LOOKING FOR JOBS. A friend who is interested very much in our young men and who has had a great deal to do with them the greater part of his life, holding a responsible position in the service of the Pennsylvania Company, sends the following: "Young men nowadays," he says, "look for Jobs, not for vocations." The exceptions, of course, fulfill the usual duty of exceptions and prove the rule. The big, general average will try their hands at almost anything until, in a whim, or a fret, a foolish despondency, or an equally futile enthusiasm, they change over and try something else, for which they are no better fitted than they were for their first adventure. They start out not knowing what they want to do, beyond getting a living, but it seldom occurs to them that it would be a good idea to fit themselves for some particular thing, even for the thing they first turn their hands to, or to cultivate the readiness which will fit them for whatever they have to do. A good deal of praise has been wasted on American versatility, on the facility with which our young men transfer themselves from one calling to another, as if steadfastness were not a virtue. Ask a hundred youths what they intend to do with their lives, or wish to do, and ninety of them will express but the dimmest notion. They will decide after they have secured a start somewhere. Something that will pay is the chief thought. But what thing? What can they be best fitted for? What will be the life's most congenial thing for a wear? On all this there is but the scantiest reflection. The world is large, the country is new, the opportunities are many; smart youth will slip in somewhere. But the world is not looking for "smart" youth; it is looking for reliable youth "who make some conscience of what they do," and who have the faculty of application. Ambition is all very well, but without reliability and stick-to-itiveness it is a gross weed in the garden of character. The managers of all large enterprices are accustomed to see processions of youth passing through their establishments-in this week, gone next month. Work has appalled these rovices, discipline displeases them, and drudgery dismays. They look for something better elsewhere. "Something better" usually means something easier. And it is worth noting, although as yet but little talked about by the sociologists and the philosophers, that great numbers of these roving and apparently aimless ones seem animated with a kind of hostility to the establishments which employ them, starting up life with a smouldering surliness which it would be portentious to define as class prejudice, or animosity to capital, but which, for all that, is a little of both, with some ignorance to boot. But why wonder at this, when the prints of agitation, the oratory of discontent and the constant campaigns of abuse occupy so much of the attention and conversation of their elders? When this spirit of discontent does not prevail, a happy-go-lucky one is apt to manifest itself. But youth with these blights upon it is not to be blamed. It is to be helped. It has lacked guidance. The old truth about training the twig has still to be applied. There is immediate fault in the home, no doubt; but the greater fault is in the system by which society has undertaken to train its twigs. There is too much teaching without education. Over-schooling and under-education have long been complained of. It is easier to find fault than to devise remedies. But it is easy enough to estimate the product of the education mills as the product finds its way into the business undertakings of this land, where, to be useful, men must be thorough. Thoroughness, and the appreciation. of thoroughness, appear to have no place in the conventional systems and places of education Youth is supposed to catch it by inspiration. But it must be taught. It is worth more than all the embroideries now flimsily stitched on to "education." The schools, for the most part. ɖɔ not awaken the interest of youth in the meaning and usefulness of study. When the awakening comes it is usually too late. Thoroughness has to be learned early, else it is never learned at all. The usefulness of language will not be disputed. But what paltry percentage of youth appreciates the usefulness of language, or is taught to appreciate it, even the usefulness of its own language? Contemporary youth speaks a jargon, and occasionally reads English. With much difficulty it writes what is neither jargon nor English, Thoroughness is the word and the thing wanted everywhere now and at all times in the young man who desires success. St. John's Quarterly. 缨 THOSE LAZY MONKS. What Have They Done Towards the It was a monk-Roger Bacon-who first discovered and explained those principles which, a little later, led another monk-Schwartz, of Cologneto invent gunpowder; and which, more fully developed some centuries afterward by the great Catholic philosopher Galileo, enabled him to invent the microscope and the telescope. It was a monk-Salvino, of Pisa,-who in the twelfth century invented spectacles for the old and the near-sighted. To the monks-Pacifico, of Verona, the great Gerbert and William, Abbot of Hirschau-we owe the invention of clocks between the tenth and the twelfth century. It was the monks who in the middle ages, taught the people agriculture and who by their skillful industry reclaimed whole tracts of waste land. It was the monks who first cultivated botany and made known the hidden medicinal properties of plants. It is to the monks that we are, in all probability, indebted for the paper on which we write. It was the monk-Gerbertwho first introduced into Europe the arithmetical numbers of the Arabs (A. D. 991) and who thus laid the foundation of arithmetical and mathematical studies. It was an Italian priest-Galvani--who first discovered the laws of the subtle fluid called after him. It was a Spanish Benedictine monk-Pedro de Ponce-who (A. D. 1570) first taught Europe the art of instructing the deaf and dumb. was a French Catholic priest-the Abbey Hauy-who, in a work published towards the close of the eighteenth century, first unfolded the prin ciples of the science of mineralogy. It was a Catholic priest-Nicholas Copernicus who in the beginning of the sixteenth century promulgated the theory of a system of the world called after him-the Copernicanwhich is now generally received and which led to the brilliant discoveries of Kepler and Galileo, and formed the basis of the splendid mathematical demonstrations of Newton and La Place. Finally, it is to the missionary zeal of Catholic priests that we are indebted for most of our earliest maritime and geographical knowledge, It "We do not judge the merits of an apple tree," apple tree," says Father Conway, "from the rotten apples that lie in profusion upon the ground beneath it, but rather by the ripe fruit on the bough." They were sitting in a sunny, pleasant garden nook, the mother and her boy, while she spoke to him of the day's solemn festival, and explained to him in simple but thrilling words the meaning of the beautiful Feast of "Corpus Christi," and of the wondrous love of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, that constrained Him to remain with us even to the end of time in the Adorable Sacrament of the Altar. The child listened with kindling eves, his little hands clasped upon his mother's knees, while she spoke of a time when he, too, might have the happy privilege vouchsafed a little band of white-robed children, that morning, of making his First Communion. But her sweet, sad face grew sadder still as she said it, for she knew and understood to the full the difficulties that stood in her way. Little Stanley was her only child now. God had taken the others to Himself in all their baptismal innocence, and now she could thank Him that, in His inscrutable Wisdom He had done so. For Mrs. Bruce was paying the bitter penalty of a mixed marriage, and her secret burden, though bravely borne, was not the less heavy because she tried to keep her sorrow enshrouded in her own heart. A devout Catholic herself, it caused her the keenest anguish, that her husband. had determined that the boy should not be brought up in the religion of his mother. As Mr. Bruce was much awav from home, it had been easy for her to teach the child his prayers and catechism, sowing the good seed that she hoped would, in spite of obstacles, bear fruit in the near future, for the lessons learned at a mother's knee are never forgotten. Her ardent wish was that he might in course of time make his First Communion, and, with this end in view, she seized every opportunity of speaking to him of the greatest of all the Sacraments -God Himself in the Adorable Mystery of His Love-so that, young as he was, the child was penetrated with a love for the Blessed Eucharist which grew stronger day by day. Well his mother knew that all too soon would come the hour when he would be taken from her and sent to be educated amongst those whose sole aim would be to obliterate every trace of Catholic teaching. But, alas! that time was coming sooner than she imagined. That very evening, after dinner, her husband, who had been very taciturn during the meal, said: "I want to speak to you very seriously. This afternoon I overheard you talking to Stanley, and have learned that you are in the habit of taking him with you to church, which I have strictly forbidden. I have quite made up my mind that the boy is not to be a Roman Catholic; there fore, I have decided to place him in a boarding-school, where you can have. no communication with him." The mother's face wore a look of agonized entreaty. "Charles, Charles, you do not mean that! He is so young. Such a mere baby! Leave him to me yet awhile!" But her tears, her entreaties were of no avail, and a few days later little Stanley and his mother were parted. Oh, the anguish that rent her soul! What could she do for her darling boy, but leave him in God's hands, and pray for resignation and hope! * * * * * * It was the playground of a boys' college, and merry games were in full swing. From everywhere came sounds of laughter and boyish pastime, and everyone seemed imbued with the spirit of mirth, save one little boy who sat apart, listlessly watching what was going on. "What is the matter, Stanley?" said a tutor, who drew near; "why are you not joining in the games?" "I am tired, sir, so tired," said the child wistfully, "and I do so want to see my mother." "Well, cheer up, it will soon be holiday time, and then you will see her, I hope.' "But I am not going home," said Stanley, and the blue eyes filled with tears at the thought. "Poor little man," said the sympathizing teacher; "but go now and have a run in the sunshine." "Little Bruce grows paler and thinner every day," he remarked later on to the headmaster. "Oh, he will soon be all right; he must be cured of his homesickness; he has been here nearly twelve months now." "Perhaps if he saw his mother at holiday time it would cheer him up, poor little chap. I don't like to see a child looking as he does." "But his father's instructions are that he is not to see his mother. She is trying to bring him up a Roman Catholic. Stanley is not even to repeat the prayers she taught him, so that they may be forgotten by him. I told the matron to take away a little white string of beads he had in his pocket when he first came, and he has never asked for them." But Stanley had not forgotten, and his last act before he went to sleep at night was to say a "Hail Mary" and the little ejaculation taught him by his mother when once she fondly hoped that he would soon make his First Communion "Sweet Sacrament, we Thee Adore; O make us love Thee more and more," and so the flames of faith and love were kept burning in his poor little heart. The days slipped by, the coveted holiday season arrived, but still no summons came for Stanley to return home. The headmaster and his family had gone for holidays, and he was left in charge of the matron. Though she was kindness itself towards him, she saw that he was pining, and one day, when he was too ill to rise, she grew alarmed and sent for the doctor. "Get him away to the mountains for a week or two-the child is quite run down," was the advice, and so it came to pass that Stanley was sent away in the kindly matron's charge. Her practised eye said that the child's case was more serious than was anticipated, and she grieved for the circumstances that had caused the separation from the mother whose place was by his bedside. The child's artless talk, too, touched her deeply, as she sat by his side, though the theme was one she was entirely ignorant of. "I wonder when I'll make my First Communion? Mother said I wouldthat Our Lord would come to me when I was a little older. Every day I say the prayers she taught me: 'Sweet Sacrament, we Thee Adore; O make us love Thee more and more!' Do you know it, Mrs. Williams? I wish you would ask my mother to THE PARISH MONTHLY come to me, and tell me all over again Tell What could she say? She knew the circumstances under which the boy had been taken from home; but, as she heard him day by day recalling, in childish fashion and with childish words, the sweet truths his mother had taught him, and saw how they were uppermost in his mind and heart, she determined that at every hazard his ardent wishes should be gratified. She still had the little pearl beads she had been asked to take from him, and these she at once, to his unbounded delight, restored to him. It did not take her long to search out a priest, to whom she confided his sad little story, and his daily visits to Stanley brought the child the purest pleasure. Father Norton saw how quickly he was passing hence, and took the responsibility of sending at once for his mother. "Then," he said, "you will make your First Communion the Feast of 'Corpus Christi'." on Two days later little Stanley was once more clasped in his mother's arms, and so great was his joy, that Mrs. Williams began to hope that his health would be restored. "Why did you not come sooner, mother?" asked the child. Little he knew that, until she got the telegraphic message, she did not know where her husband had placed her boy. He was absent on a journey, so she at once set out, her heart torn with anguish, lest she should be too late. * * * * * * It was the Feast of "Corpus Christi." The little room was as neat and pretty as hands could make it. Here and there were vases of white fragrant flowers and a table covered with snowy linen, where the God of Love would for a moment repose. Little Stanley, all eagerness, lay on his couch, while his mother of love for Our Eucharistic Lord. softly repeated fervent ejaculations Mrs. Williams, though melted with tcars at the sight, was all anxiety, for the Principal of the College and Mr. Oh, if Father Norton would only Bruce were momentarily expected. come! A step was heard outside, the ley, his pearl rosary clasped in his waxen tapers were lit, and little Stantrembling fingers, waited to receive Him for Whom his famished little soul had so long hungered. Two newcomers paused at the door, and gazed with wonder at the unaccustomed scene. What did it all mean? That, in spite of all their precautions. He Who whilst on earth loved and blessed little children, had come to console the dying child that longed for Him, ere his soul winged its flight to Heaven. priest, and the Father was transfixed "Ecce Agnus Dei," began the with astonishment at the look of rapture on the white childish face, that was transfigured with joy, while the mother's countenance was a blending of sorrow, resignation, and happiness that an artist would find difficult to reproduce such a look as is sometimes portrayed by those who would attempt to depict the beautiful mourn'ful features of the Mater Dolorosa. "This is your work, Mrs. Williams," said the Principal, seeing how his commands had been disregarded. "Yes, it is my work," she said quietly," and I don't regret it. Hush! the child is speaking." "Sing it mother, sing 'Sweet Sacrament, we Thee adore.' The sweet trembling voice of the mother broke the silence as she began. "Jesus my Lord, my God, my All," but ere she had finished the hymn of praise, the boy's eyelids gently closed, and the mother, with strange mingled feelings of sorrow and triumph, desolation and joy, was bending over the dead face, with its look of ineffable peace, of her only child. -Mary Agnes Finn. |