Saint Patrick | Page 6

and had
succeeded so far as to get an outline of the saint's life, and to find
mention of several works which treated of this topic. There were
Montalembert's "Monks of the West," and Dr. O'Donovan's "Annals of
the Four Masters," the works of Monseigneur Moran and Father Colgan,
the Tripartite Life, and a certain "magnificent quarto" by Miss Cusack.
All these and many more he had hoped to find in the different libraries
of the city. But great had been his surprise, on visiting the libraries, to
find that the books he wanted were invariably out. It was a little
startling, at first, to come upon this footprint in the sand; but a little
reflection set the feeling at rest. The subject was an odd one to him, to
be sure, but there were thousands of people in the city who might very
naturally be concerned in it, particularly at this time, when Saint

Patrick's Day was approaching. None the less the fact remained that the
books he wanted--scattered through two or three libraries--were always
out.
As he stepped out from the Free Library into the street, it occurred to
him to go to a Catholic bookstore near at hand to look for what he
wanted.
It was a large, showy shop, with Virgins and crucifixes and altar
candelabra's in the windows, and pictures of bleeding hearts. He went
in and stood at the counter. A rosy-faced servant-girl, with a shy,
pleased expression, was making choice of a rosary. A young priest, a
few steps away, was looking at an image of Saint Joseph.
The salesman left the servant-girl to her hesitating choice, and turned to
Mr. Martin.
"What have you," asked Mr. Martin, with a slightly conscious tone,
"upon the life of Saint Patrick?"
The priest turned and looked; but the salesman, with an unmoved
countenance, went to the shelves and selected two volumes and laid
them in silence on the counter. One was the "Life and Legends of Saint
Patrick" with a picture in gilt of Brian Boru on the cover. The other was
"Saint Patrick, the Apostle of Ireland," by William Bullen Morris,
Priest of the Oratory. They were both green-covered.
Early in the evening Mr. Martin settled down by his study fire to his
new purchases. First he took up the "Life and Legends." He read the
saint's own Confession, and the Letter to Co-roticus, and looked
through the translation of the Tripartite Life, with its queer mixture of
Latin and English: "Prima feria venit Patricius ad Talleriam, where the
regal assembly was, to Cairpre, the son of Niall." "Interrogat autem
Patricius qua causa venit Conall, and Conall related the reason to
Patrick."
He glanced over the miracles and wonders of which this book was full.
But before very long he laid it aside and took up the Life by William

Bullen Morris, Priest of the Oratory, and decided that he must depend
upon that for his preparation.
It was late at night. It was full time to stop reading; but it laid strong
hold of his imagination,--this strange, intense, and humorous figure,
looming up all new to him from the mists of the past. He read the book
to the end; he read how the good Saint Bridget foretold the apostle's
death; how two provinces contended for his remains, and how a light
shone over his burial-place after he was laid to rest.
It was very late when Mr. Martin finished the book and laid it down.
Thus it happens that the Rev. Dr. Parsons and the Rev. Mr. Martin are
both preparing themselves at the same time on the life of Saint Patrick,
from this one brief book by William Bullen Morris, Priest of the
Oratory.

IV.
Saint Patrick's Day has come and is now fast waning. The sun has sunk
behind the chimney-stack of the New Albion dance-hall; the street
lamps are lighted and are faintly contending against the dull glow of the
late afternoon.
There is a lull between day and evening. All day there has been a stir in
the city. There has been a procession in green sashes, with harps on the
banners,--a long procession, in barouches, on horseback, and afoot.
There have been impassioned addresses before the Hibernian Society
and the Saint Peter's Young Men's Irish Catholic Benevolent
Association. There has been more or less celebration in Ship Street.
The evening advances. It is seven o'clock. Strains of invitation issue
from all the dance-halls. Already the people have begun to file in to the
Day-Star Mission. The audience-room is on the street floor. The
missionary stands at the open door, with anxious smiles, urging
decorum. A knot of idlers on each side of the doorway, on the sidewalk,
comment freely on him and on those who enter. Every moment