The Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 to September, 1873: A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and ScienceVarious
Religion
The Catholic World, Vol. 17, April, 1873 to September, 1873: A Monthly Magazine of General Literature and Science
Various
Catholic Church -- Periodicals
A young man dressed in military uniform was kneeling at the foot of a
tree. His hands were clasped and his eyes turned towards heaven; he
seemed absorbed in the contemplation of a mysterious and invisible
object. Two corpses, which were easily recognized as an officer and a
soldier from their uniforms, were lying by his side in the snow. The
officer, an elderly man with gray hair, was lying against a maple; in
his hands was a little book, about to slip out of them. His head was
leaning on his right shoulder, and his face had that ashy hue which too
plainly told that death already claimed him. A bluish circle surrounded
his half-closed eyes, and a last tear stood congealed on his livid
cheek. A placid smile was on his face, indicating that a supreme hope,
which faith alone could inspire, had consoled his last moments.[39]
The noise made by the travellers’ feet in the snow caused the young
man, who was still on his knees, to turn suddenly round. “O father! my
father!” cried he, rushing toward the missionary, “it is Providence who
has sent you here to save me. I was about to share the terrible fate of
my unfortunate companions, when—a prodigy!—a miracle!”—suffocated by
his tears and sobs, he could say no more, but, throwing himself into
the arms of the missionary, he pressed him to his heart.
“Calm yourself, my dear son,” said the old man; “for in your feeble
and exhausted state such violent emotion might prove fatal.” Scarcely
had he finished the words, when he felt the young man’s head sink
heavily on his shoulder, and his body become a dead weight—he had
fainted.
The travellers eagerly bestowed on him every care that his situation
required and that lay in their power. His two friends, alas! were
beyond reach of human succor. The savages dug their graves in the snow,
and the saintly missionary, after reciting some prayers over their
bodies, cut with his knife a large cross in the bark of the maple at
the foot of which they had breathed their last—a simple but sublime
monument of hope and love, destined to guard their earthly remains.
III.—A CANADIAN HOME.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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