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About The banner of the South. (Augusta, Ga.) 1868-1870 | View Entire Issue (April 24, 1869)
2 they had abandoned their avocation and withdrawn from public affairs. They had been led to this step from motives of religion, for they desired some little time for recollection and prayer now that they were old and naturally verging to the grave They gave alms in abund ance and were unceasing in their efforts :o assuage the sufferings of the poor and enfeebled whom the pagans left in want and destitution. The example which they gave was not without its effect. Many were eddied at their generous en deavors in the cause of humanity and of religion, and were brought to examine with prejudice, those doctrines for which before they entertained sentiments of the greatest borrow. Angela manifested from her most ten der years a disposition to piety. At that age when children think of nothing but play, she was often found concealed in some secret corner, with her little hands joined in prayer and the silken lashes of her bright blue eyes uplifted with a 1 )ok of sweetness and love. The Cru cifix was her delight and often she knelt before it and poured out the deepest ef fusions of her soul. When she was twelve years old, her parents came suddenly upon her when she was praying and absorbed with re flections on Heaven. Her form appear ed to them to have an extraordinary brilliancy, as if illumined by the rays of the noonday sun. Her features had as sumed an angelic look and from her lips escaped at intervals, sweet accents of love. She seemed as if she was conver sing face to face, with the beloved whom she adored, and as she kept pressing her hand upon her heart to suppress its vio lent movements, she would eagerly lis ten as if the ministering spirits were bringing her communications from on high' There was nothing rash or unre fined in her character, but on the con- trary an air of calmness and sweetness accompanied all her movements. She was ever the same. The different in fluences which were brought to bear up on her mind did not disturb its equani mity; it was like a pathway that was smooth and even, without any inequali ties to cause the feet to stumble. She possessed a strange, mysterious power of attraction. All around her left the charm of her society and there was none that could leave her without experiencing the deepest feelings of regret. She would speak to her young companions and her subject was always about the virtues of the faith, Many who felt a repugnance before in contemplating points of such an elevated nature, feit pleasure in them as they were discussed by lips so pure as hers. They would leave aside their levity for the moment to sit by her side, and all around were visible the sparkling eyes and gestures of anxious expectation. And how could it be otherwise ? We are naturally wise when reposing under the shadow of wisdom itself. Angela entertained a horror for any thing like deception. Her lips were un sullied by any fault of this kind. Though but a child, she was frank and open and would readily admit whatever she had done. Her parents were for her ia the place of God, and she obeyed them with simplicity and joy. She had read in the Gospel how Jesus, when an infant, was subject to Joseph and Mary, and these words had made such a vivid impression upon her young mind, that she resolved to cultivate, in a particular manner, the virtue of obedience. The events of her after life show that she kept her sacred promise. She desired to consecrate her virgin ity to God and for this reason spoke to the Bishop. She presented her request with such unction and fervor, and ex pressed in such ardent terms what hap piness she would experience in becoming the affianced of Christ, that the Holy Bishop thought that the Lord had. in deed spoken by her lips and that he had visibly marked her with his seal as a sign of her being predestined to this al liance. She was admitted as a postulant according to the customs of that age. Angela withdrew into solitude and never issued forth ram tier close retreat unless to assist at the celebration of the Sacred Mysteries. She was like the happy con templative of Bethania. Her prayers were not the elevation of the mind to wards an invisible God, so much, as fa miliar interviews such as if the object ol her thoughts had taken before her a real r.nd tangible form. She would remain .or hours together, upon her knees, with her hands stretched ont towards the image ol Christ, her lips half opened, and upon them a smile of indescribable sweetness displaying the exctatic ravish ments of her loving heart. The days of her noviciate had passed and she now looked forward to the time when she would be enabled to realise her most ardent wishes—her consecra tion to God. She was kneeling before the Bishop while a choir of A irgins stood around chanting appropriate hymns and making the Church resound with sweet peals of music. Rufina was there among the rest. Marcella, a noble patrician of Carthage, was chosen, together with Rufina, to act the part of witnesses. The assembly was numerous. All who knew Angela, desired to be present at the ceremony, in order to show their ap preciation of her modesty and good be havior. She was to retire from their midst, and it was a duty incumbent up on every one to pay this last tribute to one, who, while amongst them had so well fulfilled the duties of a Christian life. Julia likewise attended, accom panied with her daughter Yivia. The altar was decorated with the rich est kind of ornaments. It seemed as if it were one of the great feast-days of the year. A linen cloth of extreme white ness was spread over the sacred stone and fell on either sides in graceful folds to the ground. It was edged with a fringe of the most exquisite and elabo rate embroidery upon which were de signed the memorials of the passion. Bouquets of flowers, the fragrance of which filled the air around, were artist ically arranged in vases of alabaster placed between the candlesticks on either side of the tabernacle. The Sanctuary was covered with a carpet of rich and elegant workmanship, qpd to the right and left were deposed statues of the Apostles resting upon pedestals sculptured with the most eminent skill, and representing in relief the principal events of their respective lives. Chand eliers hung from the ceiling, each con taining seveial lights, and gorgeous lamps of gold and silver, the gifts of the noble Christian families, hung around the altar as the symbol of Faith, as well as of homage to the Sacrament of love that reposed so humbly beneath the veils of its earthly tabernacle. There was profound and universal silence. It was like the moment of the elevation of the Sacred Host, so great was the at tention of all minds upon the solemn event which was about to take place. Optalius, the Bishop, rises from his throne. The mitre is placed on his head and he holds his crosier as the sign of his spiritual authority. In a few words he refers to the sublimity of that holy virtue of purity, that in a body which is perishable and subject to the humiliating law of sin, it elevates man and assimu lates him to the innocence of the Angels; tlnat this virtue must be precious, when the Mother of God esteemed it above the sublime prerogatives of her divine ma ternity; that Christ had paid it a tribute of excellence, when in his incarnation, when he suspended a lav; of nature in order to be born of a Virgin; that he prised this virtue in St. John, called him his beloved disciple and allowed him to lean upon his breast because lie was pure.” “This vocation/’ he continued, “pro ceeds friends, exclusively from the will of Gocl. The creature has no right to his election. The vocation for a life of continence is the highest to which he can aspire but at the same time it imposes the most serious and important duties and demands the exercise of the most eminent virtues. The Christian Virgin ought to love retirement, avoid the world and its seductions and meditate without ceasing upon the law of the Lord. She must guard and nourish with the most assidous care the tender flower of her innocence and thus at the close of life present to God the lily as a symbol of her right to enter among the followers of the Lamb.” The saintly Pontiff finished and giv ing his mitre and crosier to his attend ants, he turned round aud knelt before the altar. The sweet plaintive melody of a canticle, such as is sung before the throne of God, resounded through the Church, aud bore aloft like incense in his sight, the fervent aspirations of the pious crowd. When the hymn was finished, Angela knelt before the Bishop who had now oc cupied his seat on the left of the Sanct uary. “What demandest thou, Angela?” asked the Bishop in the terms of the formula. “My Father,” she replied, with her eyes modestly cast down and her hands crossed upon her breast, “My Father, it lam not unworthy, I would ask the veil of Consecration, and take my rank from to-day among the chaste followers of Christ.” “Thy piety is known to me ; thy vir tues form the happiness of thy parents aud edify the Church of Carthage, but the favor which thou asked is one that is great indeed. The duties of a Virgin are, as I have told you, serious and im portant. Hast thou seriously reflected upon this before God ?” “What conclusion could I, the last of the servants of the Lord, form unless he had designed to enlighten me from o o •MHHSS ©I SH SOOTE. As the youthful virgin spoke, her countenance assumed a brilliant appear ance, and a look of heavenly joy beam ed from sparkling eyes, A tear coursed down the cheeks of the Venerable Pon tiff, and he endeavored to reply but emotion choked his utterance. At length he said, “My child, let it be done according to their desire. Christ receives you as his spouse and the Church of Carthage admits you amongst the number of its virgins.” Angela retained her usual serenity and quiet composure. There was how ever, a mysterious tenderness in her sweet face as if she was again in close and personal interview with Christ, whom she called her “beloved.” Accents of love and gratitude fell from her lips, and her hands, pressed convulsively upon her heart indicated that she was afraid of yielding to the violence of those di vine impressions. The ceremony went on, Rufina and Marcella assisting. Angela remained motionless and absorbed in a peaceful oxetasy, and perhaps she did not feel the trembling hand of the Pontiff as he impressed upon her brow the sign of the Cross before covering her with the veil which was the symbol of her solemn cen sed ation. She then arose and ascended the steps of the altar and laid her head for some time upon the altar stone before the ta bernacle. This was to signify that the sacrifice which she was making to the Lord, was made spontaneously on her part. She then took a crown of flowers which her companions had prepared and held them elevated for some time like wise as an offering to her beloved. That part of the ceremony was finished and she accordingly descended from the al tar giving her hand to kiss, to the num bers that pressed around her, at the same time that the enclosure rang with the canticle of thanksgiving. The sacrifice of the Mass now com menced and during this period Angela retired to her former place, and the equanimity, the steady even aspect of her features during this moving ceremony would lead one to suppose that she was supported throughout by her Guardian Angels or that her beloved had come es pecially co her aid. When the deacon turned round and announced to the Catechumens that the Mass was finished and that the people should retire, a young woman bathed in tears and hold ing an infant in her arms, rushed for ward and threw herself at the knees of Angela. Her emotion was too great to speak but from her convulsive lips were audible the words “pray for me.” It was Vivia. The consecration of a noble young lady to the service of God was indeed a touching spectacle, nor was its effect lost upon her mind so susceptible of vivid impressions. Angela embraced her and imprinted on her brow the kiss of peace. “Courage Vivia,” she said, in a half whisper, “a rich crown is re served for thee too, bought at the price of thy blood.” A ivia started at the proph ecy. [to be continued.] above? From my twelvethyear I have sighed continually for the grace which I now implore of your hands.” “The world, my child presents noth ing but danger to a young and tender heart. ‘The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.’ The Church, which is just passing from its embryo state to the beauty of a fragrant blossom, enjoys the benefit of tranquility and peace. But the tempest, may rise at any moment. Art thou strong enough to take that veil which covers thy hood, and bath it in thy blood? Art thou strong enough to confess the faith before the armed emissaries of the law and obtain the palm of martyrdom ?” “My Father, of myself I can do noth ing, but I can do all things with the the grace of God. My heart beats with an ardent love fur my Divine spouse and I long to be united to him in the eternal bonds of virginal continence consecrated by a solemn vow. I feel that I could withstand the terrors of death in the service of Him who has robbed death o r its sting by giving victory to the grave. Yes ! My Father, I fetfl that I can steep this sacred veil in my blood, in the same manner as Potamiena did lately at Alexandria.” Death of tiie Bishop of St. John’s, Newfoundland —AVe regret to hear of the death of the Rt Rev. John T. Mul lock, O. S. F., Bishop of St. John’s, Newfoundland. Bishop Mullock for nearly twenty years has governed the Diocese of St. John s with signal zeal and ability, previous to his consecra tion as Rishop, he was an earnest and successful Missionary Priest, in Ireland and in Scotland. As Bishop his in fluence over the people ot Newfound land was almost unbounded. At his de sire the Diocese of Harbor Grace was erected out of what was before part of his own Diocese. Beq. in pace. FOREIGN AND HOME FASHIONS THE PREVAILING STYLES. Everything which hangs softly and gracefully, such as merinoes, muslin, de laine, etc., is very fashionable, and is being employed most freely in the com position for costume for the ensuing sea son. The dress consists, in all instan ces, of two skirts, of distinctly different materials—the under one generally of striped satin or velvet, the upper one ot cloth or merino. AVith these we have a small fitting jacket of either velvet or cloth, with collar and revers of quilted satin. In most cases the dresses arc ar ranged en bouffant about the waist, and the panier, disposed in many graceful ways, still holds its own, as an accessory to the promenade toilette. For visiting and home dress, trains continue to be in fashion.— La, Beau Monde. BALI, DRESSES In the ball room, as well as at the promenade, we see costumes not plain dresses, worn by all ladies of fashion. A lady studies costume as much as if she had to appear in some historical play up on the stage. .AH must be style—the head-dress as well as the robes, the chaussure, as well as the fashion of the skirts. At present, the fashion of carry ing t!*e train upon the arm lias not be come as general as we imagined it would. Ladies who dance have prefer red adopting the skirts that just touch the ground, and ladies ; who do not dance have allowed their long trains to sweep upon the floor in sublime disregard of the tearing and soiling of exquisite lace and elaborate trimmings All ball dresses are rather high in the shoulders, but very low in front, and at the back so much so, indeed, as to render alacetrim ing or low chemisette inside quite neces sary—English Womans ( London) Magazine. PARIS NOVELTIES. The confections which are prepared for the Spring are almost arranged; it is strongly affirmed that those which are different from the dress will not be worn. Only in calling this dress a skirt, in de signating the confection by the words second dress, it can bo made in heavy black silk and warn with ail skirts, with old dresses. Those old fashioned dress es which have been entirely cut in points, and which have been made with a train, can be used by adopting this fashion. They should bo out in such a manner that their length will just clear the aukle; they should be trimmed, if they can, with one or two flounces, or a ruche for which the material will be found in the pieces remaining from the original dress. With this dress a confection will be worn in black silk or black cashmere; or better still a high-necked corsage of black taffeta trimmed with bretelles or a berthe. For a lady, the bretelles and berthe should be made on black lace or guipure; aud a tunic or a puff - in black taffeta should be added. The high necked corsage aud the tunic take the place of a pardessus, and can be worn with all silk dresses, principally with those in stripes; for stripes are more than ever the fashion, and for under dresses will be worn almost exclusively. The fashion of dresses caught up and draped over a different skirt has brought back, by an unexpected turn, a confec tion different from the dress. For this reason, cassocks of black silk will be worn, and it is very sure that a much larger number of them will be seen than during the last year. As to the paletots like the dresses, many of them will be seen, among others those of preceding years which it will be necessary to wear unduse; but very lew new ones will be made. If they are used, the form will not be entirely abandoned; only they will be banished among the classic par dessus, which will be worn with ordinary toilettes when a warm garment is needed. All the new toilettes will be made of a large cassock trimmed, made in heavy black silk and worn with all kinds of skirts; or as well, made in foulard, in poplin, in linos, in cashmere, in taffeta, in challes, in every fancy tissue, and placed over a skirt matched or well chosen for tint and adaptation sufficient ly neutral to harmonize with several of these cassocks.— La Mode lilustree. NEW YORK COSTUMES —THE NEWEST THING. AVe imagined that we had every style of costume that could be need and to meet the wants or whims of the feminine community —that fashion could no fur ther go—but we were mistaken. “Con firmation costumes” have been added to the list. They are made of Swiss mus lin and organdie. The high waist and long sleeves are trimmed with fiat fluted frills without lace. The short veil is of the muslin of the dress or of tulle, fasten ed with knots of ribbon. Sometimes pretty little round capes of muslin are worn. The belt andysash are of white gros grain ribbon. We are aware that in some parts of Europe certain dresses are worn at con firmation —but these dresses are not dictated by fashion. They were chosen for their especial fitness and simplicity and remain what they were a hundred years ago. Time and custom have made them a part of the ceremony. But what will those Bishops, who have refused to lay their hands at confirmation upon the chignons and piles of false hair, say to the confirmation toilette? Asa matter of taste, the Bishops are right in their view of the hair question—but the chio*. nons, the curls and the frizzes are worn every day, and might be passed over on such an occasion, as an offence against good taste, rather than as an especial af front to the Gospel. But confirmation costumes, gotten up and arranged by fashion, can only be worn by those who have no appreciation of the sacred rite. SUITS AND PRESSES; A pale amber-colored skirt of goat’s hair, with a purple satin stripe,is amon« the latest styles on exhibition. It has an t overskirt of plain amber, looped with purple satin bows. To the striped under waist is attached the sleeves; a sacque of plain color is trimmed with a pipiu«* 0 f purple satin. A striped changeable silk of maroon and gold, has the first skirt trimmed with a box-plaited flounce, bound top and bot tom with green satin, headed by piping The second skirt has an apron-front trim med with fringe. Bias Lauds, bound with green satin, decorated at the bot tom with a stylish bow, divide the apron from the side breadths. The back breadth is caught up through the centre by 7 a similar band, with bow. A mantle which crosses in front, like the Marie Antoinette Fichu, but which descends to considerable depth over the arms, is trimmed with satin and fringe. *lt is gathered at the back, and is ornamented with a handsome leaf-shaped rosette. The price of this suit is SOO. A black silk called the “duchess” is extremely elegant. This dress has one skirt, plain in front, with a train about five-eighths in length. The panier which is cut in the skirt is formed by wide plaits in the side breadths, descending nearly half a yard in depth. The jack et, which is trimmed witii a short heavy fringe, resembling plush, is open in front, displaying a purple satin vest. The same trimming ornaments die sleeves. A belt with a double bow and short ends trim med with fringe completes the costume. Courier's Salon, Street and Shop. • EASTER SUNDAY IN THE FAR WEST- St. Louis, April 3, 18G9. Editor Bjn ner of the So uth : I send you herewith extracts from a private letter received in this city, fr a gentleman living at Manhattan. Kan sas. It may prove interesting to ymr readers to know how the great Cata■•lie Festival was celebrated in those far AVestern regions, and to know further that the grand old Church is marching on : M***, Kansas, March 29, ‘O9. * * I would have written you yester day (Easter Sunday,) but lor n:y fatigue after a2O mile ride, 17 of which were made farting. The weather during Holy A\ T eek was so unsettled that I fear ed I should be debarred the happiness of communicating or even of hearing Mass, as I was on Christmas. But, not withstanding a most rain-foreboding Saturday, the morning of Easter broke as triumphantly as the glorious festival could have desired. 1 had felt so anx ious about it all the week, that I cannot describe my sensations on awaking, to witness so brilliant a sun-rise. I started about 7.30 and after passing over three miles (to Uncle Tubys, reached a country which I had not yet seen. His place is in the “Elbow Creek valley. I thence passed over a range of hills, thro’ which small valleys were scattered, with an occasional settlement for some 5 miles, when 1 reached flees Creek” valley, or a “Fader-land' settle ment of Germans; and, a beautiful tue of country it is. The hills I had co y like all the rest in this county ary and rocky on and near the summits-yu. the valleys and all the immenm grounds are rich and fertile. VaiOy the grass has been burnt oft during y AVinter, making the hills !o k ny :r> » barren, and desolate, though already 7 7 T » iopj) young, green sprigs of gras< '--.n •-*> sprouting, and in a few wees - U3.cc prairie fires will have disappeared. “Rock Creek” is a stream ot -, ! y length, though not very w: ,l « y several small tributaries and [ 4 y‘yy streams have fostered the growth 0 y of timber, an object which win • attract settlers in this prairie r "VNy I travelled about two miles thrown valley, and found the lands U x ' h j the timber large and of fine q l |jyV, ‘‘‘j the water in tue creeks clear, lmfi 1 • soft. The settlers, mostly German-,
