“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.
* * * *
*
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
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.
