my son should be paid by the death of his mother." I made a vow this time, to distribute two hundred copies of the holy book, in order that a greater number of persons might be moved to intercede for the suffering souls. I besought those who had already been delivered from Purgatory to unite with me on this occasion. After this prayer, as I was returning to the house, I saw my servants running towards me. They told me with delight that my wife had undergone a great change for the better; that the delirium had ceased, and she had recovered her power of speech. I at once ran on to assure myself of the fact: all was true. Very soon my wife was so perfectly recovered that she came with me into the holy place to make an act of thanksgiving to God for all His mercies.—Ave Maria.

A STRANGE INCIDENT.

A young German lady of rank, still alive to tell the story, arriving with her friends at one of the most noted hotels in Paris, an apartment of unusual magnificence on the first floor was apportioned to her use. After retiring to rest she lay awake a long while, contemplating, by the dim light of a night-lamp, the costly ornaments in the room, when suddenly the folding-doors opposite the bed, which she had locked, were thrown open, and, amid a flood of unearthly light, there entered a young man in the garb of the French navy, having his hair dressed in the peculiar mode a la Titus. Taking a chair and placing it in the middle of the room, he sat down, and drew from his pocket a pistol of an uncommon make, which he deliberately put to his forehead, fired, and fell back as if dead. At the moment of the explosion the room became dark and still, and a low voice said softly: "Say an Ave Maria for his soul."

The young lady, though not insensible, became paralyzed with horror, and remained in a kind of cataleptic trance, fully conscious, but unable to move or speak, until, at nine o'clock next day, no answer having been given to repeated calls of her maid, the doors were forced open. At the same moment the power of speech returned, and the poor young lady shrieked out to her attendants that a man had shot himself in the night, and was lying dead on the floor. Nothing, however, was to be seen, and they concluded that she was suffering from the effects of a dream. Not being a Catholic, she could not, of course, understand the meaning of the mysterious command.

A short time afterwards, however, the proprietor of the hotel informed a gentleman of the party that the terrible scene witnessed by the young lady had in reality been enacted only three nights previously in that very room, when a young French officer put an end to his life with a pistol of a peculiar description, which, together with the body, was then lying at the Morgue awaiting identification. The gentleman examined them both, and found them to correspond exactly with the description of the man and the pistol seen in the apparition.

Whether the young officer was insane, or lived long enough to repent of his crime, is not known; however, the then Archbishop of Paris, Monseigneur Sibour, was exceedingly impressed by the incident. He called upon the young lady, and directing her attention to the words spoken by the mysterious voice, urged her to embrace the Catholic faith, to whose teaching it pointed so clearly.—Ave Maria, August 15, 1885.



PART III.

HISTORICAL

All the ages, every clime Strike the silver harp of time, Chant the endless, holy story, Souls retained in Purgatory. Freed by Mass and holy rite, Requiem, dirge and wondrous might, A prayer which hut and palace send, Where king and serf, where lord and hireling blend. The vast cathedral and the village shrine Unite in mercy's choral strain divine.

HISTORICAL.

THE DOCTRINE OF PURGATORY, OR A MIDDLE STATE, AMONG THE PAGAN NATIONS OF ANTIQUITY.

BY THE REV. A. A LAMBING, A.M.

[This very interesting article was originally published in the "Ave Maria."]

The attentive student of the mythology of the nations of antiquity cannot fail to discover many vestiges of a primitive revelation of some of the principal truths of religion, although in the lapse of time they have been so distorted and mingled with fiction that it requires careful study to sift the few remaining grains of truth from the great mass of superstition and error in which they are all but lost. Among these truths may be reckoned monotheism, or the belief in, and the worship of, one only God, which the learned Jesuit, the Rev. Aug. Thebaud, in his "Gentilism," has proved to have been the primitive belief of all nations. It may not, however, be so generally known that the doctrine of Purgatory, or a future state of purification, was also held and taught in all the religious systems in the beginning. While a knowledge of this fact cannot add anything to the grounds of our faith as Catholics, it will not be wholly without interest, and it will, besides, better enable us to give a reason for the faith that is in us. It was left to Martin Luther to found an ephemeral religious system that should deny this dogma, founded no less on revelation than on right reason; but, then, logic has never been one of the strong points of Protestants.

Before turning my attention to the nations of the pagan world, I shall briefly give the Jewish belief on this point. It may not generally be known that the doctrine of a middle state is not explicitly proposed to the belief of the Jews in any of the writings of the Old Testament, although it was firmly held by the people. We depend for our knowledge of this fact mainly on the celebrated passage of the Second Book of Machabees (xii. 43-46). The occasion on which the doctrine was stated was this: Some of the soldiers of Judas Machabeus, the leader of the Jewish armies, fell in a certain battle; and when their fellow-soldiers came to bury them, they discovered secreted in the folds of their garments some parts of the spoils of one of the pagan shrines, which it was not permitted them to keep. After praying devoutly, the sacred writer goes on to say that Judas, "Making a gathering, sent twelve thousand drachms of silver to Jerusalem for sacrifices to be offered for the sins of the dead, thinking well and religiously concerning the resurrection [for if he had not hoped that they who were slain should rise again, it would have seemed superfluous and vain to pray for the dead]. And because he considered that they who had fallen asleep with godliness had great grace laid up for them. It is, therefore, a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins."

The Catholic doctrine is thus briefly laid down in the Catechism: "Purgatory is a place of punishment in the other life where some souls suffer for a time before they can go to heaven;" or, in the words of the Catechism of the Council of Trent, there is "the fire of Purgatory, in which the souls of just men are cleansed by a temporary punishment in order to be admitted into their eternal country, 'into which nothing defiled entereth.'"

How far the pagan notions of a middle state harmonize with the Christian doctrine the reader will be able to determine as we proceed.

I must premise by stating that almost all, if not all, the forms of paganism were two-fold, containing a popular form of religion, believed and practiced by the mass of the people, and a more recondite form that was known only to the initiated, whether this was the priestly caste, as was generally the case, or whether they were designated by some other name. It should also be observed that the forms of religion were constantly undergoing changes of greater or less importance. Nor must we lose sight of the fact that different nations embodied the same idea under different terms. The conception of the phlegmatic Norseman would be different from that of the imaginative Oriental, and the language of the refined Greek would be far other than that of the rude American savage. But yet the same truth may be found to underlie all, the outward garb alone differing.

Turning first to Egypt, which is, rightly or wrongly, commonly considered the cradle of civilization, we may sum up its teaching with regard to the lot of the dead, and the middle state, in these interesting remarks of a learned author: "The continuance of the soul after its death, its judgment in another world, and its sentence according to its deserts, either to happiness or suffering, were undoubted parts both of the popular and of the more recondite religion. It was the universal belief that immediately after death the soul descended into a lower world, and was conducted to the Hall of Truth (or, 'of the Two Truths'), where it was judged in the presence of Osiris and the forty-two demons, the 'Lords of Truth' and judges of the dead. Anubis, 'the director of the weight,' brought forth a pair of scales, and, placing on one scale a figure or emblem of Truth, set on the other a vase containing the good actions of the deceased; Thoth standing by the while, with a tablet in his hand, whereon to record the result. According to the side on which the balance inclined, Osiris delivered the sentence. If the good deeds preponderated, the blessed soul was allowed to enter the 'boat of the sun,' and was conducted by good spirits to Aahlu (Elysium), to the 'pools of peace,' and the dwelling place of Osiris.... The good soul, having first been freed from its infirmities by passing through the basin of purgatorial fire, guarded by the four ape-faced genii, and then made the companion of Osiris three thousand years, returned from Amenti, re-entered its former body, rose from the dead, and lived once more a human life upon earth. This process was reiterated until a certain mystic cycle of years became complete, when finally the good and blessed attained the crowning joy of union with God, being absorbed into the Divine Essence, and thus attaining the true end and full perfection of their being." [1]

[Footnote 1: "History of Ancient Egypt," George Rawlinson, Vol. I., pp. 327-329.]

It may be remarked that all systems of religion which held the doctrine of metempsychosis, or the transmigration of souls, should be considered as believing in a middle state of purgation, since they maintained the necessity of the soul's further purification, after death, before it was permitted to enter into its final rest.

In the ever-varying phases through which Buddhism, the religion of all South-eastern Asia, has passed in its protracted existence, it is difficult to determine with any degree of certainty, precisely what its disciples hold; but the belief in metempsychosis, which is one of its fundamental doctrines, must permit us to range it on the side of those who hold to the idea of a middle state. Certain it is, they believe that the soul, by a series of new births, becomes, in process of time, better fitted for the final state in which it is destined for ever to remain. The same may be said of the religion of the great body of the Chinese; for, although they have their law-giver Confucius, their religion at present, as far as it merits the name, appears to be no more than a certain form of Buddhism.

Coming to the more western nations of Asia, we may remark that, as their religions were evidently a corruption of primitive revelation, less removed in point of time, they must, although they had already become idolatrous, have embodied the idea of a future state of purgation, notwithstanding that it is impossible to determine at this distant day, the exact nature of their doctrines. If, however, we turn from these to the doctrine of Zoroaster, our means of forming an opinion are more ample.

Zoroaster, or, more correctly, Zarathustra, the founder of the Persian religion, was born, according to some accounts, in the sixth century before our era, while others claim for him an antiquity dating at least from the thirteenth century before Christ. Be that as it may—and it does not concern us to inquire into it—this much is certain: he was a firm believer in a middle state, and he transmitted the same to his followers. But, going a step further than some, he taught that the souls undergoing purification are helped by the prayers of their friends upon earth. "The Zoroastrians," says Mr. Rawlinson, "were devout believers in the immortality of the soul and a conscious future existence. They taught that immediately after death the souls of men, both good and bad, proceeded together along an appointed path, to 'the bridge of the gatherer.' This was a narrow road conducting to heaven or paradise, over which the souls of the pious alone could pass, while the wicked fell from it into the gulf below, where they found themselves in the place of punishment. The good soul was assisted across the bridge by the Angel Serosh—'the happy, well-formed, swift, tall Serosh'—who met the weary wayfarer, and sustained his steps as he effected the difficult passage. The prayers of his friends in this world were of much avail to the deceased, and greatly helped him on his journey." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Ancient Monarchies." Vol. II, p 339.]

With regard to the opinions held by the Greeks,—and the same may, in general terms, be applied to the Romans, whose religious views coincided more or less closely with those of their more polished neighbors,—it is difficult to form a correct idea. Not that the classic writers and philosophers have permitted the subject to sink into oblivion,—on the contrary, they have treated it at considerable length, as all classic scholars well know,—but while, on the one hand, as I remarked above, there is a difference between the popular ideas and those of the learned, there is also here a great difference of opinion between the various schools of philosophy. Not only so, but it is difficult to determine how far the philosophers themselves were in earnest in the opinions they expressed; and how far, too, we understand them. The opinions of the people, and much more, those of the learned, vary with the principal periods of Grecian and Roman history. This much, however, may be safely held, that, while they drew their origin from Central or Western Asia, their religion must, in the beginning, have been that of the countries from which they came. But truth only is immutable; error is ever changing.

I shall not tax the patience of the reader by asking him to pass in review the more striking periods of the history of these famous nations, but shall content myself with giving the views of a celebrated writer on a part, at least, of the question. Speaking of the opinions held by the Greek philosophers regarding the future state of the soul, Dr. Dollinger says, "The old and universal tradition admitted, in general, that man continued to exist after death; but the Greeks of the Homeric age did not dream of a retribution appointed to all after death, or of purifying and penitential punishments. It is only some conspicuous offenders against the gods who, in Homer, are tormented in distant Erebus. In Hesiod, the earlier races of man continue to live on, sometimes as good demons, sometimes as souls of men in bliss, or as heroes; yet, though inculcating moral obligations, he does not point to a reward to be looked for beyond the grave, but only to the justice that dominates in this economy.... Plato expressly ascribes to the Orphic writers the dogma of the soul's finding herself in the body as in a sepulchre or prison, on the score of previously contracted guilt; a dogma indubitably ascending to a very high antiquity.

"... It is from this source that Pindar drew, who, of the old Greeks, generally has expressed notions the most precise and minutely distinct of trial and tribulation after death, and the circuits and lustrations of the soul. He assigns the island of the blest as for the everlasting enjoyment of those who, in a triple existence in the upper and lower world, have been able to keep their souls perfectly pure from all sin. On the other hand, the souls of sinners appear after death before the judgment seat of a judge of the nether world, by whom they are sentenced to a heavy doom, and are ceaselessly dragged the world over, suffering bloody torments. But as for those whom Persephone has released from the old guilt of sin, their souls she sends in the ninth year back again to the upper sun; of them are born mighty kings, and men of power and wisdom, who come to be styled saintly heroes by their posterity." And, again: "Plato was the first of the Greeks to throw himself, in all sincerity, and with the whole depth of his intellect, upon the solution of the great question of immortality.... He was, in truth, the prophet of the doctrine of immortality for his time, and for the Greek nation.... The metempsychosis which he taught under Orphic and Pythagorean inspiration is an essential ingredient of his theory of the world, and is, therefore, perpetually recurring in his more important works. He connects it with an idea sifted and taken from popular belief of a state of penance in Hades, though it can hardly be ascertained how large a portion of mystical ornament or poetical conjecture he throws into the particular delineation of 'the last things,' and of transmigration. He adopts ten grades of migration, each of a thousand years; so that the soul, in each migration, makes a selection of its life-destiny, and renews its penance ten times, until it is enabled to return to an incorporeal existence with God, and to the pure contemplation of Him and the ideal world. Philosophic souls only escape after a three-fold migration, in each of which they choose again their first mode of life. All other souls are judged in the nether world after their first life, and there do penance for their guilt in different quarters; the incurable only are thrust down forever into Tartarus. He attaches eternal punishment to certain particularly abominable sins, while such as have lived justly repose blissfully in the dwelling of a kindred star until their entrance into a second life. Plato was clearly acquainted with the fact of the necessity of an intermediate state between eternal happiness and misery, a state of penance and purification after death." [1]

[Footnote 1: "The Gentile and the Jew," Vol. I. pp. 301-320.]

The popular notion of Charon, the ferryman of the lower world, refusing to carry over the river Acheron the souls of such as had not been buried, but leaving them to wander on the shores for a century before he would consent, or rather before he was permitted by the rulers of the Hades to do so, contains a vestige of the belief in a middle state, where some souls had to suffer for a time before they could enter into the abode of the blest. But when it is said that the friends of the deceased could, by interring his remains, secure his entry into the desired repose, we see a more striking resemblance to the doctrine that friends on earth are able to assist the souls undergoing purgation. A remarkable instance of the popular belief in this doctrine is furnished in Grecian history, where the soldiers were encouraged on a certain occasion to risk their lives in the service of their country by their being told to write their names on their arms, so that if any fell his friends could have him properly interred, and thus secure him against all fear of having to wander for a century on the bleak shores of the dividing river. Nothing could better show the hold which this idea had on the minds of the people.

Roman mythological ideas were, as has been said, nearly related to those of Greece; they underwent as great modifications, while the opinions of her philosophers were equally abstruse, varied, and difficult to understand. The author above quoted, treating of the notion of the soul and a future state entertained by the Roman philosophers, proves their ideas to have been extremely vague and ill- defined. Still, there were not wanting those who held to the belief of an existence after this life. Plutarch, a Greek, "has left us a view of the state of the departed. The souls of the dead, ascending through the air, and in part reaching the highest heaven, are either luminous and transparent or dark and spotted, on account of sins adhering to them, and some have even scars upon them. The soul of man, he says elsewhere, comes from the moon; his mind, intellect,—from the sun; the separation of the two is only completely effected after death. The soul wanders awhile between the moon and earth for purposes of punishment—or, if it be good, of purification, until it rises to the moon, where the vouc [1] leaves it and returns to its home, the sun; while the soul is buried in the moon. Lucian, on the other hand, whose writings for the most part are a pretty faithful mirror of the notions in vogue among his contemporaries, bears testimony to a continuance of the old tradition of the good reaching the Elysian fields, and the great transgressors finding themselves given up to the Erinnys in a place of torment, where they are torn by vultures, crushed on the wheel, or otherwise tormented; while such as are neither great sinners nor distinguished by their virtues stray about in meadows as bodiless shadows, and are fed on the libations and mortuary sacrifices offered at their sepulchres. An obolus for Charon was still placed in the mouth of every dead body." [2] Here, again, we have both the belief in the existence of a middle state and of the assistance afforded to those detained there.

[Footnote 1: Mind]

[Footnote 2: "The Gentile and the Jew," Vol. II., p. 146.]

The religion of the Druids is so wrapped in mystery that it is difficult to determine what they believed on any point, and much more on that of the future lot of the soul; but as they held the doctrine of metempsychosis, it is fair to class them among the adherents to the notion of a period of purgation between death and the soul's entrance into its final rest. Of the views of the sturdy Norsemen, on the contrary, there can be no two opinions; in their mythology the idea of a middle state is expressed in the clearest language. The following passage from Mr. Anderson, places the matter beyond question. I may first remark, for the information of the general reader, that by Gimle is meant the abode of the righteous after the day of judgment; by Naastrand, the place of punishment after the same dread sentence; by Ragnarok, the last day; Valhal, the temporary place of happiness to which the god Odin invites those who have been slain in battle; and Hel, the goddess of death, whose abode is termed Helheim. With these explanations the reader will be able to understand the subjoined passage, which expresses the Norse idea of the future purgation of the soul.

After speaking of the lot of the departed, the writer says: "But it must be remembered that Gimle and Naastrand have reference to the state of things after Ragnarok, the Twilight of the gods; while Valhal and Hel have reference to the state of things between death and Ragnarok;— a time of existence corresponding somewhat to what is called Purgatory by the Catholic Church." [1]

[Footnote 1: "Norse Mythology," p. 393.]

It would appear to be no exaggeration to claim the same belief in a middle state for the American Indians, in as far as it is possible for us to draw anything definite from their crude notions of religion. A good authority on subjects connected with Indian customs and beliefs says: "The belief respecting the land of souls varied greatly in different tribes and different individuals." And, again: "An endless variety of incoherent fancies is connected with the Indian idea of a future life.... At intervals of ten or twelve years, the Hurons, the Neutrals, and other kindred tribes, were accustomed to collect the bones of their dead, and deposit them, with great ceremony, in a common place of burial. The whole nation was sometimes assembled at this solemnity; and hundreds of corpses, brought from their temporary resting-places, were inhumed in one common pit. From this hour the immortality of their souls began." This evidently implies a period during which the souls were wandering at a distance from the place of their eternal repose. Does the following passage throw any light upon it? The reader must decide the point for himself. "Most of the traditions," continues the same writer, "agree, however, that the spirits, on their journey heavenward, were beset with difficulties and perils. There was a swift river which must be crossed on a log that shook beneath their feet, while a ferocious dog opposed their passage, and drove many into the abyss. This river was full of sturgeons and other fish, which the ghosts speared for their subsistence. Beyond was a narrow path between moving rocks which each instant crushed together, grinding to atoms the less nimble of the pilgrims who essayed to pass." [1] A vestige of the same belief seems to crop out in a custom of some of the tribes of Central Africa, as appears from the remarks of a recent traveller. "When a death occurs," says Major Serpa Pinto, "the body is shrouded in a white cloth, and, being covered with an ox-hide, is carried to the grave, dug in a place selected for the purpose. The days following on an interment are days of high festival in the hut of the deceased. The native kings are buried with some ceremony, and their bodies, being arrayed in their best clothes, are conveyed to the tomb in a dressed hide. There is a great feasting on these occasions, and an enormous sacrifice of cattle; for the heir of the deceased is bound to sacrifice his whole herd in order to regale his people, and give peace to the soul of the departed." [2]

[Footnote 1: "The Jesuits in North America," Francis Parkman. Introduction, pp. 81, 92.]

[Footnote 2: "How I Crossed Africa," Vol. I., p. 63.]

Such a unity of sentiment on the part of so many nations differing in every other respect can only be attributed either to a natural feeling inherent in man, or to a primitive revelation, which, amid the vicissitudes of time, has left its impress on the minds of all nations. That the doctrine of a middle state of purification was a part of the primitive revelation cannot, I think, admit of reasonable doubt. To the true servant of God, this unanimity is another proof of the faith once revealed to the Saints, and, at the same time, an additional motive for thanking God for the light vouchsafed him, while so many others are left to grope in the darkness of error.—Ave Maria, Nov. 17, 1883.

DEVOTION TO THE DEAD AMONGST THE AMERICAN INDIANS OF THE EARLY JESUIT MISSIONS.

In the "Relations des Jesuites," on their early missions in New France, now Canada, we find many examples, told in the quaint old French of the seventeenth century, and with true apostolic simplicity, of the tender devotion for the souls in Purgatory cherished by all the Indians of every tribe who had embraced Christianity from the teaching of those zealous missionaries. The few extracts we give below from the "Relations" will serve to show how deeply this touching devotion to the departed is implanted in our nature, seeing that the doctrine of a place of purgation in the after life finds so ready a response in the heart and soul of the untutored children of the forest:

"The devotion which they have for the souls of the departed is another mark of their faith. Not far from this assembly there is a cemetery, in the midst of which is seen a fine cross; sepulchres four or five feet wide and six or seven feet long, rise about four feet from the ground, carefully covered with bark. At the head and feet of the dead are two crosses, and on one side a sword, if the dead were a man, or some domestic article, if a woman. Having arrived there, I was asked to pray to God for the souls of those who were buried in that place. A good Christian gave me a beaver skin by the hands of her daughter, about seven years of age, and said to me, when her daughter presented it: 'Father, this present is to ask you to pray to God for the souls of her sister and her grandmother.' Many others made the same request; I promised to comply with their wishes, but, as for their presents, I could not accept them.

"Some time ago, when the Christians of this place died, their beads were buried with them; this custom was last year changed for a holier one, by means of a good Christian who, when dying, gave her chaplet to another, begging her to keep it and say it for her, at least on feast days. This charity was done to her, and the custom was introduced from that time: so it was that when any one died, his or her rosary was given, with a little present, to some one chosen from the company present, who is bound to take it, and say it for the departed soul, at least on Sundays and Festivals."—Journal of Father Jacques Buteux in "Relations," Vol. II.

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In one of the Huron missions, an Indian named Joachim Annicouton, converted after many years of evil courses and, later, of hypocritical pretense of conversion, was murdered by three drunken savages of his own tribe, but lived long enough to edify all around him by his pious resignation, his admirable patience in the most cruel sufferings, and his generous forgiveness of his enemies. Having given a touching account of his death, the good Father Claude Dablon goes on to say:

"A very singular circumstance took place at his burial, which was attended by all the families of the village, with many of the French residents of the neighborhood. Before the body was laid in the earth, the widow inquired if the authors of his death were present; being told that they were not, she begged that they might be sent for. These poor creatures having come, they drew near to the corpse, with downcast eyes, sorrow and confusion in their faces. The widow, looking upon them, said: 'Well! behold poor Joachim Annicouton, you know what brought him to the state in which you now see him; I ask of you no other satisfaction but that you pray to God for the repose of his soul.' ..."

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"It is customary amongst the Indians to give all the goods of the dead to their relatives and friends, to mourn their death; but the husband of Catherine, in his quality of first captain, assembled the Council of the Ancients, and told them that they must no longer keep to their former customs, which profited nothing to the dead; that, as for him, his thought was to dress up the body of the deceased in her best garments, as she might rise some day,—and to employ the rest of what belonged to her in giving alms to the poor. This thought was approved of by all, and it became a law which was ever after strictly observed.