The Irish standard., 1905-08-19

OoA LIZ, 4OVOs
till at the head of street, a rifle
cleaned in the arc light, and a by-no-
means courteous nor gentle voice rude
ly shattered our classic dreamings
with Get back, Get back there, lively
now"
Remembrance woke with all her busy
train,
Swelled at our breast and turned our
dreams to pain"
But we got back, all right, nor stood
on the order of our going.
When the fever is discovered in a
house, Immediately yellow flag is
nailed at the main door and a guard
stationed at the gate, armed. Whose
enters is warned that he must stay in
until ten days after the official re-
covery or death of the latest case in
the house. Groceries and medicines
are flung in through a door or window,
How heart-breaking when the father
or mother comes from their work in
the evening time, sees the yellow flag
over their home, and can only lean
over the fence and inquire how the
loved sufferer is, for if the bread-win.
ner enters he can no longer go forth
to earn bread for the little ones in
the stricken nest. And men must
work and women must weep-So good.
by to the bar, and it's meanings"
No funeral professions or hearses
are allowed; only those absolutely
needed to carry the body and bury it
are permitted to accompany the dear
est dead. Nor are any services allowed
in the churches, the priest reads the
service in the house Of pestilence and
death. have seen the priest himself
buried, without being taken to the
church next door, where he said mass
and heard confessions three days be.
fore. / have seen the lonely orphan
boy of ten digging his mothers grave,
and resting and weeping on the still
fresh earth that covered his father.
One of the memories that shall nev-
er leave me, is that of the illness and
death of Father Murray, one of the
most brilliant and devoted young
priests had ever the blessing to
know. But five years ordained, he
hau just arranged to visit his dear old
mother in Ireland. He came first to
see his esteemed friend, Vicar General
O'Callaghan of Mobile. Whilst there
the fever broke out, and though ad-
vised and urged that he was not in
duty bound to stay, still the nobility
of self-sacrifice constrained this zeal.
GUS priest to remain with the anlicted
people. Day and night he spent him
self in an unwearying round of char
ity, till having said mass one Sunday
with the fever's grip upon him, he was
assisted from the altar to his deathbed.
fever that burned out his young life,
he spoke to his dear old mother Round
that lowly bed our hearts bled for her,
who was watching each ship for the
boy who would return no more. A few
priests, in utter sorrow, wrapped his
lifeless but still Warm body in the mass
TIM tc1 1o ho 4
before.
Few and short were the prayers we
said, and we spoke not word
of sorrow,
But we silently gazed on the face of
our dead
And wept for his mothers tomorrow"
At the cemetery groups of men
around many lowly grave, all too en-
crossed with their own griefs and bit
ter duties, but those four priests that
in tears and sorrow laid their mar
tyred brother on the hillside, could
but look the question they had not the
heart to ask, "Who's next?" One glori-
GUS ray of sunshine flung beauty DER
the evening clouds, giving promise OF
another day, when I was to see that
grave deluged with flowers and tears
of noble and generou people who
never do forget their martyred ones.
'By strangers hands his dying hours
were closed,
By strangers, too, his humble form
composed,
By strangers hands his lowly grave
Adorned
BY strangers honored, and by strang-
ers mourned."
What precious memory is that of
the Sisters of Charity I'm these days
that tried mems souls! On every train
coming south rushed these angels of
the earth, to do and die among the
afflicted. From ward to ward of chok-
ed and crowded hospitals, soothing the
fever-racked brow of the stricken, or
pillowing the head Of the dying, or
lifting the motherless child from the
broken heart of the dead, or again the
fitful gleam of the barnyard lantern,
lighting up the white bonnet as it