Part 9
"If I am alive, I will," answered the boy, with a kindled look, which made him appear to her as a messenger from a higher sphere. She watched him a long time, and after some deliberation determined to follow him. Soon, however, she heard a tumult with horrid cries, which made her pause on her way until they had ceased, when she went on again.
In the meantime, Tarcisius, with his thoughts fixed on better things than her inheritance, hastened on, and shortly came into an open space, where boys, just escaped from school, were beginning to play.
"We just want one to make up the game; where shall we get him?" said their leader.
"Capital!" exclaimed another; "here comes Tarcisius, whom I have not seen for an age. He used to be an excellent hand at all sports. Come, Tarcisius," he added, stopping him by seizing his arm, "whither so fast? take a part in our game, that's a good fellow."
"I can't now; I really can't. I am going on business of great importance."
"But you shall," exclaimed the first speaker, a strong and bullying youth, laying hold of him. "I will have no sulking, when I want anything done. So come, join us at once."
"I entreat you," said the poor boy feelingly, "do let me go."
"No such thing," replied the other. "What is that you seem to be carrying so carefully in your bosom? A letter, I suppose; well, it will not addle by being for half an hour out of its nest. Give it to me, and I will put it by safe while we play."
"Never, never," answered the child, looking up towards heaven.
"I _will_ see it," insisted the other rudely; "I will know what is this wonderful secret." And he commenced pulling him roughly about. A crowd of men from the neighborhood soon got round, and all asked eagerly what was the matter. They saw a boy, who, with folded arms, seemed endowed with a supernatural strength, as he resisted every effort of one much bigger and stronger, to make him reveal what he was bearing. Cuffs, pulls, blows, kicks, seemed to have no effect. He bore them all without a murmur, or an attempt to retaliate; but he unflinchingly kept his purpose.
"What is it? what can it be?" one began to ask the other; when Fulvius chanced to pass by, and joined the circle round the combatants. He at once recognized Tarcisius, having seen him at the Ordination; and being asked, as a better-dressed man, the same question, he replied contemptuously, as he turned on his heel, "What is it? Why, only a Christian, bearing the Mysteries."
This was enough. Heathen curiosity, to see the Mysteries of the Christians revealed, and to insult them, was aroused, and a general demand was made to Tarcisius to yield up his charge. "Never with life," was his only reply. A heavy blow from a smith's fist nearly stunned him, while the blood flowed from the wound. Another and another followed, till, covered with bruises, but with his arms crossed fast upon his breast, he fell heavily on the ground. The mob closed upon him, and were just seizing, him to tear open his thrice-holy trust, when they felt themselves pushed aside right and left by some giant strength. Some went reeling to the further side of the square, others were spun round and round, they knew not how, till they fell where they were, and the rest retired before a tall athletic officer, who was the author of this overthrow. He had no sooner cleared the ground than he was on his knees, and with tears in his eyes raised up the bruised and fainting boy as tenderly as a mother could have done, and in most gentle tones asked him, "Are you much hurt, Tarcisius?"
"Never mind me, Quadratus," answered he, opening his eyes with a smile; "but I am carrying the Divine Mysteries; take care of them."
The soldier raised the boy in his arms with tenfold reverence, as if bearing, not only the sweet victim of a youthful sacrifice, a martyr's relics, but the very King and Lord of Martyrs, and the divine Victim of eternal salvation. The child's head leaned in confidence on the stout soldier's neck, but his arms and hands never left their watchful custody of the confided gift; and his gallant bearer felt no weight in the hallowed double burden which he carried. No one stopped him, till a lady met him and stared amazedly at him. She drew nearer, and looked closer at what he carried. "Is it possible?" she exclaimed with terror, "is that Tarcisius, whom I met a few moments ago, so fair and lovely?"
"Madam," replied Quadratus, "they have murdered him because he was a Christian."
The lady looked for an instant on the child's countenance. He opened his eyes upon her, smiled, and expired. From that look came the light of faith--she hastened to be a Christian.
The venerable Dionysius could hardly see for weeping, as he removed the child's hands, and took from his bosom, unviolated, the Holy of Holies; and he thought he looked more like an angel now, sleeping the martyr's slumber, than he did when living scarcely an hour before. Quadratus himself bore him to the cemetery of Callistus, where he was buried amidst the admiration of older believers; and later a holy Pope composed for him an epitaph, which no one can read without concluding that the belief in the real presence of Our Lord's Body in the Blessed Eucharist was the same then as now:
"Christ's secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne, The mob profanely bade him to display; He rather gave his own limbs to be torn, Than Christ's Body to mad dogs betray."
_Cardinal Wiseman._
From "Fabiola; or, The Church of the Catacombs."
ADDLE, to become rotten, as eggs.
TUNIC, a loose garment, reaching to the knees, and confined at the waist by a girdle.
SUPERNATURAL, = prefix _super_, meaning _above_ or _beyond,_ + _natural_.
-ION, a suffix denoting _act, state, condition of_. Define _emotion, objection, dejection, conversion, submission, construction, admiration, persecution, observation, revolution, deliberation._
Write a letter to a friend who has sent you a copy of "Fabiola." Tell him how much you like the book, what you have read in it, and thank him for sending it.
Make a list of the characters in the story of Tarcisius, and tell what you like or dislike in each.
Memory Gems:
The boy, with proud, yet tear-dimmed eyes, Kept murmuring under breath: "Before temptation--sacrifice! Before dishonor--death!"
_Margaret J. Preston._
Dare to do right! Dare to be true! Other men's failures can never save you; Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith; Stand like a hero, and battle till death.
_George L. Taylor._
Heroes of old! I humbly lay The laurel on your graves again; Whatever men have done, men may-- The deeds you wrought are not in vain.
_Austin Dobson._
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_61_
a jar' chal' ice a thwart' rap' tur ous sward ter' race jew' eled ci bo' ri um por' tal vil' lain au da' cious sac ri le' gious
LEGEND OF THE WAXEN CIBORIUM.
A summer night in Remy--strokes of the midnight bell, Like drops of molten silver, athwart the silence fell, Where 'mid the misty meadows, the circling crystal streams, A little village slumber'd,--locked in quiet dreams.
A lily, green-embower'd, beside a mossy wood, With golden cross uplifted, the small white chapel stood, But in that solemn hour, the light of moon and star Upon its portal shining, revealed the door ajar!
And lo! into the midnight, with noiseless feet, there ran From out the sacred shadows, a mask'd and muffl'd man, Who bore beneath his mantle, with sacrilegious hold, The Victim of the altar within Its vase of gold!
To right--to left,--he faltered; then swift across the sward, (Like dusky demon fleeing), he bore the Hidden Lord; By mere and moonlit meadow his rapid passage sped, Till, at an open wicket, he paused with bended head.
Behold! a grassy terrace,--a garden, wide and fair, And, 'mid the wealth of roses, a beehive nestling there. Across the flow'ring trellis, the villain cast his cloak, Upon the jeweled chalice, the moonbeams, sparkling, broke!
O sacrilegious fingers! your work was quickly done! Within the hive (audacious!) he thrust the Holy One, Then gath'ring up his mantle to hide the treasure bright-- Plunged back into the darkness, and vanish'd in the night.
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Forth in the summer morning, full of the sun and breeze, Into his dewy garden, walks the master of the bees. All silent stands the beehive,--no little buzzing things Among the flowers, flutter, on brown and golden wings.
Untasted lies the honey within the roses' hearts,-- The master paces nearer,--he listens--lo! he starts, What sounds of rapturous singing! O heaven! all alive With strange angelic music, is that celestial hive!
Upon his knees adoring, the master, weeping, sees Within a honeyed cloister, the Chalice of the bees; For lo! the little creatures have reared a waxen shrine, Wherein reposes safely the Sacred Host Divine!...
O little ones, who listen unto this legend old (Upon my shoulder blending your locks of brown and gold), From out the hands of sinners whose hearts are foul to see, Behold! the dear Lord Jesus appeals to you and me.
He says: "O loving children! within your hearts prepare A hive of honeyed sweetness where I may nestle fair; Make haste, O pure affections! to welcome Me therein, Out of the world's bright gardens, out of the groves of Sin.
"And in the night of sorrow (sweet sorrow), like the bees, Around My Heart shall hover your wingèd ministries, And while ye toil, the angels shall, softly singing come To worship Me, the Captive of Love's Ciborium!"
_Eleanor C. Donnelly._
From "The Children of the Golden Sheaf." Published by P.C. Donnelly.
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MERE, a waste place; a marsh.
TRELLIS, a frame of latticework.
WAXEN, made of wax. _en_ is here a suffix meaning _made of._ Use _golden, leaden, wooden,_ in sentences of your own.
Synonyms are words which have very nearly the same meaning. What does _revealed_ mean? _cloister_? Find as many synonyms of these two words as you can. Consult your dictionary.
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_62_
stalked ep'au lets be hind' hand se date' trudg' ing com pos' ed ly fid' dler strut' ted ap pro ba' tion re sumed' af firmed' dis a gree' a ble whith er so ev' er
LITTLE DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY.
Daffy-down-dilly was so called because in his nature he resembled a flower, and loved to do only what was beautiful and agreeable, and took no delight in labor of any kind. But, while Daffy-down-dilly was yet a little boy, his mother sent him away from his pleasant home, and put him under the care of a very strict schoolmaster, who went by the name of Mr. Toil. Those who knew him best, affirmed that this Mr. Toil was a very worthy character, and that he had done more good, both to children and grown people, than anybody else in the world. Nevertheless, Mr. Toil had a severe countenance; his voice, too, was harsh; and all his ways seemed very disagreeable to our friend Daffy-down-dilly.
The whole day long, this terrible old schoolmaster sat at his desk, overlooking the pupils, or stalked about the room with a certain awful birch rod in his hand. Now came a rap over the shoulders of a boy whom Mr. Toil had caught at play; now he punished a whole class who were behindhand with their lessons; and, in short, unless a lad chose to attend constantly to his book, he had no chance of enjoying a quiet moment in the schoolroom of Mr. Toil.
"I can't bear it any longer," said Daffy-down-dilly to himself, when he had been at school about a week. "I'll run away, and try to find my dear mother; at any rate, I shall never find anybody half so disagreeable as this old Mr. Toil." So, the very next morning, off started poor Daffy-down-dilly, and began his rambles about the world, with only some bread and cheese for his breakfast, and very little pocket money to pay his expenses. But he had gone only a short distance, when he overtook a man of grave and sedate appearance, who was trudging along the road at a moderate pace.
"Good-morning, my fine little lad," said the stranger; "whence do you come so early, and whither are you going?" Daffy-down-dilly hesitated a moment or two, but finally confessed that he had run away from school, on account of his great dislike to Mr. Toil; and that he was resolved to find some place in the world where he should never see nor hear of the old schoolmaster again. "Very well, my little friend," answered the stranger, "we will go together; for I, also, have had a great deal to do with Mr. Toil, and should be glad to find some place where his name was never heard."
They had not gone far, when they passed a field where some haymakers were at work, mowing down the tall grass, and spreading it out in the sun to dry. Daffy-down-dilly was delighted with the sweet smell of the new-mown grass, and thought how much pleasanter it must be to make hay in the sunshine, under the blue sky, and with the birds singing sweetly in the neighboring trees and bushes, than to be shut up in a dismal schoolroom, learning lessons all day long, and continually scolded by Mr. Toil.
But, in the midst of these thoughts, while he was stopping to peep over the stone wall, he started back, caught hold of his companion's hand, and cried, "Quick, quick! Let us run away, or he will catch us!"
"Who will catch us?" asked the stranger.
"Mr. Toil, the old schoolmaster!" answered Daffy-down-dilly. "Don't you see him among the haymakers?"
"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "This is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who was bred a farmer; and people say he is the more disagreeable man of the two. However, he won't trouble you, unless you become a laborer on the farm."
They went on a little farther, and soon heard the sound of a drum and fife. Daffy-down-dilly besought his companion to hurry forward, that they might not miss seeing the soldiers.
"Quick step! Forward march!" shouted a gruff voice.
Little Daffy-down-dilly started in great dismay; and, turning his eyes to the captain of the company, what should he see but the very image of old Mr. Toil himself, with a smart cap and feather on his head, a pair of gold epaulets on his shoulders, a laced coat on his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword, instead of a birch rod, in his hand! Though he held his head high and strutted like a rooster, still he looked quite as ugly and disagreeable as when he was hearing lessons in the schoolroom.
"This is certainly old Mr. Toil," said Daffy-down-dilly, in a trembling voice. "Let us run away, for fear he will make us enlist in his company!"
"You are mistaken again, my little friend," replied the stranger, very composedly. "This is not Mr. Toil, the schoolmaster, but a brother of his, who has served in the army all his life. People say he's a very severe fellow, but you and I need not be afraid of him."
"Well, well," said Daffy-down-dilly, "but, if you please, sir, I don't want to see the soldiers any more."
So the child and the stranger resumed their journey; and, by and by, they came to a house by the roadside, where some people were making merry. Young men and rosy-cheeked girls, with smiles on their faces, were dancing to the sound of a fiddle.
"Let us stop here," cried Daffy-down-dilly to his companion; "for Mr. Toil will never dare to show his face where there is a fiddler, and where people are dancing and making merry. We shall be quite safe here."
But these last words died away upon Daffy-down-dilly's tongue, for, happening to cast his eyes on the fiddler, whom should he behold again, but the likeness of Mr. Toil, holding a fiddle bow instead of a birch rod.
"Oh, dear!" whispered he, turning pale, "it seems as if there was nobody but Mr. Toil in the world. Who could have thought of his playing on a fiddle!"
"This is not your old schoolmaster," said the stranger, "but another brother of his, who was bred in France, where he learned the profession of a fiddler. He is ashamed of his family, and generally calls himself Mr. Pleasure; but his real name is Toil, and those who have known him best, think him still more disagreeable than his brother."
"Pray let us go a little farther," said Daffy-down-dilly. "I don't like the looks of this fiddler."
Thus the stranger and little Daffy-down-dilly went wandering along the highway, and in shady lanes, and through pleasant villages; and, whithersoever they went, behold! there was the image of old Mr. Toil.
He stood like a scarecrow in the cornfields. If they entered a house, he sat in the parlor; if they peeped into the kitchen, he was there. He made himself at home in every cottage, and, under one disguise or another, stole into the most splendid mansions.
"Oh, take me back!--take me back!" said poor little Daffy-down-dilly, bursting into tears. "If there is nothing but Toil all the world over, I may just as well go back to the schoolhouse."
"Yonder it is,--there is the schoolhouse!" said the stranger; for, though he and little Daffy-down-dilly had taken a great many steps, they had traveled in a circle, instead of a straight line. "Come; we will go back to school together."
There was something in his companion's voice that little Daffy-down-dilly now remembered; and it is strange that he had not remembered it sooner. Looking up into his face, behold! there again was the likeness of old Mr. Toil; so the poor child had been in company with Toil all day, even while he was doing his best to run away from him.
When Daffy-down-dilly became better acquainted with Mr. Toil, he began to think that his ways were not so very disagreeable, and that the old schoolmaster's smile of approbation made his face almost as pleasant as the face of his own dear mother.
_Nathaniel Hawthorne._
"Little Daffy-down-dilly and Other Stories." Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers.
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How will the following sentences read if you change the name-words from the singular to the plural form: The old schoolmaster has a rod in his hand. The boy likes his teacher. The girl goes cheerfully on an errand for her mother. The pupil attends to his book, and knows his lesson perfectly. Under the blue sky, and while the bird was singing sweetly in tree and bush, the farmer was making hay in his meadow. The man won't trouble him unless he becomes a laborer on his farm. The captain had a smart cap and feather on his head, a laced coat on his back, a purple sash round his waist, and a long sword instead of a birch rod in his hand.
From points furnished by your teacher, write a short composition on "Our School." Be careful as to spelling, capitals, punctuation, paragraphs, margin, penmanship, neatness and general appearance.
Memory Gems:
Evil is wrought by want of thought, As well as want of heart.
_Hood._
It is not where you are, but what you are, that determines your happiness.
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_63_
su' macs char' coal of fi' cial fres' coes in i' tial rest' less ly
IN SCHOOL DAYS
Still sits the schoolhouse by the road, A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumacs grow And blackberry vines are running.
Within, the master's desk is seen, Deep scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, The jackknife's carved initial;
The charcoal frescoes on its wall; Its door's worn sill, betraying The feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing!
Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves' icy fretting.
It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving.
For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled; His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled.
Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered; As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered.
He saw her lift her eyes; he felt The soft hand's light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice, As if a fault confessing:
"I'm sorry that I spelt the word; I hate to go above you, Because,"--the brown eyes lower fell,-- "Because, you see, I love you!"
Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing!
He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her,--because they love him.
_Whittier._
From "Child Life in Poetry." Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers.
[Illustration: _John G. Whittier._]
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_64_
Mars so' lar (ler) Ve' nus plan' ets Mer' cu ry di am' e ter com' pass es sat' el lite tel' e scope grad' u al ly in' ter est ing cir cum' fer ence
THE SUN'S FAMILY
"Please tell me a story, Frank" said Philip, as the two boys sat in the shade of a large tree.
"I have heard and read many wonderful stories. I will try to recall one," said Frank.
"Let me see. Well--perhaps--I think that the most wonderful story I have ever read is that of the solar system, or the sun's family."
"Solar system!" repeated Philip. "That certainly sounds hard enough to puzzle even a fairy. Please tell me all about it."
"That I should find much too hard" answered Frank. "But I'll try to tell you what little I know. You see the sun there, don't you--the great shining sun? Do you think the sun moves?"
"Of course it moves," said Philip. "I always see it in the morning when I am in the garden. It rises first above the bushes, then over the trees and houses; by evening it has traveled across the sky, when it sinks below the houses and trees, out of sight on the other side of the town."
"Now that is quite a mistake," said Frank, "You think that the sun is traveling all that way along the sky, whereas it is really we--we on this big ball of earth--who are moving. We are whirling around on the outer surface, rushing on at the rate--let me think--at the rate of more than one thousand miles a minute!"
"Frank, what do you mean?" cried Philip.
"I mean that the earth is moving many times faster than a ball moves when shot from the mouth of a cannon!"
"Do you expect me to believe that, Frank! I can hardly believe that this big, solid earth moves at all; but to think of it with all the cities, towns, and people whirling round and round faster than a ball from the mouth of a cannon, while we never feel that it stirs one inch,--this is much harder to believe than all that the fairies have ever told us."
"Yes, but it is quite true for all that," replied Frank.