The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1918-10-05

me many messages of thanks, many
messages of good will, and the prayer
that l would not forget my promised
visit. to the convent.
Twelve months passed or more, and
l suddenly became aware that l was
no longer having CARTOONS, for dinner.
And then, why, of course, that monthly
lire was no longer figuring in my &C
counts, and it must now be quite a
long while since received a new
santino (holy picture). Could the
humble friar be offended because l
had never paid my visit? That was
impossible in one who had so per-
fectly nodded his soul to ancient
Christian models. Nature in him must
have done with her resentments.
Could he be ill, then? / ordered
around Beniamino, my cabman, at
once, and drove off to the convent,
twelve miles along, the hot, white,
dusty coastroad.
The convent was no convent, but
the poorest kind of house; the
church beside it was barer than any
conventicle. / knocked at the door.
1t was opened by the cheeriest of lay
brothers. His face beamed like the
sun at morning, and his eyes twinkled
upon me as if my presence had given
him the one pleasure in life most Of
all desired.
rs Fra Pacifico in?" asked.
Then that beaming face all Of a
sudden grew woefully chopfallen;
those twinkling eyes started with
tears, and at my heart there came
sore pang.. He need not have spoken.
Alas! he is dead, dear signore.
He died close upon two months ago.
We are all distracted and suffer the
sorest priyations. He was such an
excellent beggar was our dear
brother, we wanted for nothing. But
he never wrote down anything. We do
not know who his friends we're in the
big city. l, who am his unworthy
successor, do not know whom to go
to, and have no success. We are like
to die of hunger, and our only hope
is in God Almighty, and our holy
Father ST. Francis"
Il was one of his friends I an
swered; IAN altogether unworthy one.
Come to me when you come into the
city, and will double my aims for the
sake of his dear memory. Is he buried
here" I continued. over yonder,
signore, " replied the lay-brother, in
dicating tiny campo santo not
quarter of a mile distant. His mute,
astonished look seemed to ask if it
could be possible that l, signore,
really wished to see the grave of a
lay-brother of st. Francis? But l did
not tell him, and bidding him adieu,
begged him to call upon me regularly
when he came over to the big city"
| found the grave or myself,
mound of earth with grass newly
grown upon it, and at the head of it
wooden cross pometty, bearing this
inscription:
Here lies, in Our Lords embrace.
Pacifico, a lay-brother in the Order Of
the Obseryantines, known in the world
as Raymund of the noble house of
the Cianciani of Arezzo, He lived a
holy life of sixty-two years and died a.
holy death, March 10, 1897
At the head of the grave, too, there
was something more, something which
had no business to be there-a clump
of nettles. plucked them up. And
then I sat down upon the mound and
well, the cold world cares not to
know and would not comprehend.
Dear Fra Pacifco, friend Of an
hour and memory Of lifetime God
| | lhlay have thee in His keeping through all
eternity iiE1 ai 81 al
M4 Isl, A2fkh0pr M y. 49, IA