Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1898-06-18

Indian summer. during the early part of
winch season he was living in his cave
near Couneai Grove, the hermit priest.
| seated on projecting ledge at the mouth
| OF his rocky and isolated retreat, would
sweep the strings of his treasured instru-
nne,' with a touch as light, deft and sor-
| roW1uily tende4 as a maiden whose pure
young heart has Just been thrilled by its
| first breath Of love
TO those wing. were fortunate, and they
hour with him his ySsper hymns ms ' rendered
IN ms exquisite tend4 voice, were soul
inspiring as the gentle earnestness of a
young girls prayer. His sometime Neapol-
itan songs and soft airs of his native isle
We're as sweetsas tHe chant of the angels
ne invoked wh9p in a4leeply religious mood,
and ms heart Sfeelir$ tones mingled sadly
MIL MIN tne gentle sooghing of the evening
| breeze IN the dense foliage on the margin
OF the placid Neosho that flowed near by.
| ihus, IN the calm enjoyment of his self
imposed solitude, he lived with
The moss his bed. the cave his humble cell.
his food the fruits. his drink the crystal we'll
Among the various languages necessary
| for the communication of ideas between
| the motley crowd comprising the ciyiliza-
tlon OF the then remote region there was
none that Matteo Boecalini did not under
stand and speak fuenuy, so liberal had
:, been his education in that particular.
| Once. when stabbed and dying Mexican.
the victim Of some gambling quarrel among
the drivers of the bull train to which he
| was dtldCueu asked a service Tor the re-
pose OF his soul, Father Francesca fastened
| to the anxious mans side There he adj
| minlstered the last sacrament Of the church
10 the expiring creature in his own Ian
guage, who died with a resigned look upon
MS race. as he listened to the absolving
| words he could perfectly understand which
was a thing of joy to the holy man who
| mad performed the sacred office.
one day late in the month of October,
now nearly thirty-four years ago. the
hermit priest saw walking through the
streets Of the little village a dark-visaged
person, clad in clerical garb and whom
Boccalini believed to be the lover of the
woman he had wronged in his youth, and
that the stranger, if it were he whom he
suspected. could never be persuaded to
think that Matteo was not wholly to be
blamed for the life he had blasted
He told his friends he could no longer
tarry with them; he would go away to the
cave. rear again the blessed cross, emblem
OF his Masters suffering, and once more
live in solitude from which here he had
somewhat strayed.
He frequently, when in a communicative
mood, had talked much to them of the
delights of absolute solitude. 1t was, he
argued, the nurse of enthusiasm; that en-
thuslasm was the parent of genius; that
solitude sol had always been. eagerly sought
for in every age. It was the Inspiration
OF the dominant religion of every nation:
that their founders We're men who, seeking
the quiet and secusion of the desert. and
IL,
visions of the beyond. The veil hiding the
better world had been lifted for them and
that their teachings had come down
to us through the aeons, elevating man
above the brute
The next morning after the sudden ap-
peArance Of the stranger whose presence
had SO discomposed the usually calm priest
delicious morning in the month of
"autumn's holocaust" when the breeze
was billowing the russet-colored grass up
on the virgin prairies, Father Francesca
gathered up his few precious relics, and.
accepting the escort of a caravan just ready
to start for New Mexico, left Council Grove
his cave. and thet warm friends he had
made there. forever,ar
which the freightenedi prelate went west
ward was owned by Mexican don
brother-in-law TO KitCarson. He still re-
sides near the spotc where the Inflated
Italian Was, year or two after his weary
some journey across the Great Plains, hur-
ried to eternity.nA 81
This venerable Mexican and old-time
voyageur of the almsst obiitera ted Santa
Fe trail when 4tlast visited him at his hos
pltaDle home IN the mountains. fourteen
years ago, entertained me by relating some
of the more prominent characteristics of
his strange companion du voyage during
that memorable trip with the hermit priest
from Council Groves, more than twenty
years previously, He said that the strange
man would never ride either on horseback
or in one of the Wagons despite the earnest
invitations extended to him each recurring
| morning by the enlaster of the caravan.
preterslng TO r4dge afasag uneompiainingly
side the plodding oxen, through the 5lkali
dust of the deserti and faItered not
Neither at night would ne partake of the
shelter of the tent constantly offered, but
| as constantly and persistently refused pre-
! ferring to roll himself up in single coarse
wrap. seeking some quiet spot removed
| fro m the corral of wagons, where for an
hour or two, under the scintillating stars
no. I1te-
| by his mandolin, chant some sad refrain to
| the Virgin. until long after the camp had
gone to sleep.
Fer his subsistence he himself caught
and cooked the prairie dog, ground squir-
rel, rattleSnake and gopher. Only occasion
ally, when hard pressed would he accept a
! meal. which was constantly proffered by
the Mexican Transfers, begging the hermit
priest to share with them, for in their love
for the church, to which they were so de-
voted, he seemed to their simple minds a
| most jealous but humble exponent of their
religious tenets and visible form of their
sacred faith. ---,t 20.
Thus reticent, thoughtful and devout, he
marched with the caravan for many weeks
until at last the city of Holy Faith, the
quaint old Spanish town of Santa Fe was
reached There he parted company with
his escort, and for nearly a year afterward
Wandered all over that portion of the ter
ritCry of New Mexico and into Arizona
still seeking the Alnaschar of his dreams,
suitable abiding place in the recesses of
the hills, and people whose souls might
be made to attune with his. But he miser-
ably failed in all that he desired during
his sad pilgrimage throughout the south
west. Then, turning northward again, he
slowly and almost despairingly retraced his
steps until he arrived in the sequestered
Valley Of the Sappillo, where he at last
fol I'd an humble class and his coveted
cave on the summit of the mighty noun
tain described at the opening of this chap
ter.
There, content, after so many years of
unsatislied wandering, he commenced that
life of religious ministrations and exer-
cised those unselfish acts of kindness and
love whose remembrance is imprinted so
indelibly on the hearts of his devoted fol-
lowers, for:
Through suffering he soothed and
through sickness he nursed.'
There, again, under the consultations,
which nowhere else shine more brilliantly,
where the strains of his mandolin and the
rich notes of that magnificent voice. heard
by the enchanted people who listened each
evening at the doors of their rude adobe
huts IN the valley below the huge hill that
cast its shadow over them.
Notwithstanding the hermit priest had
found class congenial to his souls de-
mands. his eccentricities still chung to