The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1870-01-16
NEW ORLEANS, SUNDAY MORNING. JANUARY 16, 1870

NEW ORLEANS, SUNDAY n
mother, who ought especially so to do, is dead.
You love your father, don't your"
=" Yes, with all my hearth
'"Well, then, promise me that you will I'M
Geasingly pray for his iconversion-that You
will offer for him your every action and your
every pain promise that there shall always be
a suppliant voice to take the place of poor
Aloyse's, which will soon be hushed in death,
to cry 'mercyn Think of what it is to have q
father'sw
her own, and fixed upon her look in which
the last forces of her life were conceptrated.
. Promise !" said she. Camille thought mo-
ment-her young face wore grave and stern
expression. Finally, raising one arm toward
the cruciix, she said in distinct voice: IS sol
EMMY promise you, my sister, will continue
what you have commenced: will pray,
sion" A ray of heavenly light illumined Sis
ter Aloyse's countenance, and she sank back
| upon her pillows, murmuring, " can die now
Two days later she passed away, with n peace
and serenity worthy of the bfamelessness of
herwhole life, though in breathing her last
she cried, Have mercy ~
Was it of herself she thought
CHAPTER III.
Many years have passed away. The grass
grows thick and green upon the bed of clay
where sleeps Aloyse. Camille, grown into u
N,
She has Travelled with him, she has seen the
world, it's balls and its routs but she has never
forgotten the promise made to Sister Aloyse.
This promise has banished the strength of he:
limbs and of her youth. She has become seri-
Gus all at once. She has given to her life but
one aim, and that sublime and difficult and
froFa-that moment when tho struggle which
had animated the life of AIoyse passed into her
own, all her actions all her thoughts, had been
devoted to the redemption of one soul. AT
first, overlooking with the thoughtless and en-
I H. l..
of that religion whose arguments her heart
found so natural, and which seemed to her so
irresistible. Her father would laugh at her,
and she would cry; she would persist, how
ever, until he became so angry that she was
frightened. Finally she decided to be more
rquiet in the future, and to leave to God the
conduct of her cause Bnt with what Vigils,
with what prayers, what signs; what agony OF
heart, and with what fervent desire did she ask
God for that precious soul! And what VOWS
did she make to the precious Mother! What
flowers she offered upon her altar! What
prayers, in which she thanked God for the
kindness that had given mortals this all-pow-
erful Mediatrix! Her fathers guardian angel,
him! How she labored and prayed for that of
which he never thought -
AS years pass, Camille's piety becomes more
rigid self denial joins itself to acts of earnest
charity, in their turn supplemented by Sener-
Gus aims.
- One would naturally ask why Camille, rich
and young, charming and admired, should rise
hours upon her knees in church ? Why she
went with the Sisters of Charity to visit the
sick, why her attire was so plain and simple,
why her room was little Ornamented; why
she labored without any relaxation, and final
ly, why with so interesting an appearance and
conversation she preferred so severe life
No one upon earth could answer these ques-
| tionS except the guardian anger VINO writes
down these noble acts to the account of their
forgctful subject, her unrepentant father.
But she accomplished nothing, although the
rigors were not for herself, though she main
tanned, for her father, this piety united with n
tenderness which only made her more sweet
| and.aflcctionate. His hard heart did not open
TO the rHys OF divine grace, nor to the timid
smiles OF his child The taste for amusement,
born Of n desire for forgCttuiurss, had chased
from his heart, at the same time with pure
love, the belief in holy things. The heavenly
flame had been quickly e&tinEulSheu Deneath
the ashes of pleasure; and,-fike many other
children of his age, he had neglected to be-
| leve through fear of being compelled to be
| good. Bad society and bad literature had com
pleted the work of headiOng dissipation; and
neither marriage nor paternity had reclaimed
| him His birth, fortune, and indisputable tai
ents raised him to public offices. And, to be
consistent with his principles, and congenial
| to his friends he had to be inimical to all re-
| ligion. The seminaries the Brothers of the
Christian Doctrine; the Sisters, hospitallers OIL
teachers the free establishments; the Carme-
Iites who ask nothing of person ; the Claris,
ses, who ask only piece of bread the Little
Sisters of the Poor, who gathered food for thelI
old mon; the foreign nlsslOhsi inc SERMONS III
Lent in the parish; the general induigences
granted by the Pope the Cardinals in the Sen.
| ate ; and the Capucbins who went barefooted
were ali equally the objects of his strong
aversion. He read continually the Journal de-
! Debdts the ReUue des DeiLr Mondes, and the lib
eral journal of his departmental that depart
menf in which he played prominent part
Shall we cay, in excuse for him, that his imPie.
| ty had never been tried by adversely and that
| he had found the world SO delightful that he
had wished to live for ever in it In youth he
| had lived in the midst of noisy pleasures In
| more advanced life he lived for comfort, for his
| hodse-cool in summer, warm in winter, splen
did at all times-for his grand dinners, his
| good wine, his fine horses and elegant equt
pages He enjoyed exquisitely those ex.
| celIent thipGs which the public gener