Everyone made way, and I stooped over the girl. She opened her eyes and tried to smile.

Are you a priest?' she asked.

"Yes, my child,' I answered.

"Am I very bad? I am in awful pain, but maybe I'll get better.' Then she suddenly fainted.

"The maid I spoke of gave her restoratives, and I hurriedly asked what was the matter.

'Why, Burtie was performing her great trapeze act to-day and missed her count, Father; she fell 30 feet. The surgeon says her spine in injured and there is no hope. He only gave her 12 hours to live, perhaps not that. It is her grit that keeps her up, Father,' said the young woman, with tears in her eyes.

"She is the best performer in the company,' said another

woman.

"Is she an actress?'

666

Oh, yes, Father! We have refined vaudeville. But we are a very select organisation,' said the woman with emphasis. 'Burtie is very correct. Not a breath of gossip ever touched her. She kept us all straight. Poor Burtie!'

"Just then Burtie's eyes opened.

"The priest,' she said faintly.

"I made a sign to them. You had better all leave, and I will call you in a few minutes.

"Yes, Father,' they said obediently, and I was alone with the dying girl.

Father, I want to make a general confession,' said she, and she began with difficulty a clear, honest, sincere confession. It took her some time, but she would not let me hurry her. I said a few words and gave her as penance one ‘Hail Mary.' She began to say it aloud slowly. My child,' I said, 'make a fervent act of contrition first. I am going to give you absolution.'

“‘Oh, no, Father!' she said; 'you must first give me the sacrament of Baptism.'

666

"Baptism!' I said, amazed. 'Surely you are baptised!' No, Father. I am not a Catholic. I was never baptised. In belief I am and always have been a Catholic, but I never received any sacrament. I go to Mass every Sunday I can and say my rosary. I learned that at school. But our life has been so roving that I could only do that much. I never had much chance, you see. I was wild and self-willed, and when grandma died I left school; and as there was no one to restrain me, being

alone in the world, I drifted from dancing school to riding wild horses and doing burlesque. But I never forgot all I learned at the convent, although I did not think about it for a long time.'

Where did you go to school, my child?'

To boarding school-to St. X. Academy, Pennsylvania.' "I knew the convent well. I paused, amazed at her story, told with difficulty, for her sufferings were evident.

"Won't you baptise me, Father, and then give me absolution? Baptism is enough, I know, but I want it.'

"She folded her hands and looked steadily at me with dark, soft eyes, in which I saw death.

"Indeed I will, child,' and I took out my stole and, seizing a goblet of water from her table, I exhorted her to perfect contrition, and fervently baptised her.

"Thank God!' she whispered, and closed her eyes.

"It seemed to me, after a few moments' pause, that the ghastly hue of death had given place to a more life-like colour. I waited.

"Father,' she said, 'I'm suffering terribly, and I know that I will die soon. I want you to give me Holy Viaticum and

Extreme Unction.'

"I hesitated. I was amazed. Here was a dying actress, just baptised! How did I know whether she was sufficiently instructed? She read my thoughts.

"You don't think I am instructed, Father? I believe firmly that the Blessed Eucharist is Our Lord Himself, His true body and blood, which I am to receive without fasting because He is my Viaticum; and Extreme Unction is the last anointing of the purified Catholic before she goes to meet her Judge! Father, I remember it all. I used to listen to Sister Veronica telling the class. Her instructions could never be forgotten! Father, won't you give me the last sacraments ? '

"Here was an apostolate fulfilled! That good Sister, whoever she was, had saved this soul! 'Wait ten minutes, dear child. I will bring Our Lord to you.' And I went hastily to the door and summoned those outside. To the Catholic maid, who was nearest me, I said, 'I am going to the church for the Blessed Sacrament; I will be back inside of fifteen minutes,' and I hurried out.

"In less than fifteen minutes I was back at Burtie's bedside. She was breathing quietly, and unclosed her eyes when I came in. I whispered new instructions to the maid. A little table with

lighted candles, holy water, etc., was quickly prepared, and I laid the pyx upon it. As I lifted the Sacred Host, the girl's eyes were fixed upon it, and I heard her say, 'My Lord and my God!' I could hardly keep back a tear as I administered her first and last Communion. Extreme Unction followed. She held out her hands for the holy oil and when I read the final prayers and gave her the last absolution a little sigh of content broke from her lips.

"Thank God,' she said again, but it was in a whisper. "There was silence in the room It was full of hotel people and the young women of the company, but all were deeply impressed and very reverent.

"The doctor came, made a short examination. Any hope?' I whispered.

She may last an hour,' and he left the room. I sat down by the bed, for this little convert had gone to my heart. She lay very still, fingering her rosary. She opened her soft, dark eyes and her lips formed some words. I bent over her, and she said with difficulty of breath, but very distinctly:

"Father-write to St. X.-won't you?-Tell Sister Veronica-I died-a good Catholic; that I made my-first Communion on my death-bed-she used to talk-so much about— the happy day of first Communion! I know now. She used to say, "My Lord and my God." It was engraved on her silver ring-yes. "My Lord and my God!" I promised. These were her last words. She seemed to sleep, and then awoke with wide, distressed eyes. I began the prayers for the dying, and gave her the Plenary Indulgence. The lines of pain wore away, and at the end her face was radiant. When all was over a marvellous expression of peace and content was there, and the weeping women who crowded round the pillow of death sobbed out, 'Oh, how beautiful she is!' I made the sign of the cross over the lifeless remains and left.

When I got home I sat for a long time in my study, thinking over the whole occurrence: and I am not ashamed to say I dashed away some tears. Before I sought my bed I wrote a letter to Sister Veronica, St. X. Academy, Pennsylvania,' and told her all I had witnessed. Several days passed by. The company carried away the remains of poor Burtie to her home city. I heard no more about the episode. I had forgotten to inquire the correct name of the poor child for registry, and felt I had been rather negligent in an important matter; but at the end of the week a letter came from the superior of the academy.

"It read as follows:

"DEAR REV. FATHER-Your letter was received and made a profound impression on the Sisters. We all remembered poor Burtie Carr. She was a bright, spirited girl, and everybody liked her. Knowing she was never baptised and would have few opportunities for instruction after she left us, her teacher did all in her power in her class instructions to explain Catholic doctrine. She told me she often said a silent prayer, and looking at Burtie would try to fix her attention, as she was the only nonCatholic in the room. This dear Sister has now passed to her heavenly home, young in years, but full of grace and merit. Her name was Sister Veronica Ewing, daughter of the late General Hugh Ewing, soldier and author. She was of a distinguished American family, niece of General Sherman and cousin of Father Thomas Sherman, S.J. She is sleeping in our little cemetery, and we can readily believe her soul has met the ransomed soul of her pupil, converted through her words and prayers after many years. I thank you for writing this account, dear Rev. Father, and recommending myself to your prayers, I remain with respect, yours in Christ,

"SISTER STANISLAUS, Superior.'

"I folded the letter and thought, 'What a history, and how many more are unwritten!' Then I said aloud, 'Oh, ye good Sisters! who give out the milk and honey of the faith to young souls who cluster round your school desks, have ye not an apostolate in your cloisters?'"

THE BIRDS

FOR me they did not sing;
They knew not I was there,

Hearing their carolling:

But out upon the air

They sang, knowing somewhere

Their God was listening.

HUGH F. BLUNT.

MICHAEL FIELD

FEW years before the death of Robert Browning, at a

A dinner given in his honour, the poet announced that he

had made a discovery. He had found a new poet. Before he could say who it was, the name, Michael Field," burst from the lips of many of the cultured and critical gathering. The idolised guest of the evening was not alone in his discovery, for in the little volume containing two tragedies, "Callirrhoë" and "Fair Rosamund," which had just appeared, the ring of a new voice was too clear and too true to pass unheeded.

This, the first published work of "Michael Field," appeared in 1884. The reviewers declared that they knew nothing of the author's identity, and for a long time the mystery was unsolved. New works appeared bearing the same name on the title-page, and confirming the first verdict and justifying the hopes that were formed, but no one came forward to acknowledge himself the author.

At length, in the 'nineties, the secret was revealed. Michael Field was not a man. It was the pseudonym adopted by two ladies collaborating in so perfect a manner that it would be difficult to find a parallel in the history of literature. These were Miss Ruth Bradley and her niece, Miss Edith Cooper. The myth of Michael Field being dispelled, a lack of interest in the work seemed to be the momentary result, but it was only a passing whim of the writer's audience, and further work was the signal for new applause.

Some seven years ago the two ladies were received into the Catholic Church. The flow of poetry did not cease, its quality was unchanged; but the subject-matter was new. Religious themes were now almost exclusively dealt with. The critics' attitude is hard to justify. They ignored the work, and the last volume, Poems of Adoration, published in 1912, was scarcely noticed outside the Catholic press, though it contained work of the highest order.

Last December the younger of the collaborators, Miss Cooper, died. She it was, we are told, who was responsible for the lyric strain that was a special charm of so many delightful volumes. But we cannot separate the names, and for us