“My beloved,” he began, “there are some who think too little of the scapulary, and there are others who lay too great a stress on this aid to faith.  Let us meditate on both these conditions.  But first, how must we ourselves regard the scapulary?  Now, we are told not to love the world nor the things of the world.  The scapulary, with its sacred image of Mary worn next the heart, is a great shield against this love of the world.  It places you under the especial protection of the Queen of Heaven:  you are as much her servant as those who serve king or kaiser, and equally wear her livery.  Some think too little of the scapulary.  Yet what incidents can be told of its efficacy!  Let one suffice.  In the year 1866, when the war raged between Austria and Prussia, the Catholic soldiers of the latter country immediately before the war entered by hundreds into the Society of the Scapulary.  Wearing this sacred charm upon their hearts, they went into the battle-field, and the cannons roared and the bullets whizzed thick and fast around them, and not one of them fell, for they wore the scapulary.  Indeed, their miraculous preservation created so much excitement that Lutherans marveled over it, and asked the Catholics how it came that they were no whit hurt.  And they answered, ’We wear the scapulary of Mary, and she saves us.’  Then many Lutherans said, ‘Come, we will have scapularies,’ and wrote their names down in the society.  And now hark ye, my brethren.  There was a Catholic soldier, and there was a Lutheran, and the latter said, ’Lend me thy scapulary for this one day only, and see, here is a thaler for thee.’  Then the foolish Catholic drew the scapulary off his neck, handed it to the Lutheran, took the thaler, went into battle:  whiz went the bullets round him, and he fell.”

We could stand no more.  The church, now crowded with men as well as women, reeked with perspiration, the sermon oppressed us, and thus our sense and senses drove us out into the open air.  Here the fresh breeze came across from the Ziller snow-fields, health-giving as a breath from heaven.  Peasant-women who were too late to squeeze into church were seated amongst the iron crosses of the graves.  The more serious-minded had managed to cluster together round a side-door which, being adjacent to the pulpit, proved an advantageous spot for hearing.  The less particular sat in the shade, feeling it sufficient to be in holy ground and to pass their beads through their fingers whilst they studied up our novel attire.  Approaching the more attentive members, we found that the Capuchin had reached the second part of his discourse, and was dilating on those who thought too highly of the scapulary.  We gathered the following fragment: 

“Now, the man was nigh unto death, and it was neither for confession nor for the death-sacrament that he craved.  No, it was for a scapulary.  ‘A scapulary!’ he cried, ‘a scapulary!’ My brethren, you know well he should have asked for the priest and for the blessing of the Church, but it was merely for a scapulary.”