The Cross and the Shamrock

A cold evening in the month of January, a drizzling rain storm blowing from the south-west, a cheerless sky, a dull, threatening atmosphere, together with almost impassable roads,-these are the chilling and uninviting circumstances with which, if we pay regard to truth, we must introduce our narrative to our readers.

It is usual, with writers of fiction and romance, to preface their literary exhibitions with high-wrought and dazzling descriptions of natural and artificial objects-the sun, moon, and stars; the clouds, meteors, and other fantastic creations of the atmosphere; the seas, rivers, and lakes; the mountains, fields, and gardens; the birds, fishes, and the inhabitants of the savage forests, as well as the forests, groves, and woods themselves,-in a word, all nature seems as if conscious of the effects likely to result to the morals, habits, and projects of men, while some of your modern novelists are arranging their matter, sharpening their scissors, preparing pen, ink, and paper, and taking indigestible suppers to make way into the world for the offspring of their creative fancies. Ours being a tale of truth,-yes, of bare, unvarnished truth, yet of truth more interesting, if not "stranger, than fiction,"-it is not to be wondered that, when we acknowledge the homely dame, and her alone, as our guide, inspirer, and preceptor, we lack the advantage of romancers, and cannot command "a special sunset," or a storm made to order, or other enchanting scenery, to introduce us to our patrons.

We must take things as we find them; and this is why cold, rain, and frost, the whistling of merciless winds, together with false and pitiless ice, constitute the principal features of our introductory chapter. The merry chimes of sleigh bells, as if to add gloom to the scene, were silent, no snow having fallen this winter, and the ice being irregular and lumpy. The streets of the city of T-- were almost entirely deserted of foot passengers, owing to the danger of walking over the slippery pavement; while cabmen and omnibus conductors had cautiously driven their teams to the stable or smithy, to have them "sharpened" for the frozen coat of mail which enveloped the earth. When about dusk, an aged gentleman, in a cloak, with a sharp-pointed cane in his hand, might be observed moving along the gutter of a narrow street. Occasionally he would slip so as to come on one knee, and now he would steer himself along by taking hold of the sills of windows, and of the railings which here and there were erected in front of a few houses on the retired and deserted street on which he crept along.

At length he approaches an old three-story, red, frame-built house, which, from its shattered and dilapidated windows, at first seemed to be deserted, but which, from the description left by a messenger with his domestic in the forenoon, he could not doubt was the place where he heard the emigrant widow lay at the point of death.

"Is this where the sick woman is?" said he to an old woman who opened the door.

"Yes, your reverence," answered Mrs. Doherty, at once recognizing the priest; "and thank God you are come. The Lord never deserts his own, praise be to his holy name."

"Is she very ill?" said Father O'Shane; for thus was named the sole pastor of the city of T-- in those days.

"That she is, your reverence, and callin' for the priest this three days; but as we heard your reverence say that you would be in the country till this day, we thought it no use to give in the sick call sooner. I myself gave it in this morning afore my poor, sick old man got up."

"God help the poor!" muttered the tender-hearted priest, as he ascended to the third floor, where the dying woman lay.

"Amen!" answered Mrs. Doherty, aloud. "You would pity her, your reverence, if you seen the misery they are in this two months; and it is easily telling they saw better days in the ould country. It is easily knowing that, by the dacent, mannerly children she has around her, God help 'em."

"Pax huic domui, et omnibus habitantibus in ea"-"Peace to this house, and all that dwell therein," uttered the priest of God, as he opened the latchless door of the room on the third story of the old "Oil Mill House," where the patient was extended on her "pallet of straw." For a moment he stood on the threshold, for within an unusual and solemn sight presented itself to his view. A woman of fair and comely features, between about thirty and forty years of age, lay as described on the floor, with four children kneeling around her. The eldest, a lad of about fifteen years, read aloud the litanies and prayers of the church for the dying, while the three younger children repeated the responses in fervent but trembling accents.

"Lord, have mercy on her," cried Paul, the eldest boy.

"Christ, have mercy on her," answered the younger children.

"Holy Mary." R. "Pray for her."

"All ye holy angels and archangels." R. "Pray for her."

"All ye choirs of the just." R. "Pray for her."

"All ye saints of God." R. "Make intercession for her."

"From thy anger, from an unhappy death, from the pains of hell." R. "Deliver her, O Lord."

"By thy cross and passion, by thy death and burial, by thy glorious resurrection, in the day of judgment." R. "Deliver her, O Lord."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant from all danger of hell, and from all pain and tribulation." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Enoch and Elias from the common death of the world." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Noah from the flood." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Abraham from the midst of the Chaldeans." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Job from all his afflictions." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Isaac from being sacrificed by his father." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Lot from Sodom and the flames of fire." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Moses from the hands of Pharaoh, King of Egypt." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Daniel from the lions' den." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst the three children from the fiery furnace and from the hands of an unmerciful king." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Susanna from her false accusers." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst David from the hands of Goliah and Saul." R. "Amen."

"Deliver, O Lord, the soul of thy servant, as thou deliveredst Peter and Paul out of prison." R. "Amen."

"And as thou deliveredst that blessed virgin and martyr, St. Thecla, from most cruel torments, so vouchsafe, O Lord, to deliver the soul of this thy servant, and bring it to the participation of thy heavenly joys." R. "Amen."

"Depart, Christian soul, out of this world, in the name of God, the Father Almighty, who created thee; in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who suffered for thee; in the name of the Holy Ghost, who sanctified thee; in the name of the angels, archangels, thrones and dominations, cherubims and seraphims; in the name of the patriarchs and prophets, of the holy martyrs and confessors, of the holy monks and hermits, of the holy virgins, and of all the saints of God. Let thy place be this day in peace, and thy abode in Sion, through Christ, our Lord." R. "Amen."

The offering up of this most beautiful prayer by the children for their dying parent was not unattended with several breaks and pauses, caused by the overwhelming grief of the poor orphans. They "gave out" the short prayers of the litany very well, and without much interruption; but when they came to the more solemn portion of that beautiful service, the "recommendation of a departing soul," they could no longer restrain their tears or suppress their lamentations.

Small blame to the poor children for this manifestation of grief, since we have known instances of the most hardened hearts being touched, and the most manly eyes yielding their tribute of tears, at the bare recital of the most beautiful form of prayer for the "soul departing." We have ourselves read this service a thousand times, at least, by the death bedsides of many "departing souls;" and never could we once go through the form of it entire without yielding to the weakness of nature, and becoming speechless by the violence of our tears. Let the most obstinate unbeliever attend but a few times by the bedside of a dying Catholic, and observe the piety and faith of the priest and people around the bed of the "soul departing;" and if he be not an atheist or a blasphemer of God's providence, it is impossible for him not to perceive the superiority of the Catholic religion to all other forms of worship that ever existed. But to be present at the death hour of a Christian is a privilege which Protestants and unbelievers seldom or never enjoy; their levity and want of devotion, with their impiety and irreverence, being sufficiently powerful obstacles to their admittance into such sacred places as the chamber in which the sacred offices of religion are administered to the "departing soul." It is only the true believers, and not "those outside," who have the privilege of hearing the "prayer of faith" that saves the sick man-it is only they who enjoy occasionally the consolation from the inspiring words of the church to join their tears, and unite their sighs, sobs, and sorrows with those of their pastors and fellow-Christians, for the happy passage and merciful judgment for their departing brother. Such were the tears and sadness that Paul O'Clery and his little attendants shed around the bed of their dying mother.

"Paul, my child, why do you act so?" said she, gently chiding him.

"O mother! mother! how can I help it? Stop ye your crying there," said he, taking courage, and turning to his younger associates. "Silence Bridget, Patrick, and Eugene. Answer me distinctly, and hold your grief. It will vex mother." And he continued the prayer from where he left off with as good grace as he could.

The venerable priest, though inside the door, was unperceived during this affecting scene; and the heavy tears might be seen stealing down his furrowed cheeks as he surveyed the group before him.

"O, faith of my Lord, O, best gift of God, how precious thou art! Thou canst change men into angels, earth into paradise, and convert the misery and poverty of the poor emigrant into a picture like this, that heaven itself must delight to gaze on. That's right, my darling son," said he, "you have finished well; you have done your duty towards your mother, for which God will bless you, and I bless you in his name. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

"The priest, mother!" whispered Bridget. "I know him by his cloak."

"Glory, honor, and praise be to the Almighty," said the calm and now rejoicing widow, as she saw the face of the venerable minister of religion. "The Lord is too good to me, not to let me die in a strange land, without the consolations of my holy religion," she continued, kissing the silver crucifix of her beads.

The heart of the good man was too full to give utterance to many words; and seeing that Death was at hand, that already he was master of all but the heart,-for the extremes were cold and without feeling,-he ordered the children down to Mrs. Doherty's, while he heard the short and humble confession of the poor departing soul, administered the most holy viaticum, with extreme unction, and read the last benediction of the church-"In articulo mortis."

He then strengthened her soul with a few words of exhortation, and having prescribed a few short, ejaculatory prayers, bidding her to have the name, as well as the image, of Jesus ever in her heart and lips, he departed, promising to call again as soon as possible, taking the precaution to leave two dollars in silver and a three dollar bill on the little stool that stood by her bed. He had now, he said, to go about forty miles into the country; and he would, after his return, call to see how she was, and to comply with her request about the children.

"I commend you now to the care of God and his angel. God bless you," said he, departing.

"Into thy hands I commend my spirit. O Lord, receive my soul. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, have mercy on me. O God of love, goodness, and mercy, accept my imperfect thanksgiving; save my soul, redeemed by thy precious blood, and make me worthy to see thy glory. I believe in thee, O Lord, I hope in thee, and I love thee. O my God and my Lord, who am I that thou shouldst visit me!"

With these and other fervent aspirations, this pure and exalted soul prepared for the manifestation of the glory of her Lord, and sighed to be dissolved, and to fly to the beatific vision that faith promised her, and through the merits of Christ she expected to obtain. After this, the symptoms of her disease became sensibly less dangerous than before the visit of the priest; but this calm, this seeming relief, was only temporary. Presently the impress of pale death was unmistakably settled on her calm brow.

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