MARY ANN O'

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 2, 14 January 1909, Page 43

MARY ANN O'

Tliere was a great deal in common between Sweet Auburn and Oldtown. Indeed, the most marked difference lay in the act that Oldtown was the loveliest village of the hills, where it had nestled two hundred and fifty years or so, when the Oldtown Iron Works were established. Nobody formally named it Oldtown at first : > it grew to it. It" was "originally part of an older town, and when it was set off v and took unto itself a separate corporate existence the king formally called it Oldtown in his "charter. That was years and years ago, when- the king did his colonial business through the medium of charters granted of his mere motion and special grace, and the people were staunch and loyal subjects to his Majesty George the something. They were still loyal Avhen the stamp act was passed, and did not discover, for some time how iniquitous a measure it was, and what a culmination it was' of other hardly less iniquitous laws -under- which they had been living. You see, " laws of all kinds have always fallen very lightly* upon the people of Oldtown; because of the rare occasions on which they discovered how they wer,e oppressed by the measures of their over seas king, and when rt came time to have men at Bunker Hill, the men of Oldtown were there " in goodly numbers, and fired' at the whites* of the eyes of the king's soldiers with as deadly purpose as if they had never been his loyal subjects. Steam and . electric things have made that Bunker: Hill day a time very, very long ago, - but they haffieE touched Oldtown only very lightly yet, and hence it is a much more recent occurrence there. Oldtown had been enjoying the results of Bunker Hill two generations when the Oldtown Iron Works were established. Hitherto the people had wrought their livelihood from the soil, and were supremely prosperous and content. They continued to live by the land, but for a time they were intoxicated with the prospect of Oldtown becoming the centre of a great iron industry, and had dreams not ~ 'of greater, but of a different kind of wealth — the wealth .of dollars. ' "list They were disappointed, however. Oldtown did not become a great iron centre. The Oldtown Iron Works brought in a scant few skilled mechanics and laborers, and never brought any- more. It disturbed the placidity of Oldtown in one particular only — it, brought the Irish to town, and somehow they always make^ a difference; A few of the skilled mechanics and alt 5 the unskilled laborers were of that condemned race, and in a few years the district school had Mickeys and Dinnys.and Mollies studying the history of Bunker Hill with Silases, Luthers, Abigails, and Ruths. They did not get along together very well at first, but the pugnacity and good nature of the little ' Paddies ' soon won first -the toleration .and then the. good-will of .their fellow-pupils. So that fifteen years' or so. later, when they all stood together on the town hall stage in white gowns and white ties and received- from the school committee Oldtown's certificate that they had received a finished education, you could not ( tell Molly from Ruth, unless you were near enough to catch the twinkle in Molly's eye. There \vas a delightful hybridity in this first generation of Oldtown Irish ; not in their blood, but in their life. Temperamentally they were distinctively and unqualifiedly Irish, but the atmosphere of Oldtown gave their speech and manners an unmistakable Oldtown flavor. The Oldtown Iron Works were operated in a legal .'way by a creature born of the law. called the Oldtown Iron Works Company. They were, in fact and in deed, owned and operated by Mr. Jonathan Spencer, sen., by right of the conjugal felicity existing between him and ' his wife, Jane, who was the nominal owner of the capital stock. Periodically she would* solemnly and formally pass certain votes to satisfy the lawyers, about which she knew but little and thought less. She was a dear, good body, whose chief aim in life was to save souls by the Baptist plan, ' and to that she gave very much thought and energy and very little of either to puddling iron-. There was a Jonathan junior, of course, and of course he was the darling of his mother's heart. He- had been* the town terror as a boy, and when, it came time for him to go away to a ciby college she insisted upon taking; Tip a city home for his sake. She could never trust him to the dangers of the city alone. But her .plan was not successful, though she did not realise to.\what extent it had failed until' die was forced to call* upon influential friends to get him out of the hands of the police. His offence was not very serious, just a mischievous prank ,in company with

other immature collegians. But its immediate effect upon Jonathan junior was good, for he felt very compunctious about the anxiety he^had caused his mother, and he 'faithfully promised that in the. future he would avoid the chaps who led him into trouble and -select some Christian gentle- " man for a chum. He did, and soon found a new companion who, he assured his mother, was a model along her own lines. And so it proved, but to her consternation she found that his name was -Maurice -O'Donnell. He had carried out her injunction that he should choose a Christian gentleman, but the Christianity of this ,new chum was of a type that did not meet with her approval. However, Jonathan junior was obdurate in the matter of his loyalty to Maurice ,and though she argued and .. pleaded still, she found it all unavailing, and finally took = to prayer and relied upon the Lord that no harm should come to her dear Jonathan. None did come, and she felt that her prayer had -been answered. Particularly so because Jonathan junior soon began to attend divine service with her, and to her great surprise she learned that this happy outcome was due indirectly to the influence of Maurice. Maurice was very punctilious about his religious duties, and as he remained unspoiled and a good fellow still, Jonathan* followed his example. The mother's estimate of Maurice went up a good many points then,, but it fell a good many soon after when she found that Jonathan smoked tobacco, and that Maurice's example was responsible for that, too. Maurice never knew that he had been a matter of con- . tention in the Spencer home, and soon began to call there with Jonathan and to see something of his mother. She found him to be largely made up of contradictions,' s>o utterly did he fail to measure up with her preconceived notion of what an Irishman was in some things, and 'so completely did he fulfil them in others. But, on the whole, as she came to know him better, she grew to like him more, vintil when he and Jonathan completed their collegiate course and the Spencers went back to ,Oldtown she loved Maurice "only less than Jonathan. Indeed, her love for him was so great and so genuine that she was actually saddened, with intense personal sad-.' ness, that he should be steeped in such ' invincible religious" superstition and idolatry,' and her dislike for his Church was correspondingly increased. Its machinations against mankind were of, a wholly impersonal sort before, but now its influence over Maurice, made it a matter of deep personal interest. She fe:pYen£|y longed to do something to relieve him from its terrible thrall, but she was too loyal to her geuteel instincts to" take advantage of her status as his hostess to introduce the subject of his religion in a controversial way, and no other opportunity ever offered. Thus they parted. The Spencers went back to Oldtown, and Maurice to his home in an opposite direction. For a while their intimacy continued through the mails, but in a year or so there was nothing to remind the Spencers of Maurice except an occasional reference to\ Jonathan's school days, and they became gradually less and less frequent. . ' The Jonathan junior who returned to Oldtown was an entirely different chap from the Jonathan who went away. He was as solid, substantial, and sensible in a modern sort of way as his father was, and ' the works,' to which he now gave his attention, took on a new life that would have succeeded, did not geographical obstacles make it impossible, in giving Oldtown the ' commercial importance of which its people once dreamed. Jonathan soon became a sort of an American lord of the manor. Everything, and everybody in Oldtown relied , upon him in one way or another, and his word and dictum were accepted at par in" matters the most diverse. His father retired from active duties, and his mother basked in the sunshine of his wisdom' and his love, and they all lived happily together in the ' big house,' just as his progenitors of Several generations before would have done . were they of the English nobility. He and his mother were lounging in the shade of the missive maples on the big lawn that stretched itself for an acre or more in front of their home one summer Sunday afternoon, some years after he returned from college. She had been reading comfortably in a large rockery and he was stretched otit in a hammock, smoking a pipe, a practice to Avhich she had become reconciled. Her book had fallen into' her lap, and she • was gazing at him as he lay with his eyes half closed. Presently he became conscious that she was watching him, and they looked • steadily into each other's eyes for a moment. ' < . • ' What are you thinking ,of; mother ?' he asked. *Or are my good looks more interesting than your book ? ' y ' You'd smile if I should tell you,' she answered. it) 'Go ahead. Don't let us lose a smile.' 'I was wondering why you don't get married.' 'Itis a smiling suggestion surely. What prompted fjhe thought?'

' I sometimes thirtk you are lonely with only your father and me.' ' Lonely ! Why, mother, I never" had a lonely minute in. my life.' ' I'm glad to know it, but, just the same, there is no good reason why you shouldn't get married if you want to. I hope you do not hesitate because you think I would care.' 'No, mother, that is not the reason. there is a good reason, and I don't think you will smile when I tell you whatsit is.' . \ '. You have thought of it, then ? ' ' Seriously.' ' And what is the reason ? ' • ' The only girl I would care to marry will not marry me.' .- . ' Gracious ! Who is she ? ' 1 Mary Ann OV . . 'Mary Ann 0' ? Why, Jonathan, she ' 'Irish and a Catholic, and- that's the very matter, or at least her religion is the matter.' > , ' Why, Jonathan Spencer, what are you thinking about ? ' , - . 'About Mary Ann O' most. of the time lately, but I'm afraid it's a lot of -good thought wasted.' ' Well, I am sure I never^ expected anything like that.'' ' Don't worry, mother dear; there is no danger. Though if she would have me, I'd give you an Irish Catholic daughter as soon as the trousseau could be built. That is, unless her old Church would hitch on some condition that would take more time, in which event I would patiently N and docilely wait.' ' I shall worry; I can't help it.' *Of course you will. lam a ninny to have told you anything about it.' ' You should remember your family obligations, Jonathan.' , " . ■- ' Family obligations ? How do they interfere ? I have known her all . her ,life. We were at school together for years, and she always knew more the first week- than i "learned the whole term. We graduated together, and she ' J wSs miles ahead of every other scholar in the class. She has been the best daughter to her old father of any daughter in Oldtown. She has been his helpmeet, . .counsellor, arid protector since her mother died and left her a little girl in short dresses and long, braids. Her father is one of our most substantial and respectable citizens, and has been such for nearly forty years. For nearly ten years she has kept the business of the works running smooth and regular in a way it was never run before she took chaTge of the. books. She is the very head and front of Oldtown society. Under her modest direction you "have led it out of the-' depths of banality to be' a thing of life and vigor. She is the most graceful, beautiful, and accomplished young lady in Oldtown, and is so aristocratic' in her ideals that she turns down what you consider the best- match in the county as a matter of principle. - Where would the family lose in " dignity, respectability, or anything else ? ' 'Have you spoken to her?' ' v * - 'Not a syllable. She won't let "me. If I had the slightest tangible assurance that she .cared for me I would ask her to be my wife. And yet I know she does care for . me, and that it is her religious scruples that prevent her from showing it.' ' You may be mistaken.' ' Not possible. I can't explain- why, but lam sure that if she were a Protestant or 1' were a Catholic she would be my wife.' ' Then you may become a Catholic ? ' ' 1 wish I could.' 'I am afraid you will. I was afraid of that from the time you first, met Maurice O'Donnell.' ' Yes. I remember. He has been made a priest, and lam going to write to him. Maybe he can suggest something.' ' Then you are determined ? ' ' As determined as the governor was when he wanted you. I wish I had as much hope as he had.' Mary Ann O' was named Mary Ann O'Shaughnessy, but it was too long to spell out, and hence to all Oldtown she was simply Mary Ann O. She was^ the daughter of Dennis "O'Shaughnessy, who had ' come '■from County Tip- 1 perary, Ireland, forty years or so before.' " , 'She was lots of other things that were good, too, c for it is good to be the daughter of a Dennis O'Shaughnessy anywhere in the world. ■ ■ Maurice had prospered during these years. He had been ordained and assigned as an" assistant to a city pastor, and his prospects were bright. ■ He would have a chance to serve the Lord as an inconspicuous curate for many years and have infinite occasion to develop the virtue of humility. . He had not heard from Jonathan for several years when his letter came, and he was. considerably * astonished at its purport, , "

'My dear Maurice,' it ran, * when I concluded to write this I inquired of a Catholic friend as to the proper form of addressing a dear friend who is a Catholic priest, and was informed I should hegin, " My dear Father So-and-^. So," but I baulk.- I and finally refuse.' In the first place, you are nobody's father, and in the next place, the institution that presumes to dub you such con- • trary to the fact is a nuisance, and to it I -will not defer, even as. a matter oi? good manners, unless (and here's 'the raison .d'etre of this letter) unless, you can get it to induce a young woman whom I know to be my wife. She is a most uncompromising Catholic, and looks upon me as a heretic, or something else terribly vicious and wicked, with whom an alliance would be the essence of misfortune and evil. Aside from that little impediment she knows that I am a good fellow ; in fact, I am satisfied she thinks there is none better. And that's where you fit, if anybody does. If you wanted a job puddling iron, or there was anything else in my line you wanted, I could and would get it for you, and it seems as if you ought to reciprocate. I haven't said a word yet, because I know it would be of no use, and I don't want to score a loss. ' Seriously, Maurice, that is my dilemma, and I am . afraid I will lose her. I know "there is no hope for me ' except by becoming a Catholic. Can't you send me a lob of theological works of such convincing strength that 1 might glean from them sufficient excuse to pose as a Catholic, without losing my self-respect? i I am really ready to*; give the matter deep and earnest study, and am reading"'" Protestant controversial works so as to know my own side of the case. ' I know you'll help me if you can, old boy, and that, though I do, I need not subscribe myself very earnestly yours, ' JONATHAN SPENCER, Jr.' Very promptly the answer came. It read: My Dear Jonathan, — I am not acquainted with your - heart-breaker ; in fact, have never heard of her, unless she . be a certain Mary Ann O' something, about whom you used" to rave in our college days. And yet I know her as well , as if I wore her playfellow and schoolmate, and knowing .-, you also, I am afraid that your cause is hopeless. ' So assured am I of this that, although I know you to bo the best of good fellows, and yours is a case in which the Church would be justified in relaxing its rule, if it f ever were, yet, if your girl v should agree to abide by my advice, I should feel ■ obliged to advise against you. Neither can I, in the matter of referring you to Catholic controversial works, do anything to help you. I know your limitations and am satisfied that you would reason yourself into infidelity pure and simple instead of into Catholicity, and I would infinitely rather have you a good Baptist than an infidel. You can become a Catholic only by having faith in the teaching of the Church, and that is a pure gift which cannot be acquired philosophically; and to obtain which those who do not have it cannot do much but deserve it and pray for it. I think you deserve it, but the only help I can be to you is to advise you to pray. Ask God that you may have faith in His Church and its teachings, whatever that Church may be. I can give you a few books of instruction when you are ready for them, but nothing controversial. ' If it should ever happen that you feel ready to accept the teachings of my Church, go to some priest — any priest will do — and ask him to instruct you. Don't approach him in any argumentative mood, for if he has any sense (and some of us have sense), he will not argue with you. The province of the Church is to teach, not to wrangle." ' I have the kindliest remembrance of the gdodness of your mother, and I beg that you will convey to her my great love and esteem, and with the best of wishes for the prosperity of yourself in all matters, in love as well as everything else, I remain, devotedly yours, (Rev.) MAURICE O'DONNELL.' Maurice feared that this would mean the end of his friendly relations with Jonathan, but almost immediately he received a reply which reassured him. It was very brief, and read : ' Dear Maurice, — If .-you are ever asked to pose as Cupid,' don't do it. You will be . a scintillating, monumental failure. I can't understand why I have never boon able to get you to Oldtown. Surely the poverty with which you excused your freakishness wlien we were boys together no longer* "prevents. It would seem good to ".have you about again for a week or« two. Can you come? I would go to you if you had a home. My mother „ says sho loves you as much as ever, and adds her entreaties to mine that you will come to Oldtown. Earnestly, - 'JONATHAN.' It was nearly two years after his correspondence with Father Maurice before anything more ,was said between Jonathan and his mother, but in the meantime she had many convincing proofs that Jonathan still had the matter on his mind. She frequently found him 'engrossed in

books — historical works dealing with the so-called Reformation — and though this seemed a harmless, if not a laudable, pursuit, still she had misgivings.. She knew of the ' sophistry and cunning of Jesuitical writers/ and was not unaware that' they 'sometimes posed as Protestants.' She watched Mary Ann O', too, during that time. The girl was unaffected in her presence, and always treated Jonathan with a jolly, light-hearted frankness, character-istic-of-her race. But his mother's feminine instinct soon told her what a lover's instinct had already told Jonathan : that, although he was very dear to her, he was wholly impossible as an accepted suitor, and she feared sooner or later Jonathan would overcome the only obstacle preventing his acceptance by joining the Catholic Church. The thought was very painful to her at first, but, like all misfortunes, did not seem so dreadful as she became more accustomed to considering it.. She soon referred to the . Church as the ' Catholic communion ' instead of the ' Romisli Church,' and commenced x to see many praiseworthy features where before she saw only evil..^ And, besides, she had, as everybody -in Oldtowu had, a most sincere fondness for Mary Ann O', aside, from her religious predilections. So that when Jonathan referred to the matter again it was not so much of a shock to her as it had been two years before. • ' I've got bad news for you,* mother,' he said to her one evening after tea. " ' ' You are going to become a 'Catholic,' she replied, ; with a calmness that surprised" him. ' ' Yes, I am. lam convinced that I should defer it v no longer.' ' I am sorry, Jonathan, but I have nothing to reproach . myself for.' ' I am overjoyed, mother, that you take it in that way. My desire to do as you would like me to do has been the hardest thing for 'me to overcolne. 5 'I cannot understand the change that has come over you. I know you would not sacrifice your religious convictions to suit even, the girl you would make your wife, and I know that the conviction under which you are acting not been a sudden conviction, because I have watched "'' it stealing over you for months. Maybe nobody but your mother could have discerned it, but it has been very plain to me. Do not think, though, that I have ever been or am now reconciled to it. I consider cA it . a great misfortune. I cannot understand how a plear-headed man like you can be deceived by the sophistries of the Church of Rome.' He listened very attentively to what she said, and did not reply for some moments afterwards. . ' I wish I could make you understand, mother,' he said then, ' but I know I cannot, and it might only widen the breach between us if I should try. I can only pray that the faith that has come to me will come to you, too.' He smoked a great many pipes that evening and did not retire until very late. The step had been taken. The thing had been accomplished. He had made up his, mind •as to his course weeks before, but the first, greatest, and most difficult step for him to take was to announce it to his mother, and that was done. - * Mary Ann O' noticed that he was nervous, and strained -the next day, and when he asked her to stay in the office after business hours became somewhat agitated herself. Though he had always carefully repressed every evidence of his affection for her, he had not been able to wholly conceal it, and for a long time she had anticipated the ordeal of a declaration. She feared it was now at hand._ 'Why do you suppose I have asked you to remain?' he asked when they were alone. ' Maybe, I've been remiss in something,' she answered. 'Indeed, no.^l have a very grave announcement to make. I am going to become a' Catholic' ' Did you say you are about to become a Catholic ?' she asked in quivering astonishment. ' Well, I am surprised and delighted. I congratulate you. What made — when did you make up your mind?' ' That isn't the only surprise I have for you,' he said presently. • ' Goodness ! Are you going to become a priest ?' ' Oh, no ; I hope not. Do you know that I have loved you for a long time?' ' • ■ ' Yes,' 'You do?' - ' '" - ' I used to be afraid you did.' ' Used to ? How about now ?' ' Well, possibly I may overcome it. Is that why you -become a Catholic?' • ' Not why, but how.' ' Father O'Donnell,' old Dennis said to the officiating priest at the wodding, ' tell me what part of Ireland did your father come from?' ' Galway,' answered Father O'Donnell. 'Is that so? I was wishin' you come from Tipperary.' — Catholic Standard and Times.