The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1868-11-29

gramme of amusements, entered into the
preparations with indomitable ardor, anG
in all OF them was the chief worker and pro
moter One afternoon he persisted in car
ryipg out some arrangements in the grounds
OF the country house, although it was rain.
ing heavily at the time. He sustained d
thorough, wetting, and, despite the entrea.
ties of his friends, obstinately refused to
change his saturated garments. Next day
1t was announced>heh had acquired severe
cold. In the cOurse>of week his malady
had assumed the form of a malignant fever,
and for some time he lowered uneasily be-
tween the portals of life and death. Cross
ing the court one cold, inclement morning,
we saw that the windows of his room were
thrown wide open, and we knew that Mon
sleur Lucius was dead. NJ
We attended his funeral shortly after
wards, and saw him to his last resting place
in the quiet pare, out near the Porte de Diest.
For while his grave was gay with flowers,
meet and loving offerings of the young ones
whom he had served So well. For little
while his name was in their mouths and his
though, presently, and with it the flowers
on his grave. A new professor usurped the
affection of his little friends, and "le bon
Monsieur Lucee" was seldom spoken of
now. His name had descended to the
depths of oblivion, when, one fine evening,
it with kind of supernatural interest, and
rendered It for time byword in the col
lege.
Our little martial professor, Monsieur
Evremond, went to the chapel one morning
in search of prayer He had arrived
some ten minutes too late for the matnal
office, and intended to perform the remain
der OF his devotions in the privacy of his
own room. He usually kept his Breviary
on the small ledge beneath the seat in the
big pew near the chancel; to-day it was no
where to be found. Some thoughtless stu
dent had taken it, doubtless, and would re-
turn it to him in good time for to-morrow's
Mass. Mean while it was necessary>fhat he
should repeat Il certain number of Latin
'prayers, and he didn't know them by mem
DRY. He went to Il drawer where old Bre-
WARES were sometimes slowed, and took
out one at random. 1t was old and dogs
cared, and bore about it the thumb marks
of many u long years service on the fly
leaf was inscribed IL name-Monsieur Eyre
glanced at it casual -that of the dear pro-
lessor, Monsieur Lucce. 1t would answer
his purpose admirably, he thought; and
tllrusting it into his pocket, he strobe glee-
fully away.
Late on the evening of the same day-or
late as monastic hours went-Monsieur
Evremond sat in the big armchair i'll his
study, smoking philosophical pipe. He
was quite alone; the gentleman who usual
ly shared his apartments had gone ON bust
ness to Il neighb0ring town, and would not
be back for IL week or more. A pleasant
silence pervadcd the quaint old college.
We, the noisiest of it's inmates, had retired
to our dormitories, whittier we had becnH
followed by the majority of the professors
and servants. All was still and quiet.
Now the grand carlton of st. Peters chin
ed forth the hour of ten in rich mellow
tone. Monsieur Evrcmond began to feel
sleepy. y book was lying on the table be-
side him-a prayer book; he took it up and
opened it. The passage which he lighted
upon was Latin hymn-the "Salutaris
Hostia,' which forms II portion of the Ben
edicton Service. Absently, and scarce !
thinking what he did, he hummed over the
first few lines lie stopped suddenly and
gazed about him i'll silent wonder. 1t was
strange, but he had almost fancied that |
another voice-sad, tender, and not I'M
famiiar--had joined itself to his i'll the
chanting of the strain. After all, it could
only have been fancy; the room was I'M
tenanted. save by himself, and the grave
S0rdRts who occupied the adjacent apart
ments were not to be suspected of practi- !
cal joking. He returned to the book, and
commenced anew:
80 Salutaris Hostia," he sang
40 Salutaris Hostia," chanted voice in
unison with his own.
He paused aghast, while the perspiration
stood in great drops upon his forehead. |
His silence did not deter the mysterious
singer "Qu;e cGli pandis ostium," he con-