temple sways!

His image, with a hideous sound, totters to shaken earth

While cower the groaning priests around, cursing their hour of birth.

And crowding courtiers smitten sore, 'neath stones and timbers lie;

By shattered altars flecked with gore the votaries crouch to die!

Alone, unhurt and dauntless, she, the frailest of them all

She sees her emperor turn to flee and ventures his recall

"Stay, Caesar, stay," the clear voice cries, "thy god so needs thee now,

"When prostrate in the dust he lies where none before him bow.

"Stay Caesar, that thy priests may know whom henceforth to adore.

"Alas, Apollo, stricken low, seems powerless ever

"Hear us, my lord-she doth, not feel nor lash nor rod we wield,

"Her flesh as anvil blunts our steel and men are round who shield"

"Phantoms? ah, nay, imperial Lord, their splendor dims our gaze,

"Their corselets, parrying hook and sword, bristle with glancing rays,"

Sudden doth thunder peals resound and fall the champion band

Prostrate upon the shrinking ground, beneath Martina's hand.

Light is her touch and loving-wise, these pagan soldiers feel

Before the sweet tones bid them rise, as Confessors they kneel!

"Martina's GOD alone is true," they raise ecstatic cry,

And soon withdrawn from mortal view, for Him they bravely die.

Nor yet the Virgin's task is done: for sign and word of hers,

Diana falls-the wondrous one, amongst her worshippers,

And haughty Caesar shrinks to see that lightning bolt hath torn

The purple robe of royalty, by many a Caesar

worn.

Before her glance his lions bend and clumsy reverence make

From myriad throats appeals ascend for her heroic sake.

But she hath scorned his proferred love-hath humbled sore his pride,

Nay, by his fathers' gods above, she yet shall be his bride.

"Let fire be tried”—now leaping high the red flames glare and glow,

When sullen clouds a cloudless sky and chill winds fiercely blow.

They drive the hissing flames aground, they crowd and hurl and speed,

Till hedged her persecutors round so none can help their need;

"Witchcraft" the priests despairing cry, for is it not averred

That in her cell where none are nigh is rarest music heard,

And rarest fragrance freights the air whereon the strains arise

While beautiful beyond compare, she grows to

mortal eyes.

Of all their tortures' grim array, the block alone untried

'Deign, LORD!" they hear the Virgin say, "this day to claim Thy bride!"

And speaks no more, but eagerly bends to the headsman's aim,

While yet her lifeblood trickles free, a VOICE hath called her name:

"Martina! thou hast bravely done, now with My saints arise

"To crown and palm by suffering won! to share My Paradise."

There rose from earth a piteous cry-her murderer's soul had fled

While reverent thousands drawing nigh, invoked the martyr dead;

On soil her virgin form pressed-her virgin blood imbued,

Was CHRIST, the martyr's GOD confessed by all that multitude. MARGARET M. HALVEY.

St. Martina, now Rome's favored patroness, was martyred in the third century, under Severus, who in the early part of his reign which he commenced at the age of sixteen years was, through the good influence of his mother, Julia Mammaea, favorable to the Christians.

War is doubtless a terrible scourge. It not only brings unspeakable misery and misfortune to thou sands of individuals, thousands of families, yea, to whole nations, but it also causes soldiers, particularly those on the field of battle and those in activity in the enemy's country, to commit excesses and outrages which cannot be sufficiently deplored. And yet Divine Providence and Charity knows how to get some good even out of the scourge of war by imbuing the mind

of many a careless young man, when he finds himself again and again face to face with death on the battlefield, with serious thought or by causing him when wounded and suffering on a bed of sickness to take a serious view of his life and lead him from a sinful existence without faith to a faithful christian life. Thus it seems that Divine Providence caused many a French soldier to be led away into captivity only to show him the way to real freedom, the freedom of the faithful children of God. The following stories will prove the truth of our statement: "Returning one day from church," says a military chaplain who served during the

Franco-Prussian war at Ingolstadt, "where I had been to hear the confession of some French captives who wished to fulfill their Easter duty, I was met by a pioneer of war, who approached me timidly with the question, "May I also come to confession?" "Certainly; come to church to-morrow morning at 9 o'clock. You will find plenty of comrades there eager to go to confession, or would you rather come with me now? "But I have never been to confession," replied the French soldier, in great em

barrassment, 'I don't know how to go about it; I cannot even read!' What was to be done in such a case? I made a note of his name and address and the number of his regiment, and said to him: 'Very well, I will see that you receive instructions; for the present I am thankful that you have spoken to me.' On the same day I found a young French seminarian who had been obliged to leave his theological studies and shoulder the gun. As I had no

time myself to instruct the young fellow, this zealous young student was only too happy to teach his poor compatriot, and to prepare him for the Holy Sacraments. The latter's name was Louis Nangot and he was twentyfour years of age. Born in Paris of poor parents, he had early lost his father. The mother sent the boy to school, but little Louis could

not stand it to see his mother in want, and so instead of going to school he hired himself out to a rope maker, where for very small wages he turned a wheel. When Saturday night came he was as happy as a king. He brought home. three francs and hid them in his mother's bureau. her only piece of furniture of any

pretension. When after awhile she discovered this act of childish magnanimity she chided the poor eight-year-old little fellow; she would rather want than let her child grow up without an education. Unfortunately the mother also died soon after. The orphan boy after this learned the trade of a gilder, and having to work Sundays as well as week days grew up in the renowned metropolis of civilization without being able to partake of the treasures of grace of his church. His seven months' captivity in

Ingolstad allowed him to make up for lost time. He studied most diligently, for he desired with his whole heart to be able to be admitted to and partake of the Holy Sacraments of the Church before returning to France. Now or never,' he said; 'once in Paris and I know nothing will come of it all.' At last the long expected day arrived. On the 15th of April, in the chapel of the monastery of Guadenthal, Louis approached the altar at an early morning hour, carrying in one hand the blessed candle richly ornamented with flowers, and in the other hand the prayer-book, Manual of the Christian Soldier, the same in which he had learned to read the necessary prayers. I handed to him the Sacred Host, while the sweet songs of the good sisters filled the chapel like the chanting of an angelic choir."

The same priest tells of another similar experience. "One day the acting physician in the military hospital," he says, "drew my attention to a soldier who was suffering from an abscess on the throat. The discharge from it seemed to be diminishing, but the doctor was afraid the abscess might turn inwardly and cause sudden death. I found in the patient a marine soldier of fine physique and large, luminous eyes. He had no idea of the danger he was in, but to put the affair of his conscience in order I had to appraise him of the seriousness of hís condition. I found him courageous. Without flinching he heard that the doctor was not without. fear as regarded the outcome of his sickness, and soon divined my purpose. 'I would willingly go to confession,' he said, 'but I have never been to confession in my whole life and never received communion. What can I do?' 'My good friend, have you been baptized and are you a Catholic?' am,' he said, and continued: 'I went to school and learned my catechism, but when my fellow pupils made their first confession I was at home sick, and the same way when they received their first communion. Later I entered a business house and never had a chance to hear a sermon or go to mass, but I have always said my prayers and tried to instruct myself by reading religious books. would not mind death if I could only have the happiness of receiving the blessed sacrament before the end comes.' 'Be happy, my friend. Our blessed Lord will grant you that great joy. Prepare yourself to-day with great care and deliberation and when I come again to-morrow you will, under my guidance, make a good confession and I will give you Holy Communion right here in bed.' And it all came to pass beautifully the next morning. The patient had devoutly made the acts of faith, hope, charity and contrition. With deep devotion he then received, one after the other, the holy sacrament of penance, his first and last holy communion and extreme unction. After it was all over he pressed my hand, too deeply touched to give other expression to his thankfulness, and shed tears of inexpressible joy and happiness. But who can say who was

I

the happier of the two, the patient or the priest? Two weeks more our good soldier passed in prayer and serene resignation to the holy will of God, until almost unperceived he passed quietly into eternity. Dubois, which was his name, did not see his family again on this earth, but he sent them the consoling message of the Lord: 'He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath everlasting life; and I will raise him up at the last day.' (St. John vi, 55.)

And now let us tell you, dear readers, of a few remarkable instances of the special grace and deeds of love on the part of Mary, the Holy Mother of God.

There is no love which can be compared with the love of a mother, there is no sweeter word than the word mother, there is no deeper sorrow than the sorrow over the death of a mother, and the flowers bloom on no grave longer than on the grave of a mother. As on earth, so it is in heaven. Here also the man, the Christian, has a mother, the blessed Virgin, who, since we were intrusted to her by the dying Saviour as her children in the person of St. John, has ever felt for us what a mother feels for her children. This love, full of grace on the part of our Mother in Heaven, has been experienced during the campaign of 1870 and 1871 by many a poor soldier who was lying ill and wounded in the military hospitals. To prove the truth of this, let us relate the following story, as told by one of the Catholic army chaplains:

"One evening during that exceptionally severe winter I was on my usual round through the hospital barracks. Finally I sat down on the edge of a bed occupied by a soldier who had carried his knapsack under terrible hardships from the banks of the Rhine to the River Loire, and who had taken a heroic part in twelve battles and bloody encounters. After passing safely in France through the terrible sickness of typhoid fever he had at last reached home, i. e., as convalescent in a military hospital of one of the Bavarian garrison towns. Six others sat around the table near the stove playing cards as if their life depended on it. So we were quite undisturbed and had a pleasant chat, telling each other of our experiences in times of peace and war and our beloved homes on earth as well as in heaven. When it was time for me to leave he seized my hand and I offered the brave soldier a medal."

"'Oh, I have one,' he said, reaching for his pocket book under the pillow and opening it. 'See, this is my medal. My dear mother gave it to me when we left for active service.'

"Why don't you wear it around your neck?' I remarked.

"It is too easily lost from there, and it is worth more to me than any amount of money. I hope never to part with it as long as I live.' "Why, my friend?'

"I wanted to tell you that yesterday, but I did not

ave the courage. When you come again to-morrow must come out with it, though, and with something se, too, that has been heavy on my heart since New ear. Good-night, Father, and please don't fail to ome again to-morrow.'

"About the same hour on the following day I went to see him again. It looked quite cozy in that ospital ward. Supper was over and the cardplayers of the previous day sat around the table enjoying their beer and playing cards for pennies with as much eagerness as if thousands of dollars I took my old position by my were at stake. friend's bedside, as he was not allowed to be up and about. 'Now let us have a chat,' I said, "but above all tell me why you place so much value upon that medal in your pocketbook there. I suppose you think that so long as you carry that medal in your purse you will never want

money;

is it not so?

"Not at all father,' he said; 'that would be silly superstition, let me 'tell you all about it.' He put himself into a comfortable position, and holding the purse in hand, began: 'I

got this medal from my mother, who gave it to me when I left with my regiment to go to the front. I believe it

was on the first of August. When I said good bye to her she said: "I have often spoken to you, but in vain, now you are leaving me, I can do nothing better than to pray to our Blessed Lady to protect you. Even if

you don't think of

your own mother,

my

Lady. It is true I always had a great affection for the Blessed Virgin. One thought of her made me serious when in the most riotous mood; consoled me when I felt sad, and appeased me when I was mad with anger. So it gave me great satisfaction to have the medal of our Blessed Mother in my possession. And now listen! I was in the hottest of the fight at Worth with the first Bavarian division. We had to fight hard to save the day. About 2 or 3 o'clock in the afternoon we made a hurried advance from Langensulzbach toward Worth, when I was struck in the chest by a bullet and fell, stunned, to the ground, while my comrades advanced. When I regained consciousness I did not feel the least pain, to my greatest surprise. I felt

ness and in their hours of member your Mother!'

for my wound. There was a hole through my coat, my vest, my shirt, but only a red spot on my chest; the medal I found in my trousers, torn from its ribbon; the bullet I found in my boot, flattened out like a coin, and on one side of it unmistakably impressed with the image of the Blessed Virgin, surrounded in inverted letters by the words, 'Marie sine labe concepta, intercede pro (Mary, conwithout

nobis'

ceived

sin,

See,

pray for us).
here is the bullet and
here the medal, do they

not fit exactly? This medal has saved my life and how could I, Father, forget the Blessed Mother of our Lord and my own mother, who gave me this wonderful talisman! These things I shall keep with me forever; they shall be heirlooms in my family and recall to my children in their years. of youthful carelessdanger the words, 'Re

two

"You see, Father, I wanted to tell you this long ago. But there is something else. Please come again some day, Father; you see I have confidence in you and would like to make a real good confession. Last Easter I did not get absolution and thought I would not go to confession at all any more. My