The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1911-05-06
A PASTORAL VISIT.
written for The Catholic Bulletin.)

One summer afternoon, in city not
a hundred miles from st. Paul, three
young mothers were lolling in rockers
on the porch of the home of one of
them. Each had her baby with her, and
while making mental reservation In
favor of her own, was enthusiastically
admiring those of the others in some
such phrases as, What dear" "how
sweet" lovely as a dream, What
duck of a nose," ETC., etc.
Just then Father John, the pastor
was passing on his round OF pastoral
visits, and seeing three of his parish
toner's together, he raised his hat ana
came to have little conversation with
them. He was a tall, grey-haired,
ascetic-looking man, well on toward
seventy, yet hale and active, and new
er satisfied with day into which ne
had not crowded eight hours solid
parish work. He had two hobbies, II
thew NAV be so misunderstanding and
visiting. The latter had for ostenslble
object the circulation of Catholic lit
erature. He was, indeed, in certain
sense, walking library. He started
with lending a Catholic book to every
family in the parish. A fortnight aft
erwards he called for it, left another
in it's stead, brought the one taken up
to the next in order, made similar
exchange, and so kept up a constant
renewal of reading matter among his
people. But let us hear what he had to
say to the little coterie on the porch.
After the customary chow do you
do" fine day." glorious" etc., and
having taken due notice of the babies
he began: 81 can imagine, ladies'
some of the beautiful visions you are
formine of the future of these there
fine little fellows. (All three were
boys.) One, at least, is to be presi-
dent: another, an archbishop, and an
other, millionaire. Am I right, Mrs
Farmer?" he asked, turning to the lad
of the house. mot quite, father,
she replied, with toss of the head
"For my part, I have quite enough OF
trouble with my child now to think
much about his future. For the life
of me do not know what l should
have done, if I had not talked Mr..
Farmer into hiring nurse. AS
have told him over and over, l am not
going to be a slave to my child.
have to attend to my own mental and
artistic culture. l am president of
the Ladies' Literary Club here, and
have no time to waste in pratttIng
inanities to restless baby, or spend
ing valuable moments grooming it to
Sleep"
Father John was a good judge OF
character. He detected in the very
energy of Mrs Farmers self-justif1ca-
ton an effort to stiae the strong in
stinct of motherhood. He knew that
she had been educated at an up-to-
date boarding school, where intellect
was cultivated and character neglect
ted, where manners were more lncul-
Gated than morals, where art for art
sake" rather than "life for the soul S
sake" was the working idea of the in
stitution. But he was too wise and
kind to reprove her before others for
her unmOtherly attitude toward her
child. He took note of it, however, and
resolved to devise the best means OF
setting her right.
"And you, Mrs. Draper" he said to
the second mother, pathetic figure.
with the handwriting of home-trouble
traced over a handsome, refined face,
"And you, Mrs. Draper, what future
are you weaving for your boy?"
She did not answer at once, but
drew her child closer to her breast,
and bent over it until her lips touched
it's hair. Father John could have bit
ten his tongue for reminding her,
however unconsciously, of the deep,
raw wound of her home life. 1t was
we'll known that her husband was a
drunkard, and running on the down
grade to destruction. Every one pitied
her; but pity is not always sympathy;
and neither pity nor sympathy can
lift the cloud from the drunkard' s
home.
Only for moment did the brave
soul hesitate to answer. She raised
her head and said with a smile: i
don't want my boy to be president
or an archbishop, or a millionaire. I'll
be satisfied if he be another Father
john" His reverence was taken aback
by the adroit compliment, and could
only mutter: "Well, to be sure"
The third lady, Mrs. Carpenter, was
a bustling, good-natured little body,
whose big, easy-going Protestant hus-
band she bossed tyrannically, but, all
the same, made very happy.
''And what kind of airy castle is
Mrs. Carnenter building for her pei? 2
asked Father John, turning to her.
'sToodlum," she cried, holding her
child upright on her knee, so that she
could look it straight in the eyes
"Toodlum, what kind of castle is mama
building for you? The foundation, you
say. is papa's and mama's love. Then
come love, honor and obedience;
truth and honesty: frankneSS and sim