Volume Iii Part 70 (1/2)
MAXWELL DREWITT.
A Novel. By F. G. Trafford. Harper & Brothers.
This is an Irish tale, exceedingly well written, and just and manly in its tone and sentiment.
L. Kehoe announces the early publication of ”CHRISTINE, AND OTHER POEMS,” by George H. Miles, Esq. The volume will be brought out in a superior style of binding and typography, worthy of the high merit of the poetry.
BOOKS RECEIVED.
From JAMES O'KANE, New York. Betsey Jane Ward, (better half to Artemus) her Book of Goaks with a hull Akkownt of the Coarts.h.i.+p and Maridge to A 4 Said Artemus, and Mister Ward's Cutting-up with the Mormon fare Secks with Pikturs drawed by Mrs. B. Jane Ward. 12mo, pp. 312.
[Verbatim;--Transcriber.]
FROM THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY.
Doctor Kemp. The Story of a life with a Blemish. 8vo, pamphlet.
From D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York. Nos. 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17 of D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.
From the office of the AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Ind. Specimen sheet of the Golden Wreath for the month of May, composed of daily considerations on the Triple Crown of our Blessed Lady's joys, sorrows, and glories. With Hymns set to Music for May devotions.
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THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. III, NO. 16-JULY, 1866.
[ORIGINAL.]
THE NEAREST PLACE TO HEAVEN.
There are some places in this world nearer to heaven than others. I know of a place which I think is the nearest. Whether you may think so I do not know, but I would like you to see it and judge for yourself.
Please to go to France, then to Paris; then take a walk a little distance outside of the Barriere de Vaugirard, and you will come to a small village called Issy. When you have walked about five minutes along its narrow and straggling street, which is the continuation of the Rue de Vaurigard, you win see on your left a high, ugly stone wall, and if I did not ask you to pull the jangling bell at the porter's lodge and enter, you might pa.s.s by and think there was nothing worthy of your notice about the place. You say you have not time to stop now, that you have an appointment to dine at the Hotel des Princes, in Paris, but that some other time you will be most happy, etc. Wait a moment, perhaps I may be able show you something quite as good as a dinner, even at the Hotel des Princes. Ring the bell. The st.u.r.dy oaken door seems to open itself with a click. That is the way with French doors; but it is the porter's doing. When he hears the bell, he pulls at a rope hanging in his lodge, which communicates with the lock of the door. You are free to enter. Go in. But you cannot pa.s.s beyond the porter's lodge without giving an account of your self. You cannot get into this heavenly place without pa.s.sing through the porter's review, anymore than you can get into the real heaven without pa.s.sing the scrutiny of St. Peter. I hope you are able to satisfy the ”Eh; b'en, M'sieu'?” of good old pere Hanicq, who is porter here. He is a _pere_, you understand, by the t.i.tle of affection and respect, and not by virtue of ordination. You may not think it worth your while to be over humble and deferential in your deportment towards porters as a general rule; but I think you may be so now; for, if I do not mistake, you are speaking to a venerable old man who will die in the odor of sanct.i.ty. Pere Hanicq is not paid for his services, {434} troublesome and arduous as you would very soon find his to be if you were porter even here. He is porter for the love of G.o.d. You see he does not stop making the rosary, which is yet unfinished in his hand, while he talks to you. He does not recompense himself by that business either, as shoemaker porters, tailor porters, and the like eke out their scanty salaries; but it enables him to find some well-earned sous to give away to others poorer than himself. You say this lodge is not a very comfortable place, with its cold brick floor.
It is not. Neither is that narrow roost up the step-ladder a very luxurious bed. Right again, it is not. But the Pere Hanicq is not over particular about these things. Besides, he is not worse off in this respect than the hundred other people who live in this place nearest to heaven. Indeed, most of them have a much narrower and drearier apartment than his. Now that you have said a pleasant word to the good old soul, (for he dearly loves a kindly salutation, and it is the only imperfection I think he has,) you may pa.s.s the inner door, and you observe that you are in a square courtyard, a three-story irregularly shaped building occupying two sides of it; stables and outhouses a third, and the street wall the fourth. Before you go further, I would advise you to look into one of those tumble-down looking outhouses. It looks something like a rag and bottle shop. It is a shop, and the Almoner of the poor keeps it. Here the residents of these buildings may find bargains in old odds and ends of second-hand, and it may be seventy times seventh-hand furniture, either left or cast off by former occupants. Here the Almoner,--that voluble and sweet tempered young man in a long black ca.s.sock,--disposes of these articles of trade, enhancing their value by all the superlatives he can remember, for the benefit of certain old crones and hobbling cripples, whom perhaps you saw on the right of the courtyard receiving soup and other food from another young man in a long black ca.s.sock, who is the Almoner's a.s.sistant. You don't know it, perhaps, but I can tell you that the Almoner's a.s.sistant, as he ladles out the soup and divides the bread and meat, is mentally going down on his knees and kissing the ragged and worn-out clothes of these old bodies whom he helps, for the sake of Him whom they represent, and who will one day say to him: ”Because you did it unto the least of these my brethren, you did it unto me.”
Now you may go into the house, after you have been struck with the fact how completely that high stone wall shuts out the noise of the street. You say, however, that you hear a band playing. Yes; that comes from an ”Angel Guardian” house over the way, like Father Haskins's house in Roxbury, Ma.s.sachusetts (there ought to be angels, you know, not far off from the nearest place to heaven), where the ”gamins,” as the Parisians call them,--the ”mudlarks” or ”dock rats,”
as we call them,--are taken care of, fed, clothed, instructed, and taught an honest trade, also for the love of Him who will one day say to the Pere Bervanger and to Father Haskins what I have before said about the Almoner's a.s.sistant.
Well, here is the house. This is the first story, half underground on one side, and consequently a little damp and dingy. Here to the right is the Prayer Hall. This has a wooden floor, (a rare exception,) wooden seats fixed to the wainscoting, and here and there a few benches made of plain oak slabs, which look as if they had lately come out of one of our backwoods saw-mills. A large crucifix hangs on the wall, and a table is near the door, at which the one who reads prayers kneels. The ninety-nine others kneel down anywhere on the bare floor, without choosing the softest spot, if there be any such. Those portraits hanging around the walls represent the superiors of a community of men who are entrusted {435} with the guardians.h.i.+p of this place nearest to heaven. The most of those faces, as you see, are not very handsome, as the world reckons handsome, but I a.s.sure you they make up for that by the beauty of their souls. The morning prayers are said here at half-past five the year round, followed by a half hour's meditation, and the evening prayers at half-past eight. The hundred residents come here too just before dinner, to read a chapter of the New Testament on their knees, devoutly kissing the Word of G.o.d before and after reading it; and then each one silently reviews the last twenty-four hours, and enters into account with himself to see how much he has advanced in that particular Christian virtue of which his soul stands the most in need. It is a good preparation for dinner, and I would advise you to try it, even if you cannot do it on your knees.
It is a perfect toilette for the soul. Here also you will find the afore-mentioned hundred people at half-past six o'clock, just before supper, listening to a short reading on some spiritual subject, followed by a sort of conference given by the Superior, or head of the house, so full of unction and sweet counsel that it fairly lifts the heart above all earthly things, and seems to hallow the very place where it is spoken.
Turn now to the left. That door in the corner opens into a chapel dedicated to St. Francis of a.s.sisi. Here the Pere Hanicq and the few servants of the house hear ma.s.s every morning, and begin the day with the best thought I know of, the thought of G.o.d. Keeping still to the left you pa.s.s into the Recreation Hall; and if this be recreation day, you will see congregated here the liveliest and happiest set of faces that it has ever been your good fortune to meet in this world.
Billiards, backgammon, chess, chequers, and other games more simple and amusing in their character, are here; and I can tell you that they are like a group of merry children playing and amusing themselves before their heavenly Father. You might pa.s.s the recreation days here for many a year before you would hear an angry word, or a cutting retort, or witness a jealous frown or a sad countenance. Notice that smiling old gentleman with a bald head capped by the black calotte.
That is the Pere T----. He is very fond of a game of billiards, and I know he loves to be on the winning side; the princ.i.p.al reason of which, however, you may not divine, but I know: it gives him a chance to pa.s.s his cue to some one who has been beaten, and obliged to retire. And many learn by that good old father's example to do the same kind and charitable act; and, take it all in all, I am inclined to think this room is not much further off from heaven than many other places about this dear old house.
Of course everybody is talking here, except the chess-players, and at such a rate, that it is quite a din; but hark! a bell rings: all is instantly silent, the games are stopped, the very half-finished sentence is clipped in two, and each one departs to some a.s.signed duty. They are taught that the bell which regulates their daily exercises is the voice of G.o.d, and that when he calls there is nothing else worthy of attention. I have no doubt they are right: have you?
There is one other place to visit on this ground floor, the Refectory.