FRIENDLY FOES

New Zealand Tablet, 25 September 1913, Page 7

FRIENDLY FOES

Laying down his pen and pushing his sermon, aside, Vernon Blackburne sighed deeply. His trouble was not one that usually forms part of a priest's burden. He had come to his present parish with burning zeal for work amongst the poor. He found a congregation intensely respectable. What poor there were did not need himthey made no secret of it. A few were indifferent, belonging to no religion, and asking only to be left in peace; some were Methodists or Wesleyans, but the bulk of the poor were ' Catholics, and towards these the heart of the High Church parson yearned. If he could have won even a simple family from its superstition, that would indeed be work worth doing. Mr. Blackburne's church was full enough on Sundays, but he had an uncomfortable suspicion that the young ladies who formed more than half of his weekly audience came more pour ses beaux yeux than for the spirituality he urged upon them. They offered themselves freely as helpers in his good works and sought him out, either by invitations to their homes or by boldly invading his vestry, all professing themselves deeply interested. When it appeared they must all work together, however, and that there were no poor who wanted to be visited or taught they lost their ardor. Finally there was only one woman of the hundred or more whom Mr. Blackburne could think of with any"comfort, or, indeed, with common patience. Mrs. Layton was his ideal of __ womanhood. A calm, gracious presence, with sons and daughters older than the young clergyman himself, she helped him in a gentle, dignified way, until at length, whenever dissatisfied with himself and affairs in general, he went to seek .the soothing she could bestow. But one day it was Mr. Blackburne's turn to be comforter. A grievous trouble had fallen on the Layton household Marjorie, the youngest daughter, a clever college graduate, had returned home with the unbelieveable tidings that she was in heart and mind a Catholic.

Vernon Blackburne had been looking forward to making the acquaintance of ~ this girl .who had distinguished herself at college and yet who was so evidently the dearest of home birds. But he never thought to meet her as a stern, indignant judge. _ They looked a well-matched couple. He with his boyish face set, his eyes severe; she, with the great happiness of her parents' reluctant consent to her reception, glowing on her countenance. He had been leeking work to do; here was a foe worthy of his steel, an opponent with whom he could argue, then crush. When the castle of her errors was in ruins at her feet, how gently, how firmly would he build up for her the edifice of Anglicanism. Marjorie views on the subject of religious discussion, however, were not at all in accordance with those of the zealous young pastor. Every remark of his, intended as an.opening to his attack, was turned, apparently without intent or effort; into some harmless channel of daily platitude.

She had the advantage, for, never having known her as a member of his flock, he could not, in common politeness, call her to task, as he was longing to do, for her defection both from the Anglican Church and from the influence in religious matters of such a mother as hers. Before he took his leave it became evident that it was merely a battle of wits between them. He had to own afterwards to a certain admiration for the way in which she had not allowed him to find the least weak place in her defence and had obliged him to go as he had come, just a pleasant social acquaintance. What made his failure worse was the fact that Marjorie was a youthful copy of her. mother, and his ideal in all but this incomprehensible infatuation for Rome.

But it was only this once, just some temporary spirit of mischief that had made Marjorie so insistently uncontroversial. She was not afraid of the vicar as an opponent, and when they met again she gave him the opportunity he sought.v She did not provoke religious discussion, she only allowed it, but once embarked she became as eager as he, and whenever they

met the discussion was renewed. She was exasperated at what, to herself, she called his obstinacy, but his simplicity and sincerity won her unwilling admiration. For his part, the more he knew her, the less he blamed her personally; but his indignation against the unknown ‘ they ’ who had led her astray and, it must be added, taught her to argue so uncommonly cleverly, deepened ominously. r That he was condemning without sufficient knowledge of his subject never struck him; and it was quite a shock when one day Marjorie said impulsively: ‘ I know you are honest, and, perhaps if you knew something about Catholics you would not be so unjust and so uncharitable.' 3 For a moment he was silent, too much taken aback at this accusation of injustice and want of charity two faults which, he had prided himself, were far beneath him—to speak. Seeing her advantage, Marjorie went on: 5 ’ ‘You know very little about the Catholic Church nothing practically that is true. And yet you judge us. Surely that is unjust! Here, again, without knowing or caring to know the truth, you impute all kinds of motives to our acts and words and accuse us of dishonesty and I don’t know what besides. Can . you honestly say that this is charitable?’ She laughed a little. ‘You do not even give us the benefit of a doubt.’ t , You see, I have no doubts,’ he answered stiffly, but if you think I am speaking without sufficient grounds I should be quite willing, if you have any suitable book of doctrine, to argue with you from such a book. Her eyes ran along the bookshelf beside her, and she took down a copy of the Imitation of Christ. ‘You will find everything here,’ she said, ‘but I will get you a penny catechism also. I have lent mv own copy to the Blackies.’ J The rector looked up sharply. The Blackies were one of the indifferent families who would have nothing to say to him; surely this girl was not going to begin a mission of perversion under his very eyes? ° ‘You think I am proselytising?’ said ’ Marjorie with a sparkle in her eyes that might have been amusement merely, perhaps mockery. ‘ Another unjust accusation! and now she laughed again. ‘lt is only the two eldest girls. Their mother was a Catholic, and so were they until she died. The father and stepmother are quite willing that the children should be brought up in their own religion. In fact the father wishes it, because he promised it should be done.’ It was not . to be expected that the vicar’s visits to the Laytons should escape without comment, nor did gossip dimmish when it was discovered that these visits suddenly ceased. Many reasons were suggested for this new development, but none approached the truth, which was simply that Vernon Blackburne was studying the penny catechism. As on© by one the objections which he had put forward in all good faith crumbled away in the light of simple truth, he could of CatholLT’ face ,gain the keen yOUn S champion One day knowing Marjorie to be absent, Mr. Blackburne called on Mrs. Layton, and an opportunity arose for him to ask a question which had been in his mind ever since he had learned of the girl’s conversion. . You ask if my dear child’s defection from Anglicanism was a trial to me?’ she answered. ‘lndeed it was, perhaps the greatest trial I have ever had to bear. Yet now if I could take her belief in Catholicity / from her I would not do so. You are surprised? Indeed I am almost surprised myself, but if you knew how it has developed her character, how it has brought out all that was good in her and helped her to 'curb what was evil, you would understand. Besides, once convinced that our Church was not the true one in honor could she hesitate to follow where truth led ?’ Going back to the study of Marjorie’s little bluecovered book, the vicar for the first time questioned himself with an agonising pang, whether he could uphold the sincere conviction that the Anglican Church was the Church of Truth. Mr. Layton, unaware that

it was the—to him—utterly uninteresting topic of controversy that had brought Mr. Blackburne so often to the Cedars, noted the cessation of his visits, and questioned his wife. Mrs. Layton, though quite aware that religion was at once the attraction and the barrier between her daughter and the vicar, in her turn questioned Marjorie as to the reason of the vicar's absence It was not until this absence had lengthened into weeks that the girl dared to cherish the hope that had sprung into being on the day Mr. Blackburne had agreed to study the catechism and the Imitation of Christ As she had told him, she knew him to be honest, sincere, and naturally just, except when blinded by antiCatholic prejudice, and his love of God and sense of duty were very deep and true. At first Marjorie had not even hoped for Mr Blackburne's conversion; but now, as each day passed without bringing him back to the attack, she both hoped and prayed. And with the absolute openness which had never been clouded between her and her mother, she told of her new-born hope. A further question gently put caused the girl's cheeks to flush. No, mother,' she answered, ' there could never be any idea of that. If it is given to him to see that the Catholic Church is the Truth, he will see that there is but one place for him— priesthood.' And her mother was satisfied that, whatever befell, there Was no danger to Marjorie's happiness in her intercourse with Vernon Blackburne. , IJ F '? m her position, alone in a non-Catholic household hying her life among Protestants 'or people of X „ be , l - lef ' Marjorie felt that, even more than other Catholic girls, she was the upholder of the good name of her religion. It is a curious; though unquestionable, fact that whilst Catholics are sometimes apparently despised, nevertheless they are always looked to tor, good example. Marjorie knew that more was expected of her as a Catholic than had ever before been expected, and she determined to be true to God bhe offered her daily acts as well as her daily prayers tor the conversion of this man whom she felt would be so worthy a son of the Catholic Church, if only his eyes were opened to the Truth. . Once they met as of old, but now there was no controversy. He merely asked permission to keep her books a little longer. They needed thought and SU K h Said / She lon S ed t 0 add > ' And Player,' but she felt that the prayer must still be hers.. Then with an air of embarrassment, he asked her hurriedly if she had no other books that she would like him to read before they reopened the question of the Roman claims. lhat evening she sent him Rodriguez' Christian Perfection and The Catholic Christian Instructed.' _ Although they met during the summer at various social gatherings, only twice, was the subject that was uppermost m both their minds mentioned between them The first time was at a garden party. Finding that he and Marjorie were by ■ chance alone together tor a moment, he turned to her abruptly; ; \ What ever made you become a Catholic ?' he asked.

m _ She started in surprise, but noted' with inward rejoicing that the qualifying ' Roman ' had been omitted > The grace of God,' she answered simply in G low voice, and the example of Catholic lives.' There was no time for more, and it was some weeks before they had any other opportunity of interchanging views. This time they met outside the house ot those same Blackies who had borrowed the catechism. The father had died suddenly, and Marjorie arrived in time to hear the vicar being informed by the elder of her two pupils that ' of course it was worse for t others than for them. They could pray for poor

My task is easier than yours,' said Marjorie, in greeting, referring to the comfort both hoped to take to the house of mourning. 'I have the best, the only possible remedy, but you, of course, do not believe in prayer for the dead.' 'Perhaps I do,' returned the vicar abruptly, as he raised his hat and passed into the widow's house His words, even his anxiety to avoid her, were taken

as a hopeful sign by Marjorie, and wherever she went among her poor friends,she asked for prayers for a special intention, till, though neither he nor they were aware of it, there was scarcely a Catholic house in all the parish where prayer was not being offered to God for the conversion of the Protestant vicar. .'Yet the glow of early autumn had lit up every beauty of the ; country-side before Marjorie learned that those prayers were to be answered. A sister of Mr. Blackburne's had come to stay with him, and on her account he had accepted more invitations than was his wont, for everyone had remarked how little the vicar had been seen in society of late. The Lay tons, too, had friends with them, and all went for a picnic to the chief beauty spot of the neighborhood, where as someone remarked laughingly to Mr. Blackburne, he could have his.eye on all his parish at once. There it lay at his feet, glorious with the red and gold of autumn. Cornfields surrounding prosperous farms in the foreground, with the little town further off, and even the unpicturesqueness of its straggling streets and the unsightliness of its modern villas softened to beauty by the trees and shrubs in their rare colored lines. Far away, wood and water and distant hill completed the picture. Seeing Mr. Blackburne standing alone, in contemplation of the scene below him, Marjorie moved across to where he stood. I heard someone congratulating you on your parish,' she said lightly. ' She was right, I think, and I do the same.'

He turned to her with sudden resolution, and in his eyes she read sorrow, regret, and yet the dawning of ■ a great happiness. 'And you,' he said, ' have taken it all from me.' She did not understand for a moment. Then her heart began to beat and, though she did not speak, he gave the explanation that she sought. ' I have finished your books,' he said, ' and— am a Catholic.'

He had resigned his living and left his beautiful red and gold parish before the leaves began to fall, before anyone but Marjorie knew of his intention. Then in the Catholic houses the prayers of intercession were changed into thanksgiving, and Marjorie waited from day to day for the answer- to the letter she had given him to the only Catholic priest she knew besides the gentle, kindly old man at home. With this letter as his only help, Vernon Blackburne set out on the journey of his new life, a life that was to lead him not only into the communion of Rome but to the Eternal City itself. For Marjorie's words to her mother had not fallen short of the truth. The Catholic faith alone did not satisfy him, nothing less than the priesthood could do that. Under the shadow of St. Peter's the erstwhile clergyman, unlearned and learned again, until the crowning *" day dawned and he became, in very truth, a priest forever. Marjorie was present at Father Blackburne's first Mass, but there was one before her to kiss the newly consecrated hands. His sister had followed him into the Church, and before many months had passed by he had the joy of assisting at her clothing at a convent where Marjorie would fain have joined her. But to her soul never came the call of God, Veni sponsa Christi. In the busy life in the world that was Marjorie's portion the lessons she had learned through the conversion of her friendly foe were never forgotten. Their paths in life led different ways but the goal was the same. If one may judge by lives and works, the call, when a few years ago it came to each of them, must have been followed by the Master's Well done!'— Alice Dease in The Magnificat,