The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 14, 1902, Page 11

TI'E SFUNDAY CAILL. rs afterward. ory is related her Young, both ake and also to preserve ars ago he gave me the nar- down here. I need y there is no reason to Cout s perfect accuracy. And the end- ing once ag pr ves the force of the old ger than fiction.” & was born and grew to one of the Northern ¢ He was one of a w had been blessed by ly English lic mother. father as an Irish- believed that the wife and and guardian rth. And con- at his wife was en- nature and grace, with virtues, he gave her and to guide her chii- er Young's childhood and til he had grown into s, with all its distinctive the ban of sh and Ro- observ- ad Lk taken ;at majority of non- Young, Catholic and clung closely to the s of the and the ling pig of the chil tealthy visit of member of the indis- of now nearing of his life, reaiize the £ pain and the youthful ndering of home ligion the two had commo when Father Young yosition. The sisted the out- It cons! attered about or large cities e of the of the e Christmas wore away, young priest found lots d school to occupy his ene his mself, wouid re- € and he began ghed by that fatal nostal- of the heart— trong men at h is neverthe- Philippir uletide only add- to his sorrows. istmas away all he loved. it may seem to ¥ of a priest's whom he is a mys- a ghost among men young and very mood that Christ- ed himself of this pri- ed to use all the ropes and wreaths at he could beg or borrow. is time and attention for served to bring some of Christmas spirit into his and the work s who Be —shriving their hearts ehem, where Christ could week the father had been the midnight mass for of the religiously devoted rhood. Gladiy had he ac- during his boyhood it had greatest pleasures to serve at the midnight mass, always pomp and ceremony in the con- ve parish, where alway “Adeste Fidells” and thrilled his soul with rap- hit mass finished, Father a few kindly words of hope briefly told again the old ndrous, story of the nativity, and d weary and tired, was just turn- ing away to leave the church for a few “ours’ rest before the next service, when the touch of & le hand upon his arm sused him to Half shrinking in the shadow of the altar was & little girl~a mere child. come quick!” she cried. pa was knocked down by & foot- and m ma thinks he is dying. Oh, > come quick!” . ulted by & highwayman—where, asked the good father, appalled nly at the wantonness, the brutality of the deed, but that & child should have been sent out into the darkness alone on such a mission. the road about a mile from our oh, do come quick, won't ed appealingly, as if the had just come over her that, r mission should be in vain. d 1 will not delay an instant necessary. But, child, child, no one else to send on such a errand at this time of night but no, mo. I was not afrai poor papa, my dear papa. But, You will come, father? Can I tell him you will come, father?” & * “As soon as I can gather everything necessary td, minister God's blessing.” “Oh, thank you, thank you,” she cried, anl before he could restrain her she dart- ed out of the church door. “Here, child, walt for me; you must pot returnalone,” he called after her. But she was gone—swallowed up in the darkness. Pressing the sacramental presenece clcse to his bosom he hurried after her on his errand of mercy. On his way he was obliged to pass an old and abandoned house, standing Ip a thicket of eucalyptus and cypress and surrounded by a dense evergreen hedge. The priest had turned up the collar of his ulster about his neck, so hiding from view the Roman vestments, the distin- guishing feature of the clerical garb in these parts. He was hurrying along, thinking only of the dying man and of the sanctissimo et his heart, when suddenly he was startled by a sharp command: “Throw up your hands!” It was too dark to distinguish more than the dim outlines of a burly man be- hind & gleaming revolver, but it was for only an instant that the priest stood ir- =olute; then he shouted: “Out Ségihe way! I am a priest; I am carrying the blessed sacrament to a dying man.” The pistol instantly dropped from the hand of the robber, and with a muttered “Jesus Christ,” which was hardly a blas- phemy, and yet not a prayer, he fled through the open fields. Shocked and dismayed, the minister of Crkrist hurried to the stricken home, where he found the injured man, though badly beaten, in no immediate danger of death. It was only on his way back home that the full significance of his adventure came over him. There was no doubt that the two essaults—the first with such nearly fatal results, the second with its strange termination—were committed by the same man, It was only his ready response that had saved his own life, though in telling the story now Father Young is careful to re mark that his refusal to obey the high- wayman could hardly be called an act of bravery; nor was it foolhardiness. It was simply what theologians call actus premius premii—an instinctive act. With a young priest’s first zeal and fervor he was thinking only of the soul hovering on the brink of the great divide, and not of himeelf or his assailant at all. When repassing the spot of the at- T tempted hold-up the real horror of what might have been came over him for the first time. It was terrible to think that any man could be so desperatc on Christ- mas morning—the anniversary of the birth cf the Prince of Peace—‘“the peace on earth and good will to men.” He thought over his lowly birthplace, . of how he, a priest, the messenger of the divine Babe—the earthly minister of his mercy to men, the bearer of the sacra- ment, Christ’s daily and perpetual re- newal of the mystery of Bethlehem, had been so near death himself. ‘While engaged with these reflections his foot struck something that gave back a metallic ring. He stooped to look, then picked it up. It was the pistol dropped by the desperado, a six-shooter, with every barrel loaded save one. In his room on closer inspection it showed certain in- dentations and injuries on the empty bar- rel which, once seen, would have made it easily recognizable any way. From its peculiar pattern it was evident that the weapon was an helrloom of the man who dropped it, for it was a make now obso- lete. At dinner Father Young casually told his story to his rector and both agreed that the would-be thief must have at some time in his life received some kind of Catholic training. The marauder's ex- clamation, coupled with his hasty flight cn learning that his intended victim was a priest, gave full confirmation of their theory. When the days went by without the footpad having been captured the pistol wés emptied and put away as a souvenir of a Califcrnia Christmas greeting, with the secret hope that it should not prove a typical one. _ “ And now for the sequel. The years passed away bringing with them the ordiniry joys and the ordinary sorrows that are the lut of priests in every land. The world might call them- years of monotony, of vegetation merely, but, on the contrary, life to the priest filled with the spirit of his divine voca- tion can never Erow monotonous. Weary? Yes! Sometimes, as he learns the degradation to which human lives and immortal souls can come through sin and chame. And sometimes it is only medi- tation upon the life begun in Bethlehem that keeps him from despising human na~ ture utterly. Ten years passed and Christmas found our priest occupying the position of rec- tor of a country parish—miles away from any rallroad, on the very shoures of the Pacific. It had always been the dread and fear to every nmew aspirant for parochial honors among the diocesan clergy., The parish was almost completely made up of .sons and daughters of the sunny Southern lands of Europe. They belonged to the Latin races—honest, sober, indus- trious, thrifty and with the fear and love of God instilled into their minds and .hearts in early youth. Poor they were, but there was no such poverty as de- manded alms in money from their pas- tor. The only charity he could offer them was cheery words and loving kindness and the spiritual works of mercy. However, their very thrift and tollsome lives rendered them very unsympathetic and hard with undeserving beggars. They bad not yet learned that the world owed no man a living unless he worked for it. They had a horror of tramps. And so, when a few days before Christ- mas, one of those homeless vagabonds appeared on the coast he found the lit- tile community was far from being = tramp's paradise. Even the spirit of the Christmas season brought him little or no sympathy. At bes: he was forced to sleep outdoors and occasionally a plece of bread or meat was deled out with nig- gard hand and black looks. Christmas morning the rain was com- ing down in torrents. At the parish church, the only church in the village, there was high mass and benediction and a bomely-sermon, fitted to the intelligence and spiritual needs of those tillers of a foreign soil. The subject of Father Ycung’s sermon ‘was the desolation of soul that must have overwhelmed Mary and Joseph as they were driven from door after door in that supremest hour of woman's need and finally forced to eeek refuge in the stable, the Savior of ‘the world was born. 11 Mass over, the good padre, for so he was called by his Latin flock, returned to his dwelling for rest and refreshment after his long fast and many labors of the morning. He had celebrated mass in his three missions, which entailed a drive of twenty-four miles, but he had hardly seated himself when his housekeever in- formed him that a man, a tramp, wanted to_see him. The padre opened the door and found there one of the most deolor- able specimens he had ever seen. Dirty and unkempt and wet to the skin, his clcthes hardly sufficient to cover him, he was shivering like an aspen. The priest ‘was not so tender-hearted as he had been in the years agone and was about to give the fellow a dole and close the door, when the wanderer spoke up: “Father, this is Christmas day, and you will not turn me off on a day like this without a word. I heard your ser« mon this morning. Please let me hive & talk with you.” TLere was something so appealing and g0 de olate about him and his volce and h gave traces of one who had known hesitated and looked hard . but finally bade him enter e room that was both “parlor™ Both sat down near the fire and the priest with a sigh resigned him- il the old familfar talk, I belleve it is called parl The priest was the e I do for you? he nd with a manner that al man, for he looked to be 34, answer stery—*‘con in tramp first “Well, w at asked In a voice was merely offl The youn I am from New some years ago. ed the priest. “I ence in his voice. the eager, insistent know. But I want y and cold and have a story. I ave gone so far on the 1 and physical, that T would take my iife and = ane (A ming Interested in u do you. I and hom tell it rcad te ruin not am h s. 1 What is that one was the prompt re- et intensity that ow's ut- now in a thoroughly sym- excused himself for 4 few c mo minutes, weat into en, and or- dered his h keeper epare food and drink for his strs visitor. When te returned to the parior he found the tramp nervously examining an old pistol that had been lying on the mantel. He grew visibly more and more excited as he turned it over and over in his trembling fingers. Finally, with almost a shout, he demarded: “Where did you get this revolver?” The priest pecting nothing, but won- dering a little at tQe tramp's excited manmer, briefly told the story as I have narrated it above. Consternation was written upon the face of the listener as the story pro- gressed. Before the priest had barely finished he was on his knees and finally fell to pacing the room like a caged ani~ mal. It was now the priest's turn to asl zed questions. fou seem strangely disturbed and ine terested by my story. What terrible con- nection can it have with you? Why are you so unstrung?” “Father,” was the startling response, “that gun was mine; it was from my hands it dropped that Christmas morning long ago. I would haves/robbed, and if necessary, murdered you, when your hur- ried exclamation shocked and horrified me, and I ran away In frenzy like a thing accursed, and surely have beem ever since.” The priest listened to this outburst in astcnishment and then turned toward the door. “Father,” cried the tramp, catching bold of the priest’s cassock, “will you fore give me? It is again Christmds day. Surely God must have sent me here to- day to you. He must have sent me for some good purpose.” “Yes, I forgive you,” gravely answered the priest. “But I am'only a man, a sin- ner like yourself. It is God whose par- don ia final and irrevocable. For the sake of Bethlehem and all the blessed memor- fes, sgek that pardon. You have not lost the fiith. Do it now! Seek that for- giveness, where alone Catholics can find it—in the tribunal of penance. Wil you? Will you? I can help you. I will be glad to.” And so the strangs encounter ended with the priest’s entire personal forgive- ness, and what he hoped would preve to be a real, lasting conversion. The man remained with the priest, working about the place for some weeks, and then through the kindly offices of the father, he pbtained a place as a farm kand. He lis still alive, foreman on a large ranch in another State, rearing a family, and Christmas Is the feast of all the year to every member of that family. Father Young hears from him regularl; and when yuletide comes Is never forgot- ten. Every Christmas there comes from his strangely found friend a Christmas offering, and It is not a six shooter.