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    THE AMERICAN
3
IN THE
Clutch of Rome.
(OorYHIOHTKlO
BY "UONLALES."
CHAPTKU XVII Continued.
A DAStiEKOL'SCONKk'riSOK.
The eyes of the young priest fell at
length on the form of the girl before
him, with the glow of tin-fire failing on
her light, chestnut hair, and showing
the blue veins in her thin Lands; and
he noted with sorrow the thinner of
her cheek, which, Jrom the formation
of her face, should have b- en round.
"Flora," he said very gently, "do you
remember our conversation at the fair9"
She had evidently Iieen deep in
thought. She looked up at hiui with
something of reproach in her eyes.
"Do I remember, Father? Do you
think I can forget that you, a holy
man, as far above me as the bright sun,
told me that you drew inspiration from
my voice at the singing of the mass?"
Fabio was startled. Was this young,
imaginative girl making a saint of him?
"It's very natural that the impressive
words of the Sacrifice should be render
ed more impressive when a voice, with
Mich depth of feeling in it asyour's pos
sesses, sings it. I said other things to
you, Miss Flora; I told you that I must
have the meaning of your sad words
and altered looks, explained."
"You told me, Father, that the
church could help me. She has helped
me, for you are a part of the church,
and if my singing inspires you
"Flora," the priest interrupted, "you
attach too much importance to those
words of mine."
"Did you not mean them, Father,"
he asked very earnestly.
"Yes, my daughter, from the very
bottom of my heart, but I do not want
you to give undue Importance to them,
and I want you to tell me what it is
that makes you unlike other girls of
your ago. Remember, I do not ask
from idle curiosity, but as your pastor."
The girl's head dropped and her face
grew crimson.
"IIdo not think I know just what
it is, your Reverence."
The priest looked at her attentively
& few minutes. This girl and her
trouble, whatever it was, required the
most delicate handling. Of one thing
the young priest felt certain; no guilt,
as the world knew the meaning of the
word, had a place in the girl's heart.
''How ,do you occupy your time,
Flora," he asked abruptly, "during your
eister'e absence?"
The girl glad at a change in the con
versation, grew voluable.
"Oh, I . am never idle, Father, I rise
early and prepare our breakfast, then 1
do house work, next I practice my sing
ing for am hour, I also paint. Two days
out of the week, I go out and take a les
son in einfflne and painting. Then in
the evening we sew or read. Some
times we go to a place of amusement."
"Alwajs wdthyour sister?"
"Always, your Reverence. I would
never think of going out ic the evening
without her."
"That is one of your paintings, I sup
pose," said the priest, pointing to a
painting on an etwel.
"Oh, yes, Fatter, all the pictures
-you see in the room are my work.
Would you care to go into my studio,
rather?-'
The priest arose. -"It would give me
great pleasure."
Flora led the way through the hall
nd the 6mall dining room, with its
aimpe, refined appointments, and push
ing aside thecrimson folds of a portiere,
they entered a fair-sized room, one sUle
of whieih was almost entirely of glass.
This .room Margaret had built for a
conservatory, but when her young sis
ter had hown unmistakable talent as
an artist, she had converted it into a
etudio. The floor was covered with
India matting, with here and there a
pretty rug. The walls and ceiling were
done in pale blue and pearl, as was also
the woodwork. The furniture was
simple, and the room was devoted to
artist materials. Some Narcissus were
blooming in pots on a stand, and a great
jar of terra cotta stDod in a corner with
growing palms in it, whoso feathery
fans swept the ceiling.
Resting on easels or against the wall
were flower pieces and landscapes, and
many beautiful little creations of her
own fancy; but Father St. John noticed
with some surprise that the majority of
her pieces were copies of Biblical
scenes, c Father St. John was an ad
mirer and also something of a critic, of
art, and he was surprised at the unmis
takable talent displayed by so young a
girl, as he looked critically at a rose
crowned St. Cecelia, and an exquisite
copy of the Madonna and child. Finally,
his attention was attracted to an easel
in a distant corner, with a large canvas
on It almost hid by a drapery of crim
son silk. He walked up to it, saying:
"What holy of holies do you keep
hidden here?"
With a bound the girl reached his
side and laid her hand against the
folds of the Bilk. Father St. John, with
the instinct of a gentleman who would
not Insist on the disclosure of what a
lady wished to conceal, turned from the
picture, saying:
"I respect Its exclusiveness, Flora,
show me something else."
"Oh, your Il-'verenee, excuse my silly
action. I thought perhaps, you might
not like it. I really forgot about the
picture b.-ing here. Come and look at
it, Father," she flung hack the silk with
a quick, resolute movement. Thus ad
monished. Father St. John went hack
to the picture.
It was a painting of St. Michael. The
warlike angel stood mail clad, with a
sword in one hand and holding a shield
with a red cross upon it in front of him.
Flis foldei wings, perfect was the
work of the young artist, had a silvery
plcam upon them. On the bottom of
the edetal, on which he stood, she
had painted in small violet letters,
"jShi Tuhln Mirhtuli,l'nx in T(rra,luc
in IVIm." (Neath St. Michael's is
given. I'eaco on earih, and peace In
Heaven.)
The face of the angel was a perfect
likeness of Father St. John. The priest
looked at the girl standing before him,
pale and drooping as a lily wilted by a
hot sun, waiting his verdict of the right
or wrong of her work, and he turned
sick at heart. Could the words of Ida
Olney be true? Did this young inno
cent and gifted girl love him with the
love of a woman for a man? Hanish
the thought; she was only a child. His
face had taken her artistic fancy, and
she had given it to her angel, as she
would iiavo given it the face of any
chance stranger that had taken her
fancy.
In her childish awe of him as a
priest, she had been afraid of his dis
pleasure. He plaoed hit hand in
brotherly way on her shoulder, and
said, laughingly:
"You have done me a great honor,
Miss Flora, and if our worthy St.
Michael of blessed memory be not of
fended, I have no cause to be."
Like a drooping lily refreshed by
drops of dew, she lifted her head under
the light touch of the priest's hand and
his reassuring words.
"Miss Flora," he said, as he turned
from the picture, "this is a pleasant
place to linger in, but my time is about
up; come, will you not tell me why you
veiled that picture?"
"I hardly know, Father, unless, it
was not quite dry, for 1 only finished
it this morning."
The most truthful of all women will
prevaricate, when .questions touching
ever so lightly on her love secrets, are
asked. In the .painting of St. Michael,
iFlora had known all the pleasure, and
had forgotten all the pain of her love
idyl. To a chance observer, the pic
ture was a copy of a paint ne of an his
torical saint, with an inscription from
an old latin hymn under it. To the
girl, it was the man he ljved and
idealized, and she had thrown the
eilken veil over it, with the instinctive
seoretlveness of love.
The parlor regained, the priest did
not resume his seat by the fire, but re
mained standing near ihe mantel, and
ho had become all the priest again.
"My daughter, I have not urged your
confidence toJay, I think your trouble
is of a more serious nature than I at
first thought. Is your sister in your
confidence? Does she ever remark on
your altered appcaram e?"
'U, yes, Father; she really at times
annoys me -with her anxious question
ings, but I always protest there is any
thing wrong with me: and indeod,your
Reverence, I am better than I was. I
think my unhappiness was half Imag
inary. I pray, Oh, so earnestly, to the
holv virgin to keep my heart pure
within, and to heal the infirmities of
my body aod soul, and you know ehe al
ways helps those mho supplicate her."
"The virgin is, indeed, a harbor of
sa ety in the troubled waters of life,"
said the priest. "Hut tell me how lorg
It is since you have been to confession."
"Not for more than a year, Father
St. John."
Father St. Joh'i shook his head in
stern disapproval.
"How old were you then?"
"Not quite sixteen."
"Then you are aow?"
"I was sev intern last month."
"Tell me, Fieri, why you have neg
lected to perform this most sacred duty?
Do you not knov that in ignoring this
great command of the church, you are
sinning very deeply?"'
Like the child she was, she knelt at
the priest's feet, and iu trembling tones
that expressed the agony of her heart,
she said:
"O, Father St. John, forgive me.
You would if yoi only knew."
The priest raised her, and in brother
ly tenderness held her two hands in
his, and said eanestly:
' My daughter, so far as it lies in my
power to forgbe, I do, with all my
heart. I begin to fear that some great
matter that netds a close investigation
has entered lnt your life. Promise me
to come tomoncw a'ternoon to confes
sion." I
A gray pallor settled in the face of
the girl, and slie withdrew her hands
from the tender grasp of the priest.
Is it possible for me to avoid this
command, Father?"
"It is impossible, my daughter. The
sacrament of confession is instituted by
divine commaid, and it is absolutelv
necessarv to four salvation. Come to
the footstool o! God, as you would go to
a tender mothtr. I might have better
said, with tenbld more assurance than
you would go to a mother, for it seems
you cannot tel the seen, ts of your heart
to your sister who is the only mother
you have knorvn." I
"Ah, my cister. If you only knew
her pure womanly life. I think she
has her sorrows, too, for sometimes she
is sad, but her religion dotmnot ask her
to confess her secrets, and she taught
me, when I was a little child, that UoJ
could read our hearts as wo can read an
oH-n boolt. And is not her Cod our
Cod?"
"It is not for me to judge our sister
or her religion, Flora. I believe her to
bo a mh1, true woman; but you and I
must obey the commands of Cod ac
cording to the church to which wo both
belong. AndalK)ve all, my child, re
member that there is no trouble that
can coino to you that ihe church cannot
in snie manner cure or mediate." The
girl looked up at him with clear, earn
est eyes "I never thought of it in that
way before, Father. "
The closing of the front door startled
thi priest and the Knltenta little, and
Margaret came into the room. She ac
knowledged the priest's salutation a
little coldly. Flora hastened to relieve
ho- sister of her lunch basket and
wraps, and Father St. John, declining a
rather formal invitation from Margaret
to take dinner with them, left the cot
tage.
CHAPTER XVII I.
HER LOVE FOR A I'll! EST.
It was with an undefined feeling of
reluctance that Father St. John enterod
the confessional on the following after
noon, to await his vounir penitent. His
experience with the passions of the hu
man heart was, owing to the short time
of his pastorate, slight, but his keen in
sight told him that he had to deal with
no ordinary sinner.
Flora, as the hour drew icar for her
to go to the church, knelt before her
crucifix with her rosary in her hand,
and said many aves to the virgin. Then
she went to her sleeping room, where
she had carried St. Michael, and stood
long In contemplation before it. She
was going to a real St. Michael soon,
and the lines of the hymn, as she read
them over, gave a promise of peace.
"Yes, 'neath St. Michael's watch is
given peace on earth and peace in
Heaven." True to her promise, at the
appointed hour she entered the confes
sional. It is not for us to pry into its
secrecy. Sutlice it to say, under the
careful questioning .of the priest, and
by what she believed to be a duty to
her Creator, she confessed to Father St.
John that love for himself was the joy
and piin of her life. Her confession
filled the priest with dismay. He
brought all the force of reason to bear
upon the girl. He tried to show her
in such strong terms as her delicate
mind could bear, the sinfullnees and
danger of her regarding him, a priest,
with other love than that of a child for
a father.
"The knowledge that this love is sin
ful and utterly hopeless is what is kill
ing mo, Father. O, Father St. John,
why do you and the church force this
shameful confession from me? It was
my secret, mine and the virgin's. I
told her all, aod in time she would have
helped me, I know, for my heart was
beginning to grow lighter in my bosom:
but now, O, Father. St. John, never
again, I think, can I sing the mass, so
covered with shame am I."
You have washed away much of
your sin, my child, by obeying and un
burdening your heart to the church. I
told you she would help you, and she
will."
And after a few comforting words,
and the absolution for Father St. John
felt that this young creature had, in
her anguish of heart, suffered penance
enough to expiate the sins of a dozen
worldly women he pushed the slide
down over the grating and left the con
fessional. His first impulse was to wait
for the girl, and assure her further of
his friendship, and his respect for her
secret. Then, judging her sensitive
nature by his own, he hurried out of
the church, purposely walking with
heavy footfalls, that she might know
when he had gone.
Soon after, Flora left thechurch with
her veil drawn closely over her face.
Flora had learned to love the handsome
young priest with a woman's love, try
slow degrees; at fourteen, he was the
God she worshiped at the altar in the
ceremonies of the church; at seventeen,
he was a God no longer, but the man
whom she still worshiped as a being
whom God Himself had sanctified, but
whom she also loved alas! she well
knew hopelessly with those undefined
sensations, a mixture of absolute purity
of thought and physical attraction,
which a woman can never experience
but once, and never after she has left
her teem; love that is so hard to keep
in subjection, because it has all the
boldness of innocence. A love that is
born with the individual and develops
rapidly and silently, ready to burst
forth at touch of a certain hand, or the
glance of an eye, like a folded flower
bud, that unconsciously waits for the
ray of sunlight to unfold its fragrant
petals.
Flora had struggled hard with this
love of hers, but she was too young to
conquer her sweet and secret sin, which
had become part of her life, though she
was old enough to know that it was eat
ing her life away, and was as absurd as
it was sinful.
After a while she grew calmer. She
told herself she was better, after all,
for her confession, for she no longer
oore the burden alone. He knew, her
real Saint Michael, and he would help
her fiht and cony tier her sin.
Father St. John had listened to the
confession of Flora Hume and had tried,
to the best of his ability, to shiw her
the absurdity of allowing her life to be
embittered by her girlish fancy for
himself, lie had told hi r she was too
joung 1 1 know the meaning of love as
relating to the sexes; that she had
nurs. d her imagination urtll it had
become diseased: that he was no saint
for any one to worship, lut a simple
priest trylnir to impart the ilght he had
received, irotn l leaven to tbo iimler
his care. He had even suggested that
she repaint the face of her Saint
Michael.
' Don't ask me to do that, Father,"
she hail pleaded, "the real Saint
Mictiael fought and conquered sin; you
have piomised to help me light and
conquer sin. Then, why ask mo to des
troy that which will help mo to re
member this?"
Then he bade her do as sho pleased
with her picture. In the semi darkness
of the confessional, when the fluttering
words of the girl, with all their dread
meaning, fell on his ear, the image of
Ida Olney seemed to stand before him
and her words, "Your priestly career
will bo ruined by a woman, yet," rang
in his ears as he listened to what he
feared to hear, and to what he vaguely
felt it would l0 his sad fate to listen to,
when he had bidden the girl open her
heart to God.
The next Sunday Father St. John
listened for her bird like voice to re
spond to him in the mass. Without an
instant's delay, it rose clear and sweet,
but with an earnest pleading in it that
only ho heard. After the elevation, he
glanced up to the choir gallery; he
could not see her She had knelt in
the shadow of the organ. Flora hud
schooled herself to continue singing in
the choir, but with what a bitter
struggle only God and herself knew.
Days sped on. Father St. John visited
the sick and dying, and said masses;
visited Mrs. Maxwell from time to
time, according to his charge, and. had
the assurance from her, that nothing
on earth could again make her forget
her duty to the church, and that by
prayers and supplications she hoped to
gain her husband's consent to have
their union consecrated by the church;
and she gave large sums of money from
time to time for masses to be said for
the soul of the abbess. The priest as
sured her that without much doubt the
unhappy condition ( f the abbess was
much mediated by the exemplary life
s!ie had led of late by the baptism of
her children. The priest, also, had
bade her hope with cerUinty for the
climax of her reformation, and for the
eternal happiness of the abbess. Fa
ther St. John knew thai. Rome bad
other arguments than prayers and sup
plications to bring to bear on her hus
band, to make him consent to almost
anything the church might demand.
Hut the salt had lost its savor. Fa
therSt. John x;rformed the offices of
his priesthood with the grim obedience
of a slave under the eye of a master.
The image of a young girl with truth
ful violet eyes, light chestnut hair, and
a bird-like voice, with small, deft fin
gers that could prepare food, and per
form household duties, and was proud
of being able to work; and entering a
dainty studio, could, with those same
skillful fingers, bring into the sweet
imagery of her mind, haunted the
young father in all his in comings and
out-goiDgs.
At first he soughtto banish the ghost
by calling up to his mind the daily
duties of his life, and bv laving plans
for future labors; but the ghost, with a
of appealing look, would glide quietly
among these thoughts and they would
flee. Then he boldly took to reasoning
with it.
"You are nothing to me. I do not
feel even a semblance by what you of
the world call love, and which lam
by solemn vows never to know. I have
no regrets that I : m so bound. Paint
your pictures and grow famous, or marry
and devote those housewifely qualities
of yours to making a husband's home
happy. Bear children and teach them
to fear the Lord, and to be faithful fol
lowers of the true faith, and leave me,
who have no wish to know aught of
such a life, to my own."
Then this persistent ghost would look
at him with truthful, violet eyes, and
his argument like a little mound of soft
snow, would melt away. Then, he no
longer struggled against It, but let it
take full posse; sion of him, hoping to
breed the contempt of familiarity.
As he ate his meals, the pretty ghost
sat opposite him, in dainty, morning
robes or closely fitting, afternoon gowns
of soft tints, and poured out his tea and
coilee, with those small, gifted hands:
then, when the labors of the day were
over, his library walls melted away into
a long room with filray,white draperies
at the windows, and the floor was car
peted with a thick, soft carpet with
rich subdued tints in it; and the walls
around him were decorated with the
creations of a mind and body, which
could neither conceive nor execute a
semblance of guile; and the faint.sweet
scents of heliotrope and mltrnonette
came to him from their home in the
embrasure of a window; and his leather
covered chair was a dainty, wicker
rocker, with pale blue ribbons woven in
its meshes, and his head rested against
a soft, blue velvet cushion: and the fire
light fell on a girlish form, with a pale,
wiH't face, framed In cbeilmit hair,
sitting near him, on a low ottoman, In
a childish attitude, with downcast eyes
and i-las-d hands, or knelt at hi feet,
asking In anguish of heart, for his for
glvei ess fur neglcetlng thj commands
of the church.
Then again, he would follow the
dainty form, and she would hold aside
the folds ofacrhu-Hin curtain, and he
would find himself In an artistic studio,
looding at a likeness of iilmvlf In the
guise of a saint, with his sweet young
worshler by his side. Very often now,
the ghost sat in the fire light, smiling
and happy, with checks round and
pink, and the look those leaiitiful eyes
gave him, was not that of a penitent,
nor a girl struggling to keep down a
hueless love, but the honest, all su file
Ing HlTecliou, which never comes from
any eyes, lie they ever so lieatitlful, but
thosf of a loved, loving and honored
wife; ami with that look the neglected
breviary would fall from the priest's
hands on to the Moor, with a dull thud,
the drowsy flro would Hare up a warn
ing, and the dream would vanish; and
the substance of tills spirit, which was
playing such havoc in the priest's life,
still performed herduinty tasks, painted
her pictures, practiced her singing,
prayed to the virgin, as sho had leon
taught; but the last thing her eyes
res ed on at night before she put out
her Ilght, and the first thing they rested
on when she opened them in the morn
ing, was Saint Michael, and the refrain
of all her prayers was the consoling
words of tho hymn.
(To bo Continued.)
"IN THE CLUTCH OF ROME," is
iiiililUlied in book form, paper cover. ami run
he hail l)v Hendlni; 'i't rent Iti rash to tho
AMKIlll AN I'll III. IHIIINI1 ('(IHI'ANV.
MAKI V MONK.
The Nun Who KmchH'I From the Hotel
Kirn, Montreal, Canada. Fresh De
velopments. In the winter of 1 8!HI and 1801 tho
celebrated Chas. Chiniquy, commonly
called Father Chiniquy, and now proba
bly the most famous ex-prlest in the
world was In Washington, D. C. Here
he delivered a courso of nineteen lec
tures on Romanism. Ho was then In
his Blind year, being now I8U5, he would
be 8(i years old.-
It fell to my lot to serve as his assist
ant and I was with him daily for about
three weeks. Heing one day alone with
him in his room, I asked whether he
knew anything about the story of Maria
Monk and her famous book, Awful Dis
closures. Chiniquy was about 21 years
old at the time of Miss Monk's escape,
in 18115; and I knew that he had been
much in Montreal where the Hotel Die
is si uated. lie replied that he did, and
that one occasion, when ho had hoconm
too ill to continue his arduous labors as
a priest and "AKistloof Temperance
as he was often called, his bishop sent
him to that very hotel to take some
needed re.-t, saving to him: "The sisters
will give you a room, and nurse you
tenderly, und you will soon recover you
usual health." While ho was there
very old nun often came Into his room
to minister to his wants; and one day
he asked her whether she, knew any
thing of the slory of Maria Monk. She
replied that she was well informed on
that subi'-ct, and had read her lnxik
"Awful Disclosures." "Well now, "say
Chiniquy "were you here during th
time whin she clalmes to l ave bee
here?" "Yes," she said, "I was her
and I Knew her well. "then, say
he, "I wish you would tell me whether
the awful statements she has made of
deeds done in this nunnery were true
Lpon this question, the old nun as
grea'ly agitat d and begged to be ex
cused from ainswerintj; but on beinir
pressed for an answer, consented, pro
vided he would promise never to revea
anything she said until after her death
He promls 'd, and she then stated that
Miss Monk's statements iu that book
were tru ; and says she, "I have seen
worse things done hero than anything
that she Las told."
My attention was again turned to the
Maria Monk affair, by seeing a little
phamphlet recently published in Lon
don, Eng., by a Catholic house, endeav
oring to prove that Miss Monk's Aw
ful Disclosures were a fraud. I read
the phamphlet through; but it does not
seem to me to disprove any part of her
story. Besides, this statement of the
Rev. Chiniquy is a direct confirmation
of tho truth of Miss Monks story, new
evidence, which I have never before
seen published.
Rut I have just received, most un
expectedly, some very interesting and
very reliable statements from another
source.
While Friend Traynor, State Presi
dent of the A. P. A., was in this city
recently, he gave me the name of a Rev.
gentleman nowlivingin New YorkCity
from whom valuable information con
cerning Miss Monk might be obtained.
I wrote to him, and received substanti
ally the following: That it was his
mother, who first protected Miss Monk,
when she arrived in that city after her
escape trorn Montreal in me year lSSo.
He says: "It was extremely difiicult
to select a reiuge with any promise of
safety, as spies were alert and numer
ous, and danger of discovery was in
creasing. Ihe name ot this protectrix
was Mrs. Same W. Reeves, famous for
her beauty, breadth of mind, dauntless
courage, ana sublimity of character,
combined with mich lovable trait and
womanly graces at oommeniKid her for
this charge in a time of great x-ril
Her love of j istiee, hatred of wrong
and unfaltering devotion to humanity
decided the question, and watchman
Hogan seized a favorable opiortunity,
and secretly hurried Maria Monk to
Mr. Reeve's residence where she and
Mrs. Hogan welcomed her atmidnlght.
She was Immediately secreted on the
top floor, previoiiily prepared fur her,
which she occupied for months, where)
when restored to health and strength,
she wrote her famous hook, Awful Dis
closures," "The truths It contained were ter
ribly cinphasi.ed by the subsequent
excitement, and flood of vituperation
with malignant jstrsecution, coupled
with th rents of assassination."
"It is Idle folly to attempt todiscredlt
her book In tho face of the venomous
fury aroused, and the consternation
which forced the leading minds of tho
Roman Catholic church into tho con
troversy." "Maria Monk at length tired of her
captivity, and one day Incautiously ap
proached a window, and wub recog
nized." "That night a mob bosolgod tho
house, demanding her immediate, sur
render." "They wore dispersed, and
another mob apoarod tho next day."
"The third day, Fifth street from
Avenue 1) to Avenue C was filled by a
frenzied mob of howling fanatics (Ro
man Catholics), who threatened to raze
tho house to the ground, unless Miss
Monk was surrendered at once. Mrs.
Reeve preferred to take chances rather
than surrender. So tho neighbors ral
lied and guarded tho house until Miss
Monk was safely conducted to other
quarters three days later. My
mother often nqieatod this story, but
had I received your inquiry live weeks
sooner, I could have given some start-
ling details," for bis mother died just
five weeks ago.
"The words quoted are as 1 1 received
them from the son of this herolcmother.
If Miss MonK was not an escaped nun,
why did tho priests stln-up Romish
mobs to recapture her? And If thoso
convents are not places of lewdness and
wickedness, why did Pope Innocent
VIII. publish a bull demanding refor
mation in monasteries and other relig
ious places, and declare that "members
of monasteries and other "religious
houses lead a lascivious and truly dis
solute life."
Why is it that all escaped nuns tell
the same story of those prisons?
For my part, I should doem It truly
wonderful that these escaped women
should all agree so well, though wholly
unknown o each other, and living In
widely different times and far remote
from ono another. Every lawyer ac
customed to sift and weigh evidence,
knows well that witnesses cannot so
agree in all the essentials of a story as
these escaped nuns do, unless they are
telling the truth.
This book should bo in every family
in tho world. The boy or girl who has
read it, will not bo likely to be beguiled
into tho dens of Romanism.
Yours truly. Ohask Roys,
;:n F St N. W.
Washington, I). C.
Maria Monk's Hook can be had by
sending a postal or express order for
50 cents o the AMKIUCAN l'LBU.SHINU
Co., Omaha, Neb , or, Chicago. III., or,
Kansas City, Mo. Order from the office
nearest your place of residence.
EtFREE HEAT!
LB I Tfc Ume thnr V, labia nur Haw
JV I will II K AT It 1 you uw c
r FALLS HEATER,
f ym Hint) awnrtln Ji-wl of wtex
.il;t Mri-h Pit ikk i n;. m
3 MMIi P,ut "onion, Ih .
Fifty Years -1.-Church
of Romer
Bt REV. CHAS. CIIIMyCY.
This I it otandard work on Konmtilsiu and
luowrot 'orklnits. written Uvoiih who ought
to know. The story nf the iuishnsI nation of
Abraham Lincoln by the paid Uxdn of lb
Kiniian Catholic C hurch Is tuld In a clear and
convincinn manner. It also re!ate ruo
facta regarding the practices of prlet and
nuns in the convent and monasteries. It
has S.I4 12mo. pages, and la sent postpaid on
receipt of $2.00. by A.MKKICAN HUHLISH
INU CO.. IrtIS Howard Street, Omaha Neb.
or. Cor. Clark and Randolph. Chicago, 111,
THE PRIEST,
THE WOMAN,
2 CONFESSIONAL.
Bt HKV. CHAS. CHINICjCY.
Thl i
ork deal! entirely with the practiCM
of the Confeaslonal
uoi. ana should be read
by ail Froteatanta an well aa by Koman Cath
olics themselves. The errors of the Confess
ional are clearly pointed nut. Price, in cloth.
$1.00, sent postpaid. Bold by
AMERICAN PUBLISHING CO.,
1615 Howard Street, OMAHA, NEB
or. Cor Ksndolph and Clark. Chicago. Ill
I AN EXTRAORDINARY OFFER!!
0 Wewstnt hui mure artiv- n'iits bfor m
k July 1st. We w ili ttuiirautt'f J.n tii$ai jwr dy i
cau 1 tMily iiiKiit'ln anyUvAiitv; mrKHis
sell tliinseIvtM ; o furnish a .rm roll of i.
samples eimrf ly r K r r. ami allow 60 pt
cen. rttmmisainii on ail sftles. ?t'ml to-i:iy
A for full i4rtirulr, or we will send with A
w Siimo a X: uahl s;impU' of our ko.hU iu W
a Solid silver upon rvUt of 10 routs in L
T silver or trim P-. Ftbhshtl In ,.
i drfv., M MKI MLl.KUAlU; i
T CO.. Itimtoii. Msh. f
r a T H M
U ... ,.r . , PRACTICAL
PLATING DYNAMO.Tn!
i:.
ii Mr u 'i. il lit i: flClOtl.l
?4w
mtiry. wa,r?, hioTi-if aui
iO
UiriU; liiOt-rriit ifr; aiwt.M
rvfclt; DO bUrTT; 09 wt; am
irTiiKWi no itutit to i'inua
ilr l: rrvftl rrwvnea- n.akr
P. HANSON a CO, Clerk No. 16, Columbus. Ohio.
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