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THE BULLETIN OF THE CATHOLIC LAYMEN'S ASSOCIATION OF GEORGIA
17
CLERICAL LIFE—SOME OF ITS SERIOUS AND HUMOROUS SIDES
The Third of a Series of Articles from a Gifted Clerical Pen
By P. H. D.
One of my regular summer visitors, whose visits
by the way I most enjoyed, was James Casey. He
would drop in after supper and sitting on my porch
and smoking a villainously dirty and vile smelling
pipe, would vastly entertain me. Casey had seen
most of the eastern part of our country and had
some strange experiences, which he was fond of tell
ing, and which he told exceedingly well.
He would tell the most remarkable stories without
any change of countenance, and he most assuredly
conveyed the impression that he believed every one of
them. I can’t say the same for his audience, when
he visited me, though I never gave the slightest sign
of doubt. He had been in the Federal army during
the War between the States, and at the close he went
to Rome and became a member of the Famous Papal
Zouaves, who so valiantly fought for Pius IX.
We had little talk about his experience in the
Federal army during the War between the States.
In the course of conversation one day I mentioned
that Richmond, Va., was my home, and he said in a
quiet way: “I spent eight months in that town
once.” I said that we thought Richmond a very
beautiful city and he answered that one did not get
much of a view from a window. On further ques
tioning he told me this story:
“At the battle of Malvern Hill in the Sunday’s
fight near Richmond, my company was lying down
in a marsh and the Rebs were amusing themselves
firing at us, though little fun we found in it. After
an hour or more the word was passed down to fix
bayonets, and then came the order to get up and
charge. I obeyed the order very willingly, I assure
you, and I never stopped running until inside Libby
Prison in your city.”
The Story of Baltimore.
One evening he said that he had come to Mass that
morning only to find that there was no Mass, and
I told him I had been to Baltimore. During a talk
on my visit to the Monumental City, I spoke of the
pride that all Catholics felt in Baltimore’s story. I
saw by his face that he did not know what I was
talking about, and I gave him the story of Lord Bal
timore’s Colony and its brave stand for religious
liberty and freedom of conscience. The old man lis
tened very attentively and when I had finished, lie
said:
“Do you tell me, Father, that Baltimore was called
after that fellow. Lord Baltimore? Is that what the
hooks do be telling the children about their coun
try?”
I assured him that the story was true in every par
ticular. He carefully knocked the ashes from the
bowl of his pipe, and as carefully filled it again and
said:
“Why is it, Father, that the world is down on the
Irish and never gives them credit for what they do?
Now let me tell you the true story of that Baltimore
town and how it got its name. My grandfather.
God rest his soul, was born in the town of Wexford
in 1774 and he died up there in Philadelphia last
year, 1874. He was a fine old man and kent bis
memory up to the end. I had many talks with him
about the old times, and from his lips I heard this
story many a time. His great grandfather, so his
father told him, had a half sister who married a
man from Mayo. God help him, named Timothy
Moore. They had to leave Ireland and went on a
ship to the American Colonies and settled somewhere
on the Potomac and traded with the savages. I don’t
mean the English, though God knows they deserve
that name too. The couple had only two children,
both of them boys. The oldest was Timothy after
his father, whom he helped in the trading, and the
younger, Owen, went somewhere westward.
“Moore did a thriving business and was much liked
by the savages. He was entirely bald and so had
no fear of being scalped by them same savages.
My grandfather never told me a word about any
Lord Baltimore. Maybe the books is all wrong, for
he told me that the way they came to call that town
Baltimore was this. The people knowed that the
father and son was both called Timothy, so in order
to distinguish them they called the old man ‘Bald
Tim Moore;’ you see he had lost his hair. And this
is how the name Baltimore came to be used.”
“What became of Owen?” I asked.
“Well,” he replied, “my grandfather said as how
Owen went out into the wilderness and then came
back to the settlement, but he was a bad egg and at
last he went off without paying his debts, and they
wrote on his house:
“Owen Moore ran away
owing more than he could pay.’ ”
Another Tradition Smashed.
After a pause, I said to him: “Did you ever hear
that the Garden of Paradise was in the County
Kerry and that Adam and Eve were Irish?”
“No,” he answered, “I never did. Is that put down
in the books?”
I merely replied that it was in all probability
merely a rumor, without much, if any, foundation.
After some minutes he said: “Father, I doubt
that story about the County Kerry being the place
where Adam and Eve lived. Sure, I don’t think
there was anything more beautiful in Paradise than
the County Kerry was, but what would make the
devil come in the form of a serpent? Didn’t he know
there was no snakes in Ireland, and that Eye would
have been scared to death at the sight of him? By
the way, Father, I suppose you know there never
has been a good Englishman whose ancestors was
not Irish.”
I had a curious illustration of the old proverb
that there is honor among thieves, some time ago.
In our jail there was a young fellow who had
been sent there for ten years for burglary. He
said he belonged to the Mormon Church. For rea
sons of a delicate nature, I never cared to intrude
on his domestic relations, and I do not know the
extent of his family connections. As a matter of
fact, I met him only on visits paid during the life
time of my predecessor. He was released some
months before I assumed charge of the Mission. I,
of course, did not know whether he was guilty or
innocent. It is a very surprising experience to find
how many absolutely innocent persons are in jail.
Of course, I mean if you accept the stories of the
convicts themselves.
When his term expired he asked the Priest if he
would loan him twenty-five dollars. He said: “You
know, Father, they give a man five dollars and a
new suit when he leaves. But I am from Chicago,
and five dollars will not take me home. I will send
you the money just as soon as I get some work, and
I think I know now of a job.”
Father D. gave him the money very willingly, but
two weeks passed before he heard from the ex-burg
lar, and then came this letter:
“Dear Father: I hope you don’t think I have for
gotten you. No, I never can and I never will. I
got the job I sooke of, but have been very unfortu
nate, as you will see.
“From your money I got fine accommodations on
the New York-Chicago express, and I went through
the pockets of every man in my car that night and
only got eleven dollars. The miserable skin flints. I
sure intend to pay that debt. * * *.”
He did his best, anyhow.