The sacrifice, a true story

Foreword

Many of us to-day are just beginning the journey of active life.

The book of life lies unopened before us. Its covers are illuminated by the pictures of fancy, and its edges are brilliant with the golden tints of hope. Vainly we strive to loosen this wondrous clasp : Tis a task which none but the hand of Time can accomplish.

Our greatest aim in life is happiness. In one form or another we are all striving for it, but, unfortunately, there is a tendency to acquire happiness as easily as possible. The end proposed is good, but too often the means employed are of doubtful utility.

THE AUTHOR.

Many lose their balance of mind and become wrecks because they are in want of heart culture. Is the head of more importance than the heart ? Such, then, is the outline of the great problem, “Happiness.”

ILLUSTRATIONS.

“God, have mercy on me ” . . . Frontispiece

“De good Lord says when youse rite, step

on” page 26

The joy of life translated into silk and

lace . . . page 108

Too young to understand .... page 158 Innocence and Charity .... page 210

A TRUE STORY.

How beautiful is youth ! How bright it gleams,

With its illusions, aspirations, dreams !

Book of beginnings, story without end.

(Longfellow.

At twilight, the sovereign of one peaceful hour, ‘Tennui du soir” ; when the birds, exhausted in their periodical flights, have repaired to places of safety, and warble lamentingly, as the shades of night close upon them. It was then, near a gurgling brook, midst ferns and violets, the fragrance of which perfumed the air, enhanced by the freshness of vegetation, that a lad, scarcely past his sixteenth summer, sat in deep solitude, in heavenly, pensive contemplation. Whatever interested him became the subject of long and serious thought. Meditation was his soul's inspiration. He had learned to think and had within him an element of safety found nowhere else. The distant tinkling of the bells of the sheep, as they bleated among the daisies on yonder hill, lingered in his ears, making his meditation more intent and sublime. He held in his hands a volume of poetical quotations. He loved this book, because, in it, he found friends who knew, friends who were counseling him. It was in these silent studies that he weighed so deeply and conscientiously the great maxim of wisdom of Shakespeare :

“To thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

Though young in years, this lad had the mind of a sage, “esprit naturel,” and in these day dreams the young enthusiast learned to invest with visible forms the creations of his own fancy.

He elevated his eyes and peered at the little hut sitting among the willows. How poor and lonely it appeared. Tradition had it, that, once upon a time, this haunted hut served as a rendezvous for a band of robbers and muderers. Later, however, the assassinators were apprehended and hanged to the sycamore tree which stood by the gate. Consequently the hut was dreaded and evaded by everyone. So strong was the horror that no one cared to occupy it, and, eventually, it was offered to any one who would accept it. The poor but courageous farmer, James Ferry, became the owner. All of this Lewis knew well, because the boys in the village took a special delight in reminding him of it, with sneers and mockery.

But, thought he, adversity is the touchstone of character. There beats not a heart but has felt the force of affliction. No creature could be more unhappy than a man who had never known affliction and sorrow. How can we exercise the grace of contentment if all things succeed well?

The assurance that, in this humble home, reigned a queen among women, eased his panting heart. In this home, void of grandeur and luxury, was the center of purest affection, where every good principle was fostered and sustained. True it is that around the home circle cluster the happiest and, sometimes, the saddest of recollections of youth. Memories, both bitter and sweet, linger in the chambers of the mind long after those of the busy years of maturity have faded away before the approach of age.

He knew that his humble home was dedicated to love and truth, to all that was tender in feeling and noble and pure in thought, although it was not invested with elegance of upholstery or draperies.

His loving mother, the true worth of womanhood, was striving to attain something for the honor and elevation of her son. She was a woman of true intelligence, and endeavored to inculcate in the mind of her son the real meaning of life, and firmly impress him with the true meaning of the saying, “Mine honor is my life ; both grow in one.”

The summit of his ambition was to go out into the wonderful world — to encourage the weak and suffering — to help others to know themselves. He felt assured that nothing was nobler in the employment of men than to make others happy; to be generous and forgiving to human frailty. Oh! how grand this would be! He had the compassionate disposition which inclines men to pity and to feel the misfortunes of others as his own. It is, of all dispositions, the most amiable, and, though it may not receive much honor, is worthy of the highest.

His father had died when he was but a child, leaving them destitute. He had a faint recollection of him, before the hand of death had taken him away. His poor, courageous mother toiled incessantly, day after day, in order to drive starvation from their door. No one knew the battle that she fought. No one offered her assistance. Only God, in His infinite mercy, sent the Angel of Consolation to comfort them in the hours of need and distress, assuring them that poverty is no disgrace, and He Who is Master Supreme sends the most suffering to those He loves best.

It is to remind us of the virtue of obedience; a virtue so dear to our Saviour, that He practiced it until death. He felt such excruciating tortures ; and did he utter the slightest complaint?

Lewis understood it all. It is one of the mysteries of our life that the noblest gift of God to man is nourished by poverty. No, not in the brilliant salon, furnished with every comfort and elegance; not in the library, fitted and looking out upon a smoothly green lawn and a broad expanse of scenery. But most frequently in adversity and destitution. Poverty is one of the best tests of human quality. A triumph over it is like graduating with honor from some great university. It is a certificate of worthy labor, faithfully performed.

Suddenly the musings of this virtuous youth were broken by the voice of his mother. He instantly rose, strode down the path that led to the stile under the tall elm tree, in the boughs of which sang a mocking bird, using its best crescendo notes.

“Come, my son, and partake of the supper I prepared so hurriedly. See how tempting are these sweet potatoes. I cooked them in the ashes. But now, touch them not,” said she, laughingly, “until you have told me what you are thinking about.” Taking two potatoes she placed them on his tin plate unnoticed.

His head drooped “a Tabandon.” His lips quivered, his mind was vivid with the thoughts he had entertained while in the flowery dell.

“My dear son,” looking at him anxiously, “you are sad; you eat sparingly. Come, tell me what your fancies are.” Pausing, she repeated her plea. “You are too young to indulge in the seriousness of life. Why do you ponder so? Tell me all, my son, and feel sure that mother will help and enlighten you. Tell me, my boy, what is preying on your mind ?”

His heart was full, and he could not speak. He felt choked, and words failed him.

She clasped his hand in hers and said affectionately: “Come, sit here beside me and let your heart be open to mother. ‘Elle seule vous abandonnera jamais.”

He obeyed, placing his arms around her and uttered, half cryingly : “My dear mother, forgive me if I pain you with what I have to say. You — have been so loving and kind to me — .” His voice grew faint and weak. “I — have — concluded — that it — is well-nigh time that I try to better our condition. We are utterly miserable, mother. Our neighbors shun us. No one seems to care for us. The time has come — I can resist no longer. Mother, I wish to go out into this great world and make myself worthy cf the esteem of all. Yes,” elevating his voice, “things are hard with us. See, what a paltry meal we have. It hurts me — oh ! how cutting it is — to see you work incessantly, and for what? How I crave to help you, dear mother.”

“Stop; let me think,” cried she, chokingly. “The good dwells in the kingdom of duty; the bad sits on the throne of might. To live truly and nobly is to act energetically. Life is a battle to be fought valiantly, inspired by high and honorable resolve. It means also perseverance. When we see how much can be accomplished in any given direction by the man or woman of but average ability who resolutely perseveres in the course of action adopted as a ruling purpose of their lives, we then arrive at a just estimate of the value of perseverance as a factor in success. Listen, my son. I admit that you have spoken the truth. You have shown how necessary it is to be prudent and industrious. I know we are povertystricken. Life is merely a grind to us, but ’tis said ‘Every cloud has a silver lining/ Therefore, let us trust in Him Who knows best — and some day, perhaps, the hand of Providence will direct our course in life to better days ; days upon which we shall look back with hearts all joyful, all peaceful, ‘jour de joie/ ”

She then placed her hands upon his shoulders and said : “Go, and whatever the responsibility may be, bear it patiently and honestly, but,” arousing herself, “you must be prepared before you enter the busy world. You lack neither will nor courage, dearie, but you are not trained, you haven’t the power, you need education. Not the kind that trains the mind and poisons the heart. No, but the one that will convince you that it is absolutely necessary that you remain pure in the sight of your God, as you must be in the sight of man.”

“Mother! mother!” and the tears dimmed his eyes. “You know I can work; maybe I could work for my schooling. Fll work, and study while I rest. Mother, am I right?”

“Yes, my child, and I’ll help you through, with the good will of God.” She sat motionless, and finally, in a hurried voice, said: “Listen; I know a certain monk, who is the Abbot of the Monastery (Charite). I have been told that he is charity itself, and has helped a number of young men secure education. I care not approach any one else, lest I be sent away with sneers.”

“But, mother, we’re not Catholics. Will he be glad to admit me into the Monastery?” (Opening his eyes in fear and astonishment.)

“Anyway, I shall see what he’ll say,” she continued. “I have a presentiment that it will be agreeable to him. I know that we are not Catholics, but if he has a heart, and is humane, he will most certainly extend a helping hand. I know that your disposition will help you through.”

“Yes, mother; in our present circumstances we are dissatisfied. What is more miserable than discontent? Now, mother, what would become of you?

You will be alone! 0! I cannot, no, I must not, leave you alone.”

“Do not fear, dear child, mother will be safe. I’ll get Aunt Lucindy to come and live with me. She and little Pete will be delighted. Come, now, we have made our plans. Eat your potatoes and drink the milk. It is time for you to go to bed. Sleep will refresh you, and to-morrow we shall see about our journey and quest.” She kissed him gently on the brow, led him to his room door, and retired to hers. “La nuit soulage le cceur.”

Lewis, of course, meditated upon what the outcome of it all would be. He could not sleep. He sat near the window, deep in thought. Oh! how he wished for the morrow to come! He could bear to live this life no longer. What a terrible ordeal it was ! Still, in the depths of his heart he felt a regret to leave the old homestead — the place where he was born and reared. Though people called it the haunted hut, the abandoned cabin, he loved it. He looked upon it as a blessing in his life, for it had served to make him appreciate the beauties of life. Would he be satisfied at the Monastery — to live with the monks? He had heard of the terrible life it was. And yet — was he satisfied with his present life? He moved forward, rested his arms upon the windowsill, and bowed his head. He sat there long in silence, trying to solve it all. After a while he raised his eyes toward heaven in a desperate effort to find his answer.

The moon, shining with brilliant luster, cast its rays about the hut. The little brook, with its strange gurgling tones, the insect world, seemed to be in one grand revelry, every noise of Mother Nature resounded in his attentive ears, he was charmed with the tumultuous festivities of night.

0! nocturnal darkness, how resplendent in your pleasing nature ; how you do bring soothing balm to the wounded spirit, and encourage the broken heart ! You ease and help to think — one is free to search his conscience in your presence. What is more restful, more gratifying, than to meditate with you? You contain all requirements of serenity — your skies are adorned with bright and radiant jewels, twinkling always, in significance of light and knowledge of the Savior of mankind. Your coolness and refreshing air bring repose. Who, when overwhelmed with perplexities, tormented with vice, pained with grief, will not find enlightenment, consolation and sympathy in your spiritual and thoughtful instructions? The best of all books is the book of nature, full of variety, interest, novelty and knowledge. The height of the heavens reminds us of the infinite distance between us and our God. Hill and valley, seas and constellations, are but expressions of divine ideas, appealing to the living soul of man. God writes the

Gospel, not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers, in clouds and stars. All, in short, speak of the power of the Author.

Lewis' mother, in her shabby but tidy room, was meditating on the words of God : “Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek and you shall find ; knock and it shall be opened to you." She had confidence that “Whatsoever we shall ask, according to His will. He heareth us."

She closed the Holy Book, buried her face in her hands, with tears streaming down her cheeks. There, in the silence of night, she seemed to hear a supernatural voice whispering : “A wise son maketh a glad father." Memories of her beloved helpmate filled her heart with unspeakable grief. “If he were only here to encourage me ! But the hand of death has clutched him from me, and left me to mourn helplessly."

If we could only bridge the gulf between this world of change and the future world of changeless immortality, undoubtedly, it would be the greatest development lying before the present century.

Chapter Second

“The greatest friendship of Truth is Time. Her greatest enemy is Prejudice. Her constant companion is Humanity.”

“Mis Nellie, Pse dun cum agin; I’se feelin' mity bad to-day — had de misery in ma head de whole nite thru. Please, marm, gib me some ob dat medsin you done gin me yistiday. It revived me quick.”

“Poor Aunt Lucindy, why didn't you come for it last night?”

“De Lawd be kind to you, Mis Nellie. Some day He's gwine bless you, for He knows you is a angel. Where am dat boy Lewis? Yonder he is” (seeing him in the barn). “Poor little man; always workin' like a mule. Now, I'se gw ine fetch dat nigger o’ mine to help dat dere boy feed dem pigs.”

She and her boy, Pete, lived a short distance from the Ferry home. She never failed to make her frequent and informal calls at the little hut. Always complaining of this or that, a habit which had become second nature with her, the poor old soul was t-

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De Good Lord Says When Youse Rite, Step On goodness itself, ever willing to help her white friends. She was a typical African, and it was very amusing to hear her trace her ancestry back to some Congo chief. Though uneducated, she was sensible and quite philanthropical, and was delighted in relating encounters and experiences during the antebellum days.

“It sho makes me feel sort o’ blue when I start a thinkin’ about dem days, ob long ago. Chile, youse neber had trouble; youse neber had to work wid a man rite nex to yer wid a stick as long as a yard, ready to slam you on de back if you dared to stop. But good Lawd bless dat dere Mr. President when he cleared us free niggers. Gee, chile, Fse sho glad, cause my master was sho hard on us. He called us ‘pore black trash.' But I knowed dat he was wrong, and sure as youse born, dat Massa John got so down and out, dat it jist nachally killed him. Fse sorry; yes, de Lawd knows Fse sorry, cause Massa John couldn’t work — he wasn’t trained to it. One day Massa John sed he wus gwine beat the black hide ofen Fred’s back, cause Fred had neber picked no four hundred pounds of cotton dat day, but poor Fred wus sick, and he tole Massa John ’bout it, but Massa John kicked at he and sed: ‘I’ll git ye.’ Fred, he wanted to run off, but I clasped ma hands in prayer and beg Fred to stay right here, and keep his mouf shet ; some day de good Lawd will deliber us. ‘Ebery dog hab his day/ ”

“Aunt Lucindy, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“What am dat, Mis Nellie?” Her mouth opened with astonishment, he arms akimbo.

“I expect to send Lewis to school. He has expressed a desire to receive an education, and I expect to leave to-morrow morning for the Monastery, and in the event that he is accepted I shall consider it a special favor should you consent to come and live with me, as I would be alone.” Words failed her, her voice hushed and she broke down on the steps.

“Lawd, Lawd a’mercy, Mis Nellie, hush dat weepin’. De Lawd says: 'When youse knows youse rite, step on/ An dat’s what I say. Dat boy is a wonder. He's gwine ter git dere some day, sho’s dat dere chicken is got fethers on his back. Now, hush, Mis Nellie,” fondling her. “I know on my sole ob oner, I’se can’t say no to you. I’se gwine cum rite here and take care ob you. Yas, I sho will. Now you take dat dere boy to schoolin’ to de ‘Monstry,’ whateber dat is. Dis here boy ob mine will do de stirrin’ round here. Nigger’s got to work. Dey can’t do nuthin else nohow.”

Aunt Lucindy was excited and pleased to such an extent that she danced for joy.

“Doing good is the only certain happy action in one’s life. If there is a pleasure on earth which angels cannot enjoy, and which they might almost envy man the possession of, it is the power of relieving distress. A large heart of charity is a noble thing. Good deeds double in the doing, and the larger half comes back to the donor.”

In the meantime Lewis had approached his mother, placed his arms around her and said, affectionately : “Mother, don't cry ; if it breaks your heart to see me leave, I would rather stay at home.”

“Now, look here, little man, Mis Nellie's done stuck it into her head to let you go, and I says you'se gwine.”

“Aunt Lucindy, will you take good care of my mother? Promise me you will?”

“Chile ob de Lawd, Aunt Lucindy's gwine keep her vision on dat dere mudder ob yourn, and what's gwine make her happy's gwine gib me joy. Now, youse all qit dat cryin' ; it makes me feel weak at de hart.”

The morning was a glorious one. Everything around the hut seemed to have taken on new life. The fowls had collected around the speakers on the steps, chattering in their own dialect, as if they meant to say: “We will miss you, your kindness, your care.” In reality, everything around the hut would feel lonely without him. How he sympathized with everything ! The flowers, how he admired them for their delicacy and fragrance; the birds, they th?illed him with delight; the trees, they furnished him shade and coolness when he was fatigued and warm. All would feel neglected without his care and admiration.

All in readiness, the journey was begun . The party consisted of Lewis, his mother and Pete. The old barouche was dusted and cleaned thoroughly. Old Tom was hitched, a surprise to him, for he was seldom put into the harness for such travels. As they wheeled along the old country road, all his friends of the fields and woods seemed to bid him a fond farewell. He could see all of his favorite haunts. How often he had been there. How perfectly delightful it was. Yes, he really grieved to leave them all.

The Monastery, “Charite,” worthy of its name, conducted by men who led a life under rules and vows and practiced the counsels of perfection, was located on a bluff overhanging a lake. With large tracts of woodland, the grounds around the edifice were superb beyond description. It was indeed a vast tract of exquisite landscape over which invigorating breezes ever played. A garden of flowers bloomed in profusion. The wide and long avenue of oaks presented a sight long to be remembered. A haven for the birds, a resort for the weary, an ideal institution for young men who wished to live a life of nobility, to secure an education that does not corrupt the mind, but a teaching which convinces that man must die, and some day will have to answer for his actions.

“On the veiy tree, planted by my hand, there grows a thorn that pierces my very heart. Behold, how I bleed! It is a reminder of the weakness and humility of the heart, the beginning, the foundation of all virtue. Christians, of every state in life, will find in Him a pattern of all virtues. He bore all unworthy treatment, not merely with patietnce, but with an unspeakable meekness. He preferred to endure their malice without resistence, but with meekness. ,,

As they were nearing their destination the bells of the cloister pealed out their ringing echoes. It incited Lewis with a longing desire to be there ; each sound that was audible, each step that was made, each glimpse that he had, animated him and brought him nearer and nearer to the place that he knew absolutely nothing about.

His mother was silent, too. She was framing and repeating to herself the little talk that she was to make, “avec courage. ,, They reached the heavy iron gates with big arches entwined with ivy, a symbol of fidelity. The words “Charite,” Deus Miserere Nobis” were sculptured in the arch above the gates.

Lewis' mother peered through the iron bars, and perceived a monk coming toward the gates. A peacock perched on a fountain was proudly strutting, displaying its gay plumage, and, with its mournful cry, announced their coming.

“Good afternoon, my dear friends/' surprisedly uttered the monk. “Anything you wish?”

Lewis, embarassed, stood speechless. The appearance of the grave monk shocked his every nerve. It was the first time that he had ever seen a monk in his religious garb.

His mother spoke pleasantly and pleadingly. “May I see the Abbot?”

“Indeed, lady,” and he unbolted the gates.

How beautiful and enchanting were the environments of this sacred place. The avenue, carpeted with pebbles so white that it made them feel as if they were walking on a snow-covered pathway; its borders of marguerites and daisies, fringed with phlox of every hue, were really very delightful to behold.

It was in the merry month of June, when Mother Nature is at her gayest. The lawns, so green and smooth, of such a vast expanse, presented a beautiful aspect to the eyes. Truly this was an inspiration to an artist.

How anxious he was to know how it all would terminate — whether he would be accepted or ordered out of this lovely place.

“Hope humbly, then with trembling pinions soar.”

They were ushered into the cloister and told to await the Abbot.

Hope, when used with prudence, acts as a health tonic. Human life has not a surer friend. It is the miserable man’s God, which in the hardest trial of calamity never fails to yield him beams of comfort. Also, remember it is the presumptuous man’s devil which leads him a while in a smooth way, and then lets him break his neck on the sudden. But there is a source of consolation to all who rightly seek it.

The doors of the cloister opened noiselessly, and on the threshold stood a man far advanced in his fifties, tall and straight, his hair as white as the kerchief clasped in his hand, which he used habitually to brush his brow when he desired to think; with eyes of one who reads through your very soul, one who knows your failings and weaknesses as well as your good qualities. He bowed and spoke gently; his voice bespoke sympathy and eagerness to assist. “You seek me, I’m informed.” Advancing nearer, taking the hand of Lewis, he pressed it tightly.

“Yes, Abbot, I have come to you, not as a beggar or a charlatan, but as one who wishes to be directed — one who is lost, foresaken, destitute. Abbot, my son and I are not of your denomination, but, in the name of the One who directs our course in life, help us. I have no money, I’m penniless, but whatever I possess otherwise, you may claim, should you see fit to do so. I have come to you with my son, my only child, beseeching your excellence to take him in your charge, that he may receive the proper training. I know not what your estimate of him will be, but I feel confident that he will prove himself worthy of your attention and consideration. He is at the age when all boys make plans and ofttimes are overpowered by their inclinations and fancies. ,,

He smiled pleasingly, cleared his throat and spoke like she imagined a saint would speak. “Allow me to thank and congratulate you, kind lady, for your candor and humiltiy. It is not in my power to resist your honest cause and pleading. ‘He that hath mercy on the poor, lendeth to the Lord.' It is not only to gratify our own feelings that we are to be charitable. God has given us the most precious commands on charity and alms-giving. He threatens with His wrath those who are avaricious and those whose hearts are hardened by their wealth, whilst, at the same time, He promises His most abundant blessings and the full happiness of Heaven to all who are willing to help the poor. In the name of God on high, I shall take unto my care your son, exercise the best of my understanding to make him follow the path of rectitude. With his good will I feel justified in saying that he will never regret being with us.”

“Now Abbot, as I have stated before, I can offer you no money, but I live on a little farm, and, whenever it is possible, I shall send produce to help pay the expenses that my son will be under. He will work, he is at your disposal. ,,

“Persons seldom improve when they have no model to follow but themselves.”

“Nay, nay, kind lady, you are not required to make sacrifice; all we want is your good will and confidence. If you are too poor to pay for the tuition of your son, worry not about it. Return to your abode, and be assured that we shall be devoted to him.”

After the arrangements were completed and implicitly understood, he opened the door and allowed her to pass out. With his arms around Lewis, he petted him affectionately.

“When a strong brain is weighed with a true heart, it seems like balancing a bubble against a wedge of gold.”

She bade her son a fond good-by. Lewis, in her embrace, wept bitterly, saying: “Mother, you will miss me? Come to me often.”