Worst of all, however, was the food: M. Domenech had found in the garret some smoked pork and bacon, with a store of dried roe-deer venison, which he at first took for sponge. This food was so repugnant to his stomach that he was forced to cover it with a mixture of pepper, pimento, and vinegar, before he could swallow it. To secure his health in some measure, he was forced to go out and pluck herbs in the mountains, at the risk of being stung by a rattlesnake or scalped by the Indians. As oil was very dear, the only seasoning he could enjoy was milk. It was a consolation that the inhabitants had found time to reflect on their conduct to the Abbé Dubuis, and they received the new priest with some degree of civility. His colleague had opened a free school, attended by from sixty to eighty children of both sexes: it had been abandoned since his departure, and the young abbé reopened it, teaching the children their catechism, French, and a little English and German, which he was himself studying at the same time. He was very miserable, having no one to talk to; but he endured it, and the arrival of Dubuis soon after began to render life supportable. He then found time to set about a small collection of minerals and curious animals, among the latter being a splendid assortment of snakes. These were much too abundant to be pleasant: they were continually invading the house, but their constant presence at length rendered them endurable. The following anecdote is curious:

One day our horse was missing, and we set to look for it. Just about nightfall I was startled by a rattlesnake making its appearance beneath my feet. I was about to run away, but I reflected that this snake, if captured alive, would adorn my collection of reptiles, or dead, would make a famous pair of slippers for my mother. I turned and threw a big lump of earth at its head, which stunned it; and then I twisted a cord round its neck. The horse was now recovered, and we returned to Castroville, Dubuis leading the animal, and I dragging the snake, which began to display signs of vitality by sounding its rattle furiously, and almost pulling my arms out. I could not let go, for it would have stung me, while the violence of the efforts I made to hold it, and the fear of being bitten, threw me into a profuse perspiration. At length we reached home, and attached the beast to a wooden bench, placing my foot on its head during the operation.

There is a sequel to this story: the next day they were three at dinner, and had only two eggs between them; so the

young abbé boldly suggested feeding on the rattlesnake. His companion encouraged the idea, for, as he said, if the experiment proved successful, they would never want fresh meat in future. Well, the reptile was cooked scientifically and spiced; but somehow or other, though the meat was pleasant enough, having a cross taste between frog and turtle, the idea of eating a snake was revolting. M. Domenech tells us, also, that the bite of the rattlesnake is not in all cases mortal. Once a husbandman was stung, and gave himself up to death. The abbé was called in to administer extreme unction, but he more practically enlarged the orifice with a scalpel, and then applied ammonia. Within a week the man was perfectly cured.

The snake experiment of cooking having proved a failure, the young abbé took to fattening cats, which he converted into a civet. He also took to shooting, that is to say, whenever the round scuff-box that served as treasury contained a few coins, he expended them in powder and shot, and went out to shoot squirrels and pigeons. Now and then he met with more royal game, and once even killed a crocodile with small shot; but, like the man who had the elephant given him, he did not know what to do with it when he had it. At length, after incredible fatigue and some danger, he managed to cut off the tail, which supplied many a dainty dish. All this while the mission was gradually progressing, and the abbé was beginning to be regarded as guide, philosopher, and friend by the harmless inhabitants. The following passage, though one-sided, may be read with advantage:

I received at this period a letter from my bishop, in which his highness displayed all his tender solicitude for our mission. He, too,

could have written a famous book about his labors and his wretchedness. Our bishop, as poor as ourselves, was obliged to do all the offices himself, and administer the sacraments like a simple priest. The missionary bishops and priests receive no pay from government or from individuals. Their sole resources, for their existence, travels, construction of churches, hospitals, schools, convents, seminaries, emanate from their own industry, the gifts of their family, often as poor as themselves, public or private charity, and some slight assistance from the Propagation of the Faith, and this is very little to meet such great and numerous wants. The income of a bishop is extremely small, for five thousand dollars in the United States are not worth more than so many francs at home.

an accumulation of ills: cholera, yellow fever, and inundation. The archbishop, on granting him permission to collect, added: "If you can raise twenty-five dollars, you had better use them in returning to Texas." But our author would not allow himself to be discouraged after com

seized him and condemned him to death in the

of the verdict. In less than half an hour it

was covered with signatures, and the prisoner led to the foot of the tree near the cemetery, accompanied by the entire population. On the way he was asked if he wished to see his wife and children. He said no, but desired some whisky. On arriving at the fatal tree, the butcher who played hangman placed the rope round his neck, and was about to swing him up, when our old sacristan requested the crowd to kneel down and pray for the culprit. Five Paters and five Aves were then said, and the old man added: "Now let us pray to the Holy Virgin to intercede for the soul of this unhappy man!" To which he replied, in a sarcastic tone: "I should like to know what the Virgin could do for me at this moment !" "Ah!" said the butcher," if she cannot do anything for you we can!" And casting the rope over a branch, he sent the sufferer to eternity. The crowd retired in silence, evidently moved by this expedition of justice.

The Abbé Dubuis and our author next hit on a gigantic scheme, no other than building a church. After mature calculation, they found that the least they could do with was from three to four thousand francs, and our author set out to beg them, even if he traversed the whole of the United States. After various adventures, he reached Galveston in safety. But he was in a difficulty; his coat of black cotton had been in wear for four years; the sun and rain had dyed it all manner of colors; his trowsers were much in the same condition, and his hat possessed no form or comeliness. One of the congregation lent him a coat, and he went to the convent of the Ursulines to have the old garment done up. But the sisters could hit on no better plan than putting a fresh collar and cuffs of new cloth, which rendered the garment more conspicuous than ever. Eventually the Catholics clubbed together, and bought him a bran-new suit, which was quite a luxury. On reaching New

the first day he received twenty dollars, and ten dollars for several days in succession. A Jew tailor, from whom he ordered a pair of trowsers, fell into conversation with him about the mission while taking his measure. After half an hour's conversation, he made him a present of a new suit, and five dollars for the new church. At Thibodeauxville, on the Mississippi, a Jew lady, who had purchased a new silk dress for a ball, on hearing of his mission, brought him the dress to make ornaments for the church, and it made two handsome white chasubles. As our author justly says, Catholic ladies might well have taken an example from her.

On arrival at Castroville, the abbé found society even more demoralized than when he left it; every day appeared to be signalized by a murder, principally committed by the rangers, or volunteers of the American army, who, on being dismissed after the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, had en rolled themselves in Texas, for the purpose of hunting Indians. They were the scum of society, and the most hideous and degraded objects nature could exhibit. These sanguinary wretches, without faith or law, massacred a large party of Lipans, who were camping quietly near Castroville. They spared neither women nor children. In 1850, they had become such a scourge that the American government withdrew them, and supplied their place with regulars; in such small numbers, however, that they were practically useless.

So soon as matters had returned to their ordinary condition at Castroville, the two abbés set to work at building their church, which they had to do almost entirely with their own hands. They were architects, masons, carpenters, in turn; and worse than all, the flock seemed quite ready to starve their shepherds. They were absolutely reduced to live on coffee and Indian corn when their pork gave out, and were actually refused, very politely, it is true, when they begged for assistance.

The

Abbé Dubuis considered it high time to alter this state of things, so one Sunday he gave notice that the congregation must find them in food, and half a dollar per month for the children's education, if they wished them to remain. They felt ashamed at this allocution, and, for the future, the priests had no cause of complaint. In the mean while, the church was progressing but slowly, for the funds were expended, and the priests had to pay their laborers in coats, shirts, or even their hats. Their horses were also sold for the good work, and at the end of three months they had the ineffable satisfaction of completing the church, which was solemnly opened on Easter-day. But by this time the priests were utterly exhausted, and were forced, reluctantly, to return home, for a season at least, and regain fresh strength. Not having any money, they were obliged to walk down to Galveston, but the bishop could not consent to spare two missionaries at once. M. Domenech, being the younger, weaker, and less useful, was allowed to go home, while Abbé Dubuis went off to New-Orleans to collect money for a new bell for his church. The bishop, who had only twenty-five dollars in the world, gave M. Domenech fifteen of them, and a bill for two hundred francs, to pay his passage. The young abbé set out for home, and was soon joyfully received by his family, as one truly risen from the dead. But he only allowed himself three weeks' relaxation; at the expiration of that time he started for Rome, to talk to the pope about his mission, and offer him a pair of magnificent mocassins, made by the Indians. He set out on his travels with a five-franc piece, and a free passage in a ship-of-war, and managed to reach Toulon, somehow, with his precious fivefranc piece intact. On reaching Civita Vecchia, he had once more to tramp to Rome, and finding no hospitality there, he straightway demanded an audience of the holy father:

I was very badly dressed, but at the Vatican a man is not judged by his coat. His holiness received me with his accustomed kindness, and gave me his hand to kiss. Our conversation was long, and turned, naturally, on the missions. I gave a short account of my labors, and the holy father replied: "I see, my dear child, you are well accustomed to wretchedness." "I am so much so," I remarked, "that it will not quit me at Rome." "How so?" I then frankly avowed my pecuniary embarrassment, for my

five francs had totally disappeared. His holiness smiled on seeing my trust in Heaven, and said: "As you travel on behalf of Providence, his vicar will pay the And joining the action to the words, his holiness expenses of your travels." gave me a handful of gold. I then produced my mocassins, which were wrapped up in a piece of torn paper, and presented them to his holiness. The noble simplicity and touching kindness of Pio Nono are too well known for me to describe the profound impression this interview had upon me, and the remembrance is still a grateful consolation for me.

'He

Our indefatigable abbé, after making a fruitless quête through France, where the revolution of February still kept the purses tight, set out once more for his mission. On reaching Galveston the bishop informed him that he was to be transferred to Western Texas, and the frontiers of the Rio del Norte. Brownsville was his station, a town that derived its name from the American Colonel Brown, who, during the War of Intervention, built a fort opposite Matamoros, a Mexican town. was killed and buried in the fort. Round this formidable tomb, French and American merchants settled, as well as several Mexican families, and Brownsville was established. When the abbe arrived there, the town was in its fourth year of existence, and the population already amounted to six thousand souls. The mission M. Domenech had accepted was very extensive. Around Brownsville, for a radius of sixty miles, resided a rather dense population; and for three hundred miles to the north, there were cities on the Rio Grande, and large establishments which he would have to visit. His communicants were now almost exclusively Mexicans, and he did not understand a word of Spanish; still he set to work bravely, and soon found himself making headway.

It was a strange medley of persons whom M. Domenech was now connected with. On the frontiers of Texas, where human life is regarded as very unimportant, the only security the inhabitants had was in their weapons. To put down malefactors who would not submit to the regular organization of justice, the inhabitants had not hesitated to intrust the direction of Lynch law to men whose antecedents were sufficient to terrify the most refractory; and if all those who deserved the gallows had been hung, the sheriff of Brownsville would certainly have been one of the first. If ever he went in pursuit of a thief, and he declined to accom

pany him back, he would pistol him on the spot, as the shortest way of keeping him quiet. With this hero the abbe was fated soon to come into collision. The prison was a small plank hut, which the sheriff guarded by two ferocious hounds, which attacked every one that passed by night. The abbé, whose duties frequently called him abroad at night, had two or three narrow escapes from the brutes, and at last told their master, that unless he tied them up he would shoot them. To this the bully replied, that if he did so, he would shoot him. An occasion soon offered, and the abbé was as good as his word. In a paroxysm of rage, the sheriff came up to his house with a big whip, but M. Domenech soon checked him, by holding a pistol to his forehead, and threatening to shoot him, unless he laid down his whip, and listened to reason. The bully was perfectly tamed, and was a good friend to the abbé in future.

Of course the abbé could not live for any length of time in Mexico, without being mixed up in some way in a civil war. On this occasion a General Carjaval thought he should like to have a turn, so, backed up by the Brownsville traders, he began recruiting, to attack General Alavos, who commanded on the frontier. He marched down to attack Matamoras, and General Alavos being slightly wounded in the foot, was carried from the field. Then, of course, when the victory was in Carjaval's hands, he withdrew his troops. The poor abbé fared worse of any, for, in riding over to Matamoras to attend on the wounded, a heavy fire was opened on him from the barricade. However, he escaped with the loss of his horse. The siege lasted twelve days, and then another general naturally interfered, in the shape of Canalès, who came up at the head of a thousand men, not particularly anxious to help either party, but glad to pick up any crumbs that fell. After some unimportant engagements, in which the Mexicans did their best to run away from each other, the war was over, and Alavos enabled to wreak his fury on the prisoners. He was terribly exasperated against the Americans, from whom he had received his wound, and ordered them all to be shot. No intercession availed, until the abbé went to Alavos, and threatened to publish the news of his cowardice on the first day's fighting. The general would gladly

have stuck a knife through him, but was forced to promise that he would refer the sentence, for confirmation, to Mexico. This the abbé regarded as a certain reprieve; what was his horror, then, on hearing, some three months after, that they were to be shot! He tried in vain to secure their escape; the English consul even offered two thousand doubloons for the purpose; but Alavos was on his guard, and determined that his prey should not escape him. The prisoners were taken out and shot, the abbé accompanying them to their last resting-place alone.

This was a sad trial for the abbé, and the only consolation he experienced was in noticing the gradual increase of his congregation. His conduct, too, in the Matamoras massacre had redounded to his credit, and every possible kindness was shown to him. One of the most pleasing traits is the following, which reflects equal credit on both parties concerned :

On Sunday my church was thronged with fervent Rancheros, who came two or three leagues on foot, despite the inclemency of the weather, to be present at the service. The soldiers of the garrison also came at times, their band marching at the head. I had purchased at Mexico, and placed in Brownsville church, an organ, which was to furnish greater solemnity to our ceremonies, and guide the voice of our choristers. At first I was greatly disappointed when I found that Brownsville only boasted one organist, and he was employed by the Episcopalians. Fortunately I was on excellent terms with their minister, a young man, well educated, and liberal, who felt no hatred against Catholicism. He took pity on my embarrassment, and as my service and his were performed at the same hour, he proposed to me to have my mass an hour earlier, while he would defer his service

for the same period. In this way the organist was enabled to play in both churches.

One of the most miserable places in the abbé's mission, was the mouth of the Rio Grande. The soil is dry, sandy, or marshy, while trees almost entirely disappear. The Spaniards of the sixteenth century well designated this country Costa Deserta, for it is a perfect desert. Here he received shelter from a Jew captain, who accompanied him about the désolate country as a guide. And yet at this wretched spot several American families have settled, to spend their time in fishing. The village is known as Bagdad, but is very different from the capital of the good Haroun-al-Raschid. The huts were built of reeds, and covered with oyster shells, and the way in which the colonists contrive to exist is certainly