Chapter IX (9)

"On Sunday, Jan. 24, 1830, I preached in my church, and in the evening
took leave of my family for the week, intending to return on the Saturday
following to my ordinary duties at home. But our Lord ordered better for
me. During the week I spent on this visit, I passed many hours daily in
conversation with Phillips, and was satisfied beyond all my expectations
with the answers he gave to the different questions I proposed about the
principal tenets and practices of the Catholics. During the week we were
in company with several other Protestants, and among them some
distinguished clergymen of the Church of England, who occasionally joined
in our discussions. I was struck with observing how the advantage always
appeared on his side in the arguments which took place between them,
notwithstanding their superior age and experience; and I saw how weak was
the cause in behalf of which I had hitherto been engaged; I felt ashamed
of arguing any longer against what I began to see clearly could not be
fairly disproved. I now openly declared myself completely shaken, and,
though I determined to take no decided step until I was entirely
convinced, I determined to give myself no rest till I was satisfied, and
had little doubt now of what the result would be. But yet I thought not
how soon God would make the truth clear to me. I was to return home, as I
have said, on Saturday. Phillips agreed to accompany me on the day
previous to Leicester, where we might have further conversation with
Father Caestryck, the Catholic missionary established in that place. I
imagined that I might take some weeks longer for consideration, but Mr.
Caestryck's conversation that afternoon overcame all my opposition. He
explained to me, and made me see, that the way to come at the knowledge
of the true religion is not to contend, as men are disposed to do, about
each individual point, but to submit implicitly to the authority of
Christ, and of those to whom he has committed the charge of his flock. He
set before me the undeniable but wonderful fact of the agreement of the
Catholic Church all over the world, in one faith, under one head; he
showed me the assertions of Protestants that the Catholic Church had
altered her doctrines were not supported by evidence; he pointed out the
wonderful, unbroken chain of the Roman pontiffs; he observed to me how in
all ages the church, under their guidance, had exercised an authority,
indisputed by her children, of cutting off from her communion all who
opposed her faith and disobeyed her discipline. I saw that her assumption
of this power was consistent with Christ's commission to his apostles to
teach all men to the end of the world; and his declaration that those who
would not hear the pastors of his church rejected him. What right, then,
thought I, had Luther and his companions to set themselves against the
united voice of the church?
{180}
I saw that he rebelled against the authority of God when he set himself
up as an independent guide. He was bound to obey the Catholic Church--how
then should I not be equally bound to return to it? And need I fear that
I should be led into error by trusting to those guides to whom Christ
himself thus directed me? No! I thought this impossible. Full of these
impressions, I left Mr. Caestryck's house to go to my inn, whence I was
to to return home next morning. Phillips accompanied me, and took this
last occasion to impress on me the awful importance of the decision which
I was called upon to make. At length I answered:

"'I am overcome. There is no doubt of the truth. One more Sunday I will
preach to my congregation, and then put myself into Mr. Foley's hands,
and conclude this business.'

"It may be thought with what joyful ardor he embraced this declaration,
and warned me to declare my sentiments faithfully in these my last
discourses. The next minute led me to this reflection: Have I any right
to stand in that pulpit, being once convinced that the church is
heretical to which it belongs? Am I safe in exposing myself to the danger
which may attend one day's travelling while I turn my back on the church
of God, which now calls upon me to unite myself to her forever? I said to
Phillips, 'If this step is right for me to take next week, it is my duty
to take it now. My resolution is made; to-morrow I will be received into
the church.' We lost no time in despatching a messenger to my father, to
inform him of this unexpected event. As I was forming my last resolution,
the thought of him came across me; will it not be said that I endanger
his very life by so sudden and severe a shock? The words of our Lord rose
before me and answered all my doubts: 'He that hateth not father and
mother, and brothers and sisters, and houses and lands, and his own life
too, cannot be my disciple.' To the Lord, then, I trusted for the support
and comfort of my dear father under the trial which, in obedience to his
call, I was about to inflict upon him. I had no further anxiety to
disturb me. God alone knows the peace and joy with which I laid me down
that night to rest. The next day, at nine o'clock, the church received me
for her child."

Far from finding himself harshly received by his family after his conversion, Mr. Spencer's domestic relations remained quite undisturbed. It was in the early days of conversions in England; Tractarianism was in its very infancy, and Earl Spencer had always shown kindness to Catholics, as to a vanquished enemy.

When his son returned from Rome as a priest in 1832 and took possession of his parish at West Bromwich, one of the poorest in the diocese, Lord Spencer made ample provision for his support. In 1834 this excellent nobleman died, and with the legacy left by him to Father Spencer, several churches and missions were established. It was a theory of Father Spencer's that the evangelical counsels could be practiced as well in the world as in a religious life. In order to carry out this experiment he placed all his possessions at the command of Right Rev. Dr. Walsh, his bishop, who appointed an _économe_ to supply his necessities and those of his church.

That his conversion was not allowed to pass without sharp criticism from Protestants can be easily imagined. He was pensive partly by nature, partly, perhaps, from the feeling that his actions were misunderstood by his old companions and friends. All the more attractive was the quaint humor that lighted up his conversation. "One day when speaking with a brother priest with sad earnestness about the spiritual destitution of the poor people around him, who neither knew God nor would listen to those who were willing to teach them, a poor woman knocked at the sacristy door, and was ordered to come in; she fell on her knees very reverently to get Father Spencer's blessing as soon as she approached him. His companion observed that this poor woman reminded him of the mother of the sons of Zebedee, who came to our Savior _adorans_. 'Yes,' replied Father Spencer, with a very arch smile, 'and not only _adorans_, but _petens aliquid ab eo_.'"

Though so harshly handled sometimes by Protestants, Mr. Spencer exercised a forbearance toward them that all converts would do well to imitate. Remembering his own honest delusions, he attributed sincerity to the adherents of every sect. {181} "Some were supposing once in his presence that it was impossible for followers of Joanna Southcote, and the like, not to be fully aware that they were being deluded. Father Ignatius said it was not so, and related a peculiar case that he witnessed himself. He happened to be passing through Birmingham, and had occasion to enter a shop there to order something. The shopkeeper asked him if he had heard of the great light that had arisen in these modern times. He said no. 'Well, then,' repeated the shopman, 'here, sir, is something to enlighten you,' handing him a neatly got up pamphlet. He had not time to glance at the title when his friend behind the counter ran on at a great rate in a speech something to the following effect: That the four gospels were all figures and myths, that the epistles were only faint foreshadowings of the real sun of justice that was now at length arisen. The Messias was come in the person of a Mr. Ward, and he would see the truth demonstrated beyond the possibility of a doubt by looking at the gospel he held in his hand. While the shopman was expressing hopes of converting him, he took the opportunity of looking at the pamphlet, and found that all this new theory of religion was built upon a particular way of printing the text: _'Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace to--Ward's men._' On turning away in disgust from his fruitless remonstrances with this specimen of _Ward's men_, he found some of _Ward's women_, also, in the same place, and overheard them exclaiming: 'Oh, little England knows what a treasure they have in ---- jail!' The pretended Messias happened to be in prison for felony at the time." He declared that these poor creatures were entirely sincere and earnest in the faith they had in this malefactor.

This belief in the genuineness of all kinds of religious convictions, joined to his passionate love of country, led Father Spencer to engage in the great work of his life--the forming of an Association of Prayers for the Conversion of England. Mr. Phillips joined with him heartily in the project, and it was a new element of joy in their beautiful friendship. From the year 1838 to the day of his death, Father Spencer labored unceasingly for this end. Many persons grew sick of the very sound of the words, and did not hesitate to tell him so either; but through praise, blame, success, or ridicule he labored unceasingly,--and works now, we may be sure, in heaven this very day for the same end. Who can doubt that such petitions will be granted?

After nine years of hardship, persecution, and loving labor as a parish priest, Father Spencer was called to Oscott College to take charge of the spiritual affairs of the students.

By education he was well suited to hold so distinguished a position. He was admirably versed in the French, Italian, and German languages; a good classical and mathematical scholar of course (having been a first-class Cambridge man), and well read both in Protestant and Catholic theology. His intercourse with the young men was very charming. He would make up a game at cricket, go heartily into all their youthful sports, and even give lessons to beginners. In spiritual matters he had a very fascinating way of throwing a certain poetry into what is usually considered the prosaic part of priestly duties. Between these two moods there was a third, in which, with a kindly assumption of equality, as it were, he would take them into his interests as genially as he entered into theirs.

In 1844 Father Spencer went abroad for his health, and accomplished much for the Association of Prayers. In the following year he returned to England, and entered at once into retreat under the direction of Father Thomas Clarke, S.J., in Hodder place. From this retreat he came forth with a fixed determination to join the order of the Passionists, lately established in England by his friend Padre Domenico. How happy the results of this decision were the following pages will show.

{182}

The Congregation of the Passion was founded by Blessed Paul of the Cross about the middle of the last century, and approved by Benedict XIV., Clement XIV., and Pius VI. Its object is to work for the sanctification of the souls of the faithful; to which end it uses, not only preaching and the sacraments, but the diffusion of devotion to the passion of Christ. This work is accomplished by means of missions, retreats, and parish work in passionist houses. If necessary, the fathers take charge of a parish; otherwise they work in their own churches as missioners. They teach only their own younger members, and they go on foreign missions when sent by the Holy Father or the Propaganda.

"To keep the members of an order always ready for their out-door work,"
says F. Pius, "there are certain rules for their interior life which may
be likened to the drill or parade of soldiers in their quarters. This
discipline varies according to the spirit of each order.

"The idea of a passionist's work will lead us to expect what his
discipline must be. The spirit of a passionist is a spirit of atonement.
He says with St. Paul: 'I rejoice in my sufferings, and fill up those
things that are wanting of the sufferings of Christ in my flesh for his
body, which is the church.' Coloss. i.24. For this cause the interior
life of a passionist is rather austere. He has to rise shortly after
midnight from a bed of straw to chaunt matins and lauds, and spend some
time in meditation. He has two hours more meditation during the day, and
altogether about five hours of choir work in the twenty-four. He fasts
and abstains from flesh meat three times in the week, all the year round,
besides Lent and Advent. He is clad in a coarse black garment; wears
sandals instead of shoes; and practises other acts of penance of minor
importance.

"This seems rather a hard life; but an ordinary constitution does not
find the least difficulty in complying with the letter of the rule. It is
withal a happy, cheerful life; for it seems the nature of penance to make
the heart of the penitent light and gladsome, 'rejoicing in suffering.'"

The fathers are bound by these rules only when living in the houses of their order. Outside they accommodate themselves to circumstances and take life as they find it; not very easy, as we shall see by the experiences of F. Ignatius. The superior has, moreover, the right to relax the rule for those who are ill or overworked.

At forty-seven Hon. and Rev. George Spencer entered upon this austere life. There was little to attract human nature to the order. Four foreigners, living in a wretched house, friendless and nearly penniless, were the principal occupants of Aston Hall, and even this unenviable position they had reached only after four years of labor and trial.

The noble novice submitted to more than ordinary tests of vocation. Rank, age, and education made him especially the object of distrust to F. Constantine, master of novices, who knew that true kindness must turn the rough side of discipline to a candidate for admission.

"A day or two after his arrival he was ordered to wash down an old dirty
flight of stairs. He tucked up his sleeves and fell to using his brush,
tub, and soapsuds with as much zest and good-will as if he had been a
maid-of-all-work. Of course he was no great adept at this sort of
employment, and probably his want of skill drew down some sharp rebukes
from his overseer. Some tender-hearted religious never could forget the
sight of this venerable ecclesiastic, trying to scour the crevices and
crannies to the satisfaction of his new master. He got through it well
and took the corrections so beautifully that in a few days he was voted
to the habit."

A little suffering there was for F. Ignatius (as we must now call him) from homesickness and the difficulty of adapting himself to the small items of novice discipline. Chilled feet, a hard bed, and meagre diet were not quite easy to bear. But his hardest trial was the consideration of his companions, who tried to spare him humiliations, and take upon themselves works that seemed degrading for one of his standing. Austerities were soon forgotten, but dispensations were true afflictions to one whose wish with regard to life was ceaseless labor, and with regard to death "to die unseen and unknown in a ditch."

{183}

The story of his fifteen years of religious life is beautifully told by his biographer. Only under the restrain& of a religious role did his gifts and virtues receive their right development. It was like a second youth, a second training for life; undue impetuosity was restrained, zeal, generosity, charity, tenderness, all found an object and a wise direction. Surely never was sanctity made more attractive than in the person of the noble and gentle F. Ignatius. Great was the rejoicing among postulants and novices when his arrival was announced at any one of the passionist houses. Anecdote, mirth, kind and sympathizing intercourse were in store for the recreation wherever he appeared, clad in his coarse attire, with a brace of rough drogget bags slung over his broad shoulders. The journey had been made, they might be sure, in the third-class cars, "because there was no fourth class." The spirit of holy poverty had grown to be a sort of passion with him, only to be surpassed by his zeal for the salvation of souls. He treated himself, and wished others to treat him, like a beggar; thankful for any favor, but cheerfully submissive to refusal. When he had a long journey before him, if anyone offered him a "lift" in a cart or wagon, he gladly accepted it; if not, he was quite contented. He seldom refused a meal when travelling, and would ask for something to eat at any house upon the road, if necessary. At home he generally washed and mended his own clothes, and when he was superior would allow no one to perform menial offices for him. In dress he dreaded overnicety, and would as gladly wear a cast-off tartan as anything else, if it did not tend to throw discredit upon his order. For several years he wore an old mantle belonging to a religious who had died, and only left it off at the desire of the provincial. This was by no means his natural bent. Those who knew him as a young man say that he would hunt through the hosiers' shops in a dozen streets in London to find articles that could satisfy his fastidious taste. But, to return to the pleasure which his presence in a community always gave:

"His visits at home were like meteor flashes, bright and beautiful, and
always made us regret that we could not enjoy his edifying company for a
longer time. Those who are much away on the external duties of the order
find the rule a little severe when they return; to Father Ignatius it
seemed a small heaven of refreshing satisfaction. His coming home was
usually announced to the community a day or two before, and all were
promising themselves rare treats from his presence among them. It was
cheering to see the porter run in beaming with joy as he announced the
glad tidings, 'Father Ignatius is come!' The exuberance of his own
delight, as he greeted first one and then another of his companions,
added to our own joy. In fact the day Father Ignatius came home almost
became a holiday by custom. Those days were; and we feel inclined to tire
our readers by expatiating on them, as if writing brought them back.

"Whenever he arrived at one of our houses, and had a day or two to stay,
it was usual for the younger religious, such as novices and students, to
go to him, one by one, for conference. He liked this very much, and would
write to higher superiors for permission to turn off at Broadway, for
instance, on his way to London, in order to make acquaintance with the
young religious. His counsels had often a lasting effect; many who were
inclined to leave the life they had chosen remained steadfast after a
conference with him. He did not give commonplace solutions to
difficulties, but he had some peculiar phrase, some quaint axiom, some
droll piece of spirituality to apply to every little trouble that came
before him. He was specially happy in his fund of anecdote, and could
tell one, it was believed, on any subject that came before him. This
extraordinary gift of conversational power made the conferences
delightful. The novices, when they assembled for recreation, and gave
their opinions on F. Ignatius, whom many had spoken to for the first time
in their life, nearly all would conclude, 'If ever there was a saint,
he's one.'

"It was amusing to observe how they prepared themselves for forming their
opinion. They all heard of his being a great saint, and some fancied he
would eat nothing at all for one day, and might attempt a little
vegetables on the next. One novice, in particular, had made up his mind
to this, and to his great surprise he saw Father Ignatius eat an extra
good breakfast; and when about to settle into a rash judgment, he saw the
old man preparing to walk seven miles to a railway station on the
strength of his meal. Another novice thought such a saint would never
laugh or make anyone else laugh; to his agreeable disappointment, he
found that Father Ignatius brought more cheerfulness into the recreation
than had been there for some time.
{184}
We gathered around him, by a kind of instinct, and so entertaining was he
that one felt it a mortification to be called away from the recreation
room while Father Ignatius was in it. He used to recount with peculiar
grace and fascinating wit scenes he went through in his life. There is
scarcely an anecdote in this book we have not heard him relate. He was
most ingenuous. Ask him what question you pleased, he would answer it if
he knew it. In relating an anecdote he often spoke in five or six
different tones of voices; he imitated the manner and action of those he
knew to such perfection that laughter had to pass into admiration. He
seldom laughed outright, and even if he did he would very soon stop. If
he came across a number of Punch, he ran over some of the sketches at
once and then he would be observed to stop, laugh, and lay it down at
once as if to deny himself further enjoyment. It is needless to say there
was nothing rollicking or off-handed in his wit--never; it was subdued,
sweet, delicate, and lively. ... In fact, a recreation presided over by
Father Ignatius was the most innocent and gladsome one could imagine.

"In one thing Father Ignatius did not go against anticipation, he was
most exact in the observance of our rules. He would always be the first
in for midnight office. Many a time the younger portion of the community
used to make arrangements over night to be in before him, but it was no
use. Once, indeed, a student arrived in choir before him, and Father
Ignatius appeared so crestfallen at being beaten that the student would
never be in before him again, and would delay on the way if he thought
Father Ignatius had not yet passed. He seemed particularly happy when he
could light the lamps or gas for matins. He was child-like in his
obedience. He would not transgress the most trifling regulation. It was
usual with him to say, 'I cannot understand those persons who say, Oh! I
am all right if I get to purgatory. We should be more generous with
Almighty God. I don't intend to go to purgatory, and if I do I must know
what for.' 'But, Father Ignatius,' a father would say, 'we fall into so
many imperfections that it seems presumptuous to attempt to escape scot
free.' 'Well,' he would reply, 'nothing can send us to purgatory but a
wilful, venial sin, and may the Lord preserve us from such a thing as
that; a religious ought to die before being guilty of the least wilful
fault.'"

In the year 1850, Father Ignatius made the resolution of never being idle a moment, and carried it out to the end of his life. Bergamo's Pensieri ed Affetti he translated in railway stations while waiting for trains, before and after dinner, and in intervals between confessions. Of letter-writing he made a kind of duty, and on one occasion he wrote seventy-eight in the course of two free days. Not mere notes, either, were his letters, but epistles full of thought and sympathy for his correspondent.

"His days were indeed full days, and he scarcely ever went to bed until
he had shaken himself out of nodding asleep over his table three or four
times. No one ever heard him say that he was tired and required rest;
rest he never had, except on his hard bed or in his quiet grave. If any
man ever ate his bread in the sweat of his brow, it was Father Ignatius
of St. Paul, the ever-toiling passionist."

Illness, unless it kept him in his bed, never interfered with the performance of his duties. When superior, he used his power to secure the hardest work for himself. During the time of his rectorship in Sutton, he would preach and sing mass after hearing confessions all the morning; attend sick calls, preach in the evening at some distant parish, come home perhaps at eleven o'clock, say his office, and be the first to come to matins at two o'clock. The Father Provincial found him so ingenious in eluding privileges that he placed him under obedience in matters of health to one of the priests of his community, whom he strictly obeyed ever after.

Once a cramp or some accident had made him fall into a ditch where he got drenched and covered with mud. On returning from the sick call which he was attending, he found a friend at the house, who sympathized with his especial interests. Down he sat for a good talk upon the conversion of England, and at the end of two hours was frightened off by one of the religious to change his clothes.

When giving a retreat somewhere in midwinter, the shameful carelessness of his entertainers allowed him to sleep in a room where there was neither bed nor fire, and where the snow drifted in under the door. In the morning it occurred to some one that perhaps Father Ignatius had occupied this apartment. {185} "A person ran down to see, and there was the old saint amusing himself by gathering up the snow that came into his room, and making little balls of it for kitten to run after. The kitten and himself seem to have become friends by having slept together in his rug the night before, and both were disappointed by the intrusion of the wandering visitor."

But though the good passionist was utterly forgetful of his "own rights," as the saying goes, he well knew how to administer a rebuke if justice demanded it:

"Once he was fiercely abused when begging, and as the reviler came to a
full stop in his froward speech, Father Ignatius quietly retorted: 'Well,
as you have been so generous to me personally, perhaps you would be so
kind as to give me something now for my community.' This had a remarkable
effect. It procured him a handsome offering then, as well as many others
ever since."

On another occasion his knock was answered by a very superb footman. Father Ignatius gave his errand and religious name, with a request to see the lady or gentleman of the house. The servant returned in a moment with the information that the gentleman was out and the lady engaged and also unable to help him. "Perhaps she is not aware that I am the Honorable Mr. Spencer," said the mendicant. Mercury bowed courteously and retired. In a minute or two came a rustling of silks and the sound of quick steps tripping down stairs. The lady entered with blush and courtesy and apology. She had not known that it was he, and there were so many impostors. "But what will you take, my dear sir?" she exclaimed, ringing the bell, before he could accept or decline the proposal. Father Ignatius said that he did not stand in need of anything to eat, and that he never took wine; but that he was in need of money for a good purpose, and would be glad to accept anything that she could give him of that kind. The lady instantly handed him a five-pound note, with many regrets that she could not make it more. He took the note, and, folding it carefully away in his pocket, made his acknowledgments after this fashion: "Now, I am very sorry to have to tell you that the alms you have given me will do you very little good. If I had not been born of a noble family, you would have turned me away with coldness and contempt. I take the money because it will be as useful to me as if it were given from a good motive; but I would advise you for the future, if you have any regard for your soul, to let the love of God, and not human respect, prompt your almsgiving." Then taking his hat, he bade his amazed benefactress good morning, and left her to meditate upon purity of intention.

Notwithstanding his fortitude and independence of spirit, we may gather from the following extract from his letters that begging cost him some effort:

"My present life is pleasant when money comes kindly; but when I get
refused or walk a long way and find everyone out, it is a bit mortifying.
That is best gain for me I suppose, though not what I am travelling for.
... I should not have had the time this morning to write to you had it
not been for a disappointment in meeting a young man, who was to have
been my begging guide for part of the day; and so I had to come home and
stay until it is time to go and try my fortune in the enormous
market-house, where there are innumerable stalls with poultry, eggs,
fruit, meat, etc., kept in great part by Irishmen and women, on whom I
have to-day presently to go and dance attendance, as this is the great
market-day. I feel when going out on a job like this, as a poor child
going in a bathing machine to be dipped in the sea, _frissonnant_;
but the Irish are so good-natured and generous that they generally make
the work among them full of pleasure when once I am in it."

These expeditions extended not only through Great Britain, but even to the Continent sometimes. As he was passing through Cologne one day, he met his brother Frederick, then Earl Spencer. At first his lordship looked wonderingly at him, and then, recognizing his features, exclaimed: "Hilloa, George, what are you doing here?" "Begging," was the prompt reply, and then the two fell into a friendly chat about old times.

{186}

Strangely enough, the only member of the Spencer family who ever treated Father Ignatius with the least harshness was this favorite brother, who, on succeeding to the title, laid such conditions upon his visiting the family estate that priestly dignity forbade his going home. "Twelve years have I been an exile from Althorp," he said in 1857. But in that same year the earl relented and invited his brother to make him a visit. The letter joyfully accepting this tardy invitation was read by Lord Spencer upon his death-bed. This bereavement was a grievous blow to Father Ignatius.

In 1862 he visited Althorp. The present earl carried out his father's good resolutions to the utmost, and even restored a part of the annuity which had been diverted from Father Ignatius to other objects. Before leaving the community for this visit the religious saw him looking for a lock for one of his bags, and asked why he was so very particular all at once. "Why, don't you know," said he, "that the servant at the big house will open it, in order to put my shaving tackle, brush, and so forth, in their proper places? and I should not like to have a general stare at my beads, sandals, and habit." But fashions had changed at Althorp. When the company who had been invited, especially in his honor, went to dress for dinner, Father Ignatius remarked to the countess that his full dress would perhaps, not be quite in place at the table. "On the contrary," she answered, good-humoredly, "all his old friends would be delighted to see a specimen of the fashions he had adopted since his old days of whist and repartee in the same hall." The volunteers were entertained by the earl during his uncle's visit. The passionist appeared in full costume, and sat next Lord Spencer, whom nothing would satisfy but a speech from the old man's lips. A very patriotic speech it was too, and greeted by a cheer that gave pleasure to both uncle and nephew.

And so one of the crosses of his life was gently removed, leaving many others, however, to be endured. For a heart so tender, a conscience so sensitive, a temperament so vivid and excitable as his, the world had many trials. His simplicity was mistaken for egotism; his zeal looked to many persons like unbridled impetuosity; his broad sympathies again seemed like indifferentism, and even calumny dared to attack his spotless character.

All this he bore very patiently, but the suffering was often acute. A deep abstraction of manner would come over him at such times, making him quite unconscious of his own actions and of the impression they made upon those around him. One day when he was going through the streets of Rome with a brother religious, they passed a fountain. "He went over and put his hand so far into one of the jets that he squirted the water over a number of poor persons who were basking in in the sun a few steps beneath him. They made a stir, and uttered a few oaths as the water kept dashing down on them. The companion awoke Father Ignatius out of his reverie, and so unconscious did he seem of the disturbance he had unwittingly created, that he passed on without alluding to it."

But whoever might blame Father Ignatius for his projects and his peculiar pertinacity in carrying them into execution, one consoler never failed him. The Holy Father was ever ready to speak with him of the conversion of England, merely requesting him to endeavor to interest persons to pray also for all those separated from the faith in all countries. His Holiness has granted an indulgence of three hundred days to any one who shall say a devout prayer for the conversion of England. The preaching of Father Ignatius was peculiar to himself; he could not be said to possess the gifts of human eloquence in the highest degree, but there was something like inspiration in his most commonplace discourse. {187} He put the point of his sermon clearly before his audience, and he proved it most admirably. His acquaintance with the Scriptures was something marvellous; not only could he quote texts in support of doctrines, but be applied the facts of the sacred volume in such a happy why, with such a flood of new ideas, that one would imagine he lived in the midst of them, or had been told by the sacred writers what they were intended for. Besides this, he brought a fund of illustrations to carry conviction through the mind. His illustrations were taken from every phase of life and every kind of employment; persons listening to him always found the peculiar gist of his discourse carried into their very homestead; nay, the objections they themselves were prepared to advance against it were answered before they could have been thought out. To add to this, there was an earnestness in his manner that made you see his whole soul, as it were, bent upon your spiritual good. His holiness of life, which report published before him--and one look was enough to convince you of its being true--compelled you to set a value on what he said far above the dicta of ordinary priests.

His style was formed on the gospel. He loved the parables and the similes of our Lord, and rightly judged that the style of his divine Master was the most worthy of imitation. So far as the matter of his discourses was concerned, he was inimitable; his manner was peculiar to himself, deeply earnest and touching. He abstained from the rousing, thundering style, and his attempts that way to suit the taste and thus work upon the convictions of certain congregations, showed him that his forte did not lie there. The consequence was, that when the words of what he jocosely termed a "crack" preacher would die with the sound of his own voice or the exclamations of the multitude, Father Ignatius's words lived with their lives, and helped them to bear trials that came thirty years after they had heard him. Toward the end of his life he became rather tiresome to those who knew not his spirit; but it was the tiresomeness of St. John the Evangelist. We are told that "the disciple whom Jesus loved" used to be carried in his old age before the people, and that his only sermon was "My little children, love one another." He preached no more and no less, but kept perpetually repeating these few words. Father Ignatius, in like manner, was continually repeating "the conversion of England." No matter what the subject of his sermon was he brought this in. He told us often that it became a second nature with him; that he could not quit thinking or speaking of it even if he tried, and believed he could speak for ten days consecutively on the conversion of England without having to repeat an idea.

"He got on very well in the missions: he took all the different parts as they were assigned him; but he was more successful in the lectures than in the great sermons of the evening. His confessional was always besieged with penitents, and he never spared himself."

His last mission was given in the beautiful little church of St. Patrick, Coatbridge (eight miles from Glasgow). Crowds came to hear the saintly old father plead for the conversion of England and the sanctification of Ireland. The first two days he heard confessions from six A.M. to eleven P.M., excepting the time needed for devotions and meals. On the third day he remained in the confessional until after midnight. When he came into the house, his host said: "I am afraid, Father Ignatius, you are overexerting yourself, and that you must feel tired and fatigued:' "No, no," he answered with a smile, "I am not fatigued. There is no use in saying I am tired, for, you know, I must be at the same work to-night in Leith." He was in the confessional again at six o'clock in the morning, said mass at seven; breakfasted at half-past eight, and left Coatbridge about nine o'clock. {188} Father O'Keefe remarked to him that he looked much better and younger in secular dress than in his habit. This made him laugh heartily. "When Father Thomas Doyle," he replied, "saw me in secular dress, he said, 'Father Ignatius, you look like a broken-down old gentleman.'" And the frankness of the observation seemed to amuse him immensely.

The rest is easily told. He reached Carstairs Junction at half-past ten, and, leaving his luggage with the station-master, walked toward Carstairs House, the residence of his friend and godson, Mr. Monteith. Half a mile from the entrance to the estate, the long avenue is crossed at right angles by a second, which leads to the grand entrance of the house. Father Ignatius had just passed the "rectangle," when he turned off into a by-path. Then seeing he had lost his way, he asked a child which was the right road. He never spoke to mortal again. On a little corner in the avenue, just within sight of the house, and about a hundred paces from the door, he fell suddenly and yielded up his spirit into the hands of his Creator. May we all die doing God's work, and as well prepared as Father Ignatius of St. Paul! "It was God's will that angels instead of men should surround his lonely bed of death." It was simply by an after-thought that he had gone to Carstairs House to pass the time between the arrival and departure of two trains, and thus died at the threshold of an old friend's door, instead of in the station.

Very tenderly did Mr. Monteith receive the weary burden that the grand old missionary laid down at his gates. The remains lay in religious state at Carstairs House for the greater part of three days. Fathers came from various retreats to look once more upon his beloved face, never so noble as in its last repose; and looked with silent wonder on all that now remained of one whom the world was not worthy of possessing longer. Everyone, on hearing of his death, appeared to have lost a special friend; no one could lament, for they felt that he was happy; few could pray for him, because they were more inclined to ask his intercession. The greatest respect and attention were shown by the railway officials all along the route, and special ordinances were made in deference to the respected burden that was carried.

Lord Spencer's letter with regard to his uncle's death is so pleasing that we transcribe it entire. He was in Denmark, and could not reach England for the obsequies:

Denmark, Oct. 16th, 1864
Rev. Sir: I was much shocked to hear of the death of my excellent Uncle
George. I received the sad intelligence last Sunday, and subsequently
received the letter which you had the goodness to write to me. My absence
from England prevented my doing what I should have wished to have done,
to have attended to the grave the remains of my uncle, if it had been so
permitted by your order.

I assure you that, much as I may have differed from my uncle on points of
doctrine, no one could have admired more than I did the beautiful
simplicity, earnest religion, and faith of my uncle. For his God he
renounced all the pleasures of the world; his death, sad as it is to us,
was, as his life, apart from the world, but with God.

His family will respect his memory as much as I am sure you and the
brethren of his order do.

I should be much obliged to you if you let me know the particulars of the
last days of his life, and also where he is buried, as I should like to
place them among family records at Althorp.

I venture to trouble you with these questions, as I suppose you will be
able to furnish them better than anyone else.

Yours faithfully,
Spencer.

Thus in the end did Father Ignatius, in the simple pursuance of his duties, pierce through the prejudices of caste and tradition, harder to penetrate in England than elsewhere.

Mr. Monteith has erected a cross on the corner of the avenue where his saintly friend fell. It bears this inscription:

"On this spot the Hon. and Rev. GEORGE SPENCER,
in religion, Father Ignatius of St. Paul,
Passionist, while in the midst of his labors
for the salvation or souls, and the
restoration of his countrymen to the
unity of the faith, was suddenly
called by his heavenly Master
to his eternal home.
October 1st, 1864.
R. I. P."

--------

{189}

From Chambers's Journal.

A Naturalist's Home.

There is no place like England for a rich man to live in exactly as he pleases. It is the appropriate exercising-ground for the hobbies of all mankind. You may join an Agapemone, or you may live alone in dirt and squalor, and call yourself a hermit. The whim of the late Charles Waterton, naturalist, was a very innocent one, namely, to make his home a city of refuge for all persecuted birds--a sanctuary inviolate from net and snare and gun; and he effected his humane purpose. An intimate associate and fervent admirer of his, one Dr. Richard Hobson, has given to the world [Footnote 44] an account of this ornithological asylum; and it is certainly very curious. The name of the place was Walton Hall, near Wakefield; and it seems to have been peculiarly well adapted for the purpose to which it was put. It was situated on an island, approachable only by an iron foot-bridge, and having no other dwellings in its immediate neighborhood. The lake in which it stood gave the means of harboring waterfowl of all kinds, while the "packing" of carrion crows in the park exhibits a proof of the protection afforded by even the mainland portion of the estate; it was sufficiently extensive to allow of portions being devoted to absolute seclusion, for those birds which are naturally disposed to avoid the haunts of man. "Two thirds of the lake, with its adjacent wood and pasture land, were kept free from all intrusion whatever for six successive months every year; even visitors at the house, of whatever rank, being 'warned off' those portions set apart for natural history purposes. Even the marsh occupied by the herons was forbidden ground throughout the whole breeding-season, unless in case of accident to a young heron by falling from its nest; in which case aid was afforded with all the promptitude exhibited by the fire escape conductors for the safety of human life."

[Footnote 44: Charles Waterton: his Home, Habits, and Handiwork. By
Richard Hobson, M.D.]

The surroundings of the mansion itself were quaint and exceptional, exhibiting the eccentric character of their proprietor. Item, a magnificent sundial--constructed, however, by a common mason in the neighborhood--composed of twenty equilateral triangles, so disposed as to form a similar number of individual dials, ten of which, whenever the sun shone, and whatever its altitude, were faithful timekeepers. On these dials were engraved the names of cities in all parts of the globe, placed in accordance with their different degrees of longitude, so that the solar time of each could be simultaneously ascertained. Near this sundial was a subterraneous passage leading to two boat-houses, entirely concealed under the island, furnished with arched roofs lined with zinc-plate, and arrangements for slinging the boats out of water when they required painting or repair. Four sycamores, with roosting branches for peahens, and a fifth, whose decayed trunk was always occupied by jackdaws, screened the house from the north winds. Close to the cast-iron-bridge entrance was a ruin, on the top of whose gable, at the foot of a stone-cross, twenty-four feet above the lake, a wild duck built her nest, and hatched her young for years. A great yew-fence enclosed this ruin on one side, so that within its barrier birds might find a secure place for building their nests and incubation. {190} For the special encouragement and protection of the starling and the jackdaw, there was erected within this fence a thirteen feet high stone-and-mortar-built tower, pierced with about sixty resting-berths. To each berth there was an aperture of about five inches square. A few, near the top, were set apart for the jackdaw and the white owl. The remaining number were each supplied at the entrance with a square loose stone, having one of its inferior angles cut away, so that the starling could enter, but the jackdaw and owl were excluded. The landlord of these convenient tenements only reserved to himself the privilege of inspection, which he could always effect by removing the loose stone.

The lake had an artificial underground sluice, which issuing out at a little distance into sight, furnished the means of cultivating a knowledge of the mysterious habits of the water-rat; this stream then passed through one of the loveliest grottoes in England. Near this place were two pheasantries, the central portion of each consisting of a clump of yew-trees, while the whole mass was surrounded by an impenetrable holly fence; the stable-yard was not far off; and hence the squire had infinite opportunities of establishing the important fact, as he considered it, that the game-cock always claps his wings and crows, whereas the cock-pheasant always crows and claps his wings. Mr. Waterton's interest in natural history was, however, by no means confined to the animal creation. He concerned himself greatly with the culture of trees (though by no means of land), and hailed any _lusus naturae_ that occurred in his grounds as other men welcomed the birth of a son and heir. Walton Hall had at one time its own corn-mill, and when that inconvenient necessity no longer existed, the mill-stone was laid by in an orchard and forgotten. The diameter of this circular stone measured five feet and a half, while its depth averaged seven inches throughout; its central hole had a diameter of eleven inches. By mere accident, some bird or squirrel had dropped the fruit of the filbert tree through this hole on to the earth, and in 1812 the seedling was seen rising up through that unwonted channel. As its trunk gradually grew through this aperture and increased, its power to raise the ponderous mass of stone was speculated upon by many. Would the filbert tree die in the attempt? Would it burst the millstone? Or would it lift it? In the end, the little filbert tree lifted the millstone, and in 1868 wore it like a crinoline about its trunk, and Mr. Waterton used to sit upon it under the branching shade. This extraordinary combination it was the great naturalist's humor to liken to John Bull and the national debt.

In no tree-fancier's grounds was there ever one tenth of the hollow trunks which were to be found at Walton Hall; the fact being that the owner encouraged and fostered decay for the purposes of his birds' paradise. These trees were protected by artificial roofs in order to keep their hollows dry, and fitted thus for the reception of any feathered couple inclined to marry and settle. Holes were also pierced in the stems, to afford ingress and egress; and one really would scarcely be surprised if they had been furnished with bells for "servants" and "visitors." In an ash tree trunk thus artificially prepared, and set apart for owls (the squire's favorite bird), an ox-eyed titmouse took the liberty of nesting, hatching, and maturing her young. Mr. Waterton attached a door, hung on hinges, to exactly fit the opening in the trunk, having a hole in its inferior portion for the passage of the titmouse. The squire would daily visit the his little tenant, and opening the door delicately draw his hand over the back of the sitting bird, as though to assure it of his protection. But unfortunately, after the bird had flown, one year, a squirrel took possession of this eligible tenement, and although every vestige of the lining of its nest was carefully removed, no titmouse or any other bird ever occupied it again.

{191}

In May, 1862, the squire pointed out to the author no less than three birds' nests in one cavity--a jackdaw's with five eggs; a barn-owl's with three young ones, close to which lay several dead mice and a half grown rat, as in a larder; and, eighteen inches above the owl's nest, a redstart's, containing six eggs! Our author deduces from this circumstance, that in an unreclaimed state birds, although of different species, are not disposed to quarrel; and the fact that near this "happy family" a pair of water-hens hatched their eggs in a perfectly exposed nest, under the very eyes of two carrion crows who occupied the first floor of the same tree--an alder--without the least molestation, seems to confirm this view.