The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1919-12-27


AL COMFORTS, HIS ALL GOES
TO THE POOR-ONE OF BEST
READ PRIESTS IN AMERICA.
In last Sundays st. Paul Daily
News Miss Frances G. Boardman had
the following feature story of Rev
Martin Mahony, pastor of st. Peters
Church at Mendoza Mimi:
Mendoza in Winter.
The December dusk was gently fold
ing down over the lovely valley of the
Minnesota river.
The curiosity soft blue, which takes
the place Of darkness in these North
ern winter nights, was gradually blot
ting out the rose of the western sky,
against which stood the silhouet of the
Church of st. Peter, which, for many
years, has been a patient sentinel on
the edge of one of the highest bluffs at
the confluence of the Minnesota and
Mississippi rivers, at Mendoza.
All around the snow lay, soft and
white and dry like powder. It had
been MINDLESS day, clear, cold and
beautiful, and the drifts suggested not
so much the chill of midwinter as a
warm, friendly covering for the earth.
Against the white the trees stood
in sharp outline, casting deep shadows
of purple and blue.
He paused midway on the long,
hoI hn1e
stairway-which leads from the lower
levels of the little village to the
church; a tall, slender, erect figure,
seemingly Indifferent to the fact that
he was facing zero weather with the
protection of neither overcoat nor
gloves.
And, having pointed his departing
guest to the path which led to the
station, he bowed with Old-World
grace.
"'Au 'voir,' as we French put it, he
said smiling. "Je suis charmee de
faire votre conndissance. And-if
there should come a. Sunday with a
few spare hours, it would give me
great pleasure if you were to spend
them here. 'Au 'voir.'
And he made his way back to the
little house near the head of the stairs,
house from one of whose windows
shone the Pickering light of single
oil lamp.
Father Mahony.
For this was Father Martin Mahony,
pastor of ST. Peters these many
years, and as truly beloved a man as
you might find in all of Minnesota;
maybe in all the world
They tell you countless stories about
him, the people who know him; they
recount innumerable eccentricities,
and repeat odd little anecdotes. But
they agree with one voice that he is
of 'the pure in heart" who perhaps
"see Cod in this world, without wait
ing until they go beyond.
Now there are three things-besides
his name-which mark the good priest
for the Irishman that he is: his voice,
with that inimitable blurred softness
that belongs only to the Celt; his
imitable blend of academic structure,
forceful idiom, and rich brogue; and
his love of a fast horse, and every
thing that pertains to horsemanship.
More of that later.
You may read in his face that he
is an ascetic-that he literally exem-
plifies the program of high thinking
and plain living which SO many people
love to talk about and are so desper-
ately loath to practice. His white
hair is just long enough to suggest
a patriarchal picture and his manner
is of the sort which bespeaks complete
dignity, entirely without sense OF
self-importance. And to converse with
him for five minutes is to understand
that most material considerations-ex
cepting always, as they touch the vel
fare of other people-are to him en-
tirely noneXistent.
The Rectory
It's a fairly good-sized house, the
rectory of st. Peters, and separated
from the church by a row of trees
plduISu ny dlIlGI MduUHy ulIllotl
some 25 years ago, when he was the
new incumbent" But he makes one
apartment serve all the purposes O.
office, study, reception room and din
ing room.
1t is entered at the right of the lit
tie passageway, and the first-time Wis
itor is bit bewifdered on getting hi
initial glimpse of it.
A dull oilcloth covering on the floor
dlngy wall paper; a coal stove kerc
sene lamp or two, a sideboard who's
top is crowded with half-flled tunl
blers, bottles of various sorts, and 9th
er containers; an old-fashioned higl
desk, at whose back are pigeonhole
jammed full of innumerable newspa
per clippings; piles of papers, maga
zines and books everywhere-such ar
the main furnishings of the room.
Crosses of palm leaves, fastened t
the wall above the sideboard and owe
one. of the doorways, are the only Wis
ible signs that this is an ecclesiastica
residence.
Does it sound forlorn and a bi
squalid? Tt doesn't seem so when tn