The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1893-01-30

those scathing apostrophes which touch
the hardened sinners heart
Therefore Angelita Ramos, the presi-
dent of the Daughters of Mary" the
Warehouses of Venailes, the founder of
the Roperito, the wife of Marshal Cells
in fact, the creme de la creme of the de-
yout church goers of Marineda-all
agreed that the canon was a prosy
preacher, while Father Incienso was
very popular, and they liked the way in
which he delivered rhetorical phrases,
interviewer with mystical observations,
from behind the grating Of the confess
sional.
On the other hand, the common people
sang the praises of the canon and Landed
him to the sky. Sailors, artisans and
cigar makers, when they saw him shuttle
by with kindly smile on his benevolent
face, would say to one another in low
tone, HE is saint"
Many anecdotes were told of the good
man at the cigar factory, where all the
news is known and commented upon.
They would tell how he had sold his sill
yer buckles to pay the rent of some poor
people who were about to be elected
from their dwelling, and if a beggar
asked for aims and he had no money to
give him he would strip off for the suf-
ferer his own nuff1er, his handkerchief or
even his rosary. He suffered all sorts Of
privations in order to alleviate the wants
Of other people.
One night the canon retired at the
time the chickens go to roost, for he had
a severe cold. 1t was dreary evening,
and the rain was falling in torrents,
while the wind shook the houses and
whistled through the streets.
For that very reason the canon en-
joyed lying in his warm bed, snugly
tucked up and experiencing that de-
lghtful drowsiness which precedes sleep.
His aching bones, tortured by rheuma-
tism, were feeling grateful warmth,
and he could breathe quite freely. It
was moment of sybaritical enjoyment,
such as prolongs the feeble existence OF
old men.
The canon had just murmured the last
evening prayer, when the doorbell was
violently rung and a hot discussion was
heard going on in the antechamber. 1t
grew more and more excited until Dona
Ramona, holding a candlestick on high,
burst into the room to inform the canon
that a shabbily dressed woman, who
looked like beggar, insisted on seeing
him at once. Like soldier at the sound
of the reveille, the canon sprang from
his bed, and scarcely waiting to clothe
himself went out into the antechamber
to meet the stranger. The water was
streaming from her garments, for the
rain had wet her to the skin.
"Oh, most holy mani" she exclaimed,
sndeavor;sg to kiss the old priests hand.
'sMy brother is at his last gasp and will
not confess. He is dying like dog,
senior, and pardon me for speaking so.
Come, good sir, try to move his hardened
heart, SO that his sinful soul may not
thus be launched into another world un-
pardoned."
"Who is your brother, my good
woman?'
''The notary Roca."
The canon gazed in establishment at
the woman's shabby garments, and as
she read his thoughts she stammered:
81 am cigar maker, and as my eye
sight is poor can earn only scanty
livelihood. My brother is rolling in
wealth, but he never gives me single
cent. He has wicked housekeeper who
makes way with all he has, and here am
I, with my four little ones, obliged to
earn my bread by the sweat of my brow.
But do not think that have come on &C.
count of his money or because I wish
him to leave it to me. was born poor
and shall die poor, and should not care
if it were not for my children. But do
not want my brother to lose his soul. I
do not want him to be condemned for
ever"
t'See here, my poor woman" said the
canon, already touched by her vehe
mence, II am not capable of convincing
any one nor moving his heart. Go to
Father Incienso."
"Ah, father, that priest may be very
good, but there is no other man as saint
ly as you are in Marineda. We, the CT
gar makers, would put you ahead of the
pope himself. If you do not wish to
come say so, but don't tell me to look for
any one else, for if you do not perform
this miracle not even Christ himself
could do So"
Oh, human weaknessl AS she spoke
the canon felt an inward satisfaction
and said:
"Dona Ramona, give me my umbrel-
Ia"
"Your umbrella!" snapped the house
keeper. 'sDon't you know that it is in
tatters, like the banner of the Literarios,
and that I was obliged to send it to be
recoveredT'
The canon heatated for moment and
then said timidly:
"Well, bring me my cloak and my old
hat and my muffler."
He left the house with the woman, and
the rain beat down on their defenseless
heads, while the heavy gusts Of wind al
most took their breath away as it drove
them along. The rain penetrated his
garments and chilled the poor canon to
the very marrow.
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