“Christ’s secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne,
The mob profanely bade him to display;
He rather gave his own limbs to be torn,
Than Christ’s Body to mad dogs betray.”

Cardinal Wiseman.

From “Fabiola; or, The Church of the Catacombs.”

ADDLE, to become rotten, as eggs.

TUNIC, a loose garment, reaching to the knees, and confined at the waist by a girdle.

SUPERNATURAL, = prefix super, meaning above or beyond, + natural.

-ION, a suffix denoting act, state, condition of.  Define emotion, objection, dejection, conversion, submission, construction, admiration, persecution, observation, revolution, deliberation.

Write a letter to a friend who has sent you a copy of “Fabiola.”  Tell him how much you like the book, what you have read in it, and thank him for sending it.

Make a list of the characters in the story of Tarcisius, and tell what you like or dislike in each.

Memory Gems: 

The boy, with proud, yet tear-dimmed eyes,
Kept murmuring under breath: 
“Before temptation—­sacrifice! 
Before dishonor—­death!”

Margaret J. Preston.

Dare to do right!  Dare to be true! 
Other men’s failures can never save you;
Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith;
Stand like a hero, and battle till death.

George L. Taylor.

Heroes of old!  I humbly lay
The laurel on your graves again;
Whatever men have done, men may—­
The deeds you wrought are not in vain.

Austin Dobson.

* * * * *

61

a jar’ chal’ ice a thwart’ rap’ tur ous sward ter’ race jew’ eled ci bo’ ri um por’ tal vil’ lain au da’ cious sac ri le’ gious

LEGEND OF THE WAXEN CIBORIUM.

       A summer night in Remy—­strokes of the midnight bell,
       Like drops of molten silver, athwart the silence fell,
       Where ’mid the misty meadows, the circling crystal streams,
       A little village slumber’d,—­locked in quiet dreams.

       A lily, green-embower’d, beside a mossy wood,
       With golden cross uplifted, the small white chapel stood,
       But in that solemn hour, the light of moon and star
       Upon its portal shining, revealed the door ajar!

       And lo! into the midnight, with noiseless feet, there ran
       From out the sacred shadows, a mask’d and muffl’d man,
       Who bore beneath his mantle, with sacrilegious hold,
       The Victim of the altar within Its vase of gold!

       To right—­to left,—­he faltered; then swift across the sward,
       (Like dusky demon fleeing), he bore the Hidden Lord;
       By mere and moonlit meadow his rapid passage sped,
       Till, at an open wicket, he paused with bended head.