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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.