"I cannot express to you," he wrote to Loyola, "the joy with which I undertake this long voyage; for we consider a fleet sailing to Japan eminently prosperous in which one ship out of four is saved. Though the work far exceeds any which I have hitherto encountered, I shall not decline it; for our Lord has imparted to me an interior revelation of the rich harvest which will one day be gathered from the Cross when once planted there."

In this assured faith he went forth. He was obliged to take passage in a pirate ship. The images of false gods encumbered her deck, and foul demons, so he believed, beset her path with typhoon and

whirlwind.

After a twelvemonths' voyage the eight thousand miles journey

was accom

plished. He

found in cer

tain features

of the Japan

ese religion a

providential

preparation,

as he con

ceived, for the reception of Christianity. These strange people believed in a Virgin Mother and her divine Son. There were also the

analogies of an infallible Pope, an ascetic priesthood, and institutions resembling those of the Catholic Church. We may assume, therefore, without breach of charity, that many of Xavier's converts retained their old doctrines under a new name. The pictures of Mary and the infant Jesus were easily substituted for those of Amida, the Japanese Virgo Deipara, and Xaca, her son, and they were as readily kissed and worshiped.

It was a more difficult task to reform the sinful lives of the people. At the provincial capital of Nagoto his reproof of sensual wickedness was answered by a shower

of stones. "A pleasant sort of bonze, indeed," the luxurious inhabitants jeered, "who would allow us but one god and one wife," and they drove

him, half

naked, away.
The soli

tary, perse-
cuted and
unprotected

man walked according to the tradition ary record of his life, in a constant at mosphere of

miracle.

Poisons be

came inno

cuous, and

deadly wea

pons harmless, when employed against him. He was endowed with thaumaturgic power, he healed the sick, he raised the dead, he possessed the gift of ubiquity, he spoke in many languages at the same time-so runs the fabulous legend. But it needs not these supernatural explanations to solve the secret of his success. Impelled by his impassioned zeal, he acquired, at an advanced age, a difficult language in

a few weeks. He could dispute with the bonzes on the subtleties of their religion with a dialectic skill that won the admiration and often convinced the judgment of his accomplished adversaries. Reports of these polemics are still extant which recall the disputations of the philosophers in the grove of the Academy, or the dialectic tourneys of Padua or Salermo.

But the authentic record of this remarkable life reveals the greatest miracle of all. With a faith that never faltered, a zeal that wearied not, a passionate love for souls that brooked no restraint, and a courage that no dangers could daunt, he eagerly trod the thorny path of the confessor and the martyr. Driven from one city he fled unto another. He resolved to visit Miako, at that time the capital of the Empire. The season was mid-winter. The road led over rugged mountains and through tangled forests, icy streams and snowy wastes. Thinly clad against the bitter cold, he set out upon his journey with three

of his converts who shared his persecutions. On his back he bore the sacred vessels for celebrating the Mass. A bag of parched rice was the provision for the way. They became lost in the wilderness. A horseman approached bearing a heavy burden.

"Xavier offered to carry the load," continues the record of the adventure, "if the rider would requite the service by pointing out the road. The offer was accepted; but

hour after hour the horse was urged on at such a pace, and so rapidly sped the panting missionary after him, that his tortured feet and excoriated body sank in seeming death under the protracted effort. In the extremity of his distress no repining word was ever heard to fall from his lips. He performed this dreadful pilgrimage in silent communion with Him for whom he rejoiced to suffer the loss of

all things, or spoke only to sustain the hope and courage of his associates. An entire month was consumed in the journey, the cruelty and scorn of man not seldom adding bitterness to the rigors of nature."

At length he reached the capital. But it offered no repose to the way worn yet intrepid missionary. The city was enduring the horrors of a siege. Amid the din of arms it was impossible to declare the Gospel of peace,

Chanting the sublime strains of Psalm cxiv., "In exitu Israel de Egypto, domus Jacob de populo barbaro," he set his face resolutely once more toward the wilderness, and retraced his weary journey.

Xavier visited chiefly the great cities of the Empire as the chief centres of influence. His fame as a saint had spread far and wide. At the Port of Fucheo a Portuguese ship was lying. The arrival of Xavier was hailed by a salute of all its guns. The King, in his palace, was astonished at the uproar, but was still more astonished when he found that its object was a miserable being, 66 so abhorred of the earth," said his messengers, "that the very vermin which crawled over him loathed their wretched fare."

With the characteristic policy of his Order, Xavier affected grandeur or humility, as either advanced the great interests for which alone he lived. He therefore submitted to the wishes of his countrymen, and assumed the gorgeous garb of the ambassador of his most Christian Majesty Don John of Portugal. He was clad in robes of green velvet and gold brocade, adorned with precious stones. Silken banners and Chinese tapestry covered the barges in which the embassy and escort were rowed ashore, and the oars kept time to the clash of cymbals and the softer notes of flutes and hautboys. Beneath a canopy of state, with all the proud bearing of a monarch, Xavier advanced, surrounded by the chief officers of the ship, who, with bared heads, paid him the profoundest honor. Six hundred men-at-arms were drawn up in barbaric pomp for his reception, through whose glittering ranks he marched with the native dignity of one born to command. The stately pageant produced the desired effect upon the royal host. He received the haughty ambassador of the King with the most courteous deference, whereas the humble, missionary of Christ would have incurred only the utmost contempt. Beneath his royal robes, Xavier cherished the same burning zeal as under his serge cassock. The pomp of courts but made the vanity of earth to his absorbed soul seem more vain. He preached and prayed with redoubled energy. "Care not for me," he replied to the remonstrance of his friends, "Think of me as a man dead to bodily comforts. My food, my rest, my life, are to rescue from the granary of Satan, the souls for whom God has sent me hither from the ends of the earth." Such impetuous zeal broke down the most obstinate barriers. The chief bonze and five hundred of his disciples became converts. The King himself lent a paternal ear to the stern rebukes of the missionary. "The worship of Xaca and Armida," says a chronicler of those triumphs, "seemed waning to its close."

The foreign priest, had he so wished, might have become the supreme pontiff in the kingdom of the religion of Mary and Jesus.

The native hierarchy made a strenuous effort to regain their waning prestige. The chief pundit of the Empire, accompanied by three thousand bonzes, held a theological tournament with the solitary Christian missionary. It was like the contest between Elijah and the priests of Baal.

"Do you remember me?" asked the pagan champion. "I never saw you till now," replied the missionary. "It is just five hundred years since we met," continued the bonze; and he proceeded to expound the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, the eternity of matter, and the purifying and final sublimation of souls during the successive stages of existence. Xavier, we are informed, refuted these vain theories. It was not so easy, however, to defend the Catholic practice of celebrating Masses for the dead, while condemning an analogous pagan custom. So subtle were the difficulties propounded, that the Christians conceived they must have been suggested by the Father of Lies. But,

by the grace of the saints and of Mary, they were all triumphantly answered.

"Father Xavier," said the King, who acted as umpire, "speaks rationally, and the rest of you don't know what you are talking about." And he added the somewhat supercilious advice that they "should keep their heads clear and calm, and not bark like so many dogs." Yet, complains the contemporary chronicler of the dispute, the bonzes, though so signally confuted, continued obstinately wedded to their erroneous opinions. Human nature in Japan three hundred years ago evidently differed not greatly from human nature elsewhere semper, ubique, e

omnibus idem."

But a wider field and grander conquests spread before the imagination of the zealous missionary. The vast Empire of China had been but a few years before first seen by European eyes. It burst like a revelation on the heart of Xavier that its dense population comprised one-third of the human race, all dying in the darkness of paganism. He must burst the barriers of seclusion of that jealous nation. He must preach to those perishing millions the religion of Christ.

But he must first return to Goa, across vast wastes of stormy seas, to settle the troubled affairs of his Order. before setting out on his last missionary voyage. His fral bark was driven before the wild monsoon, but through the intercessions of the Saint it was saved as by a miracle from destruction-so the mariners devoutly averred. Having given his last counsels to the Church, he set out on the return journey. When he reached Malacca, he found it smitten with a plague. He could not leave the stricken city till the pestilence was staid-its utter wretchedness had the strongest claim upon his sympathy and succor. He carried in his arms the infected wretches to the hospitals and lazarettos. He watched by their sick couches night and day. He begged food and medicine for their needs from door to door. He calmed the fevered brow with the caress of his hand. He moistened the dying lip. He administered the last unction. He prepared the dead body for burial, and he laid it in the grave. He seemed to bear a charmed life. He braved the fever demon in his lair and came forth unscathed.

The plague abated, he was eager to depart. The conversion of China rested like a burden on his soul. He had associated with himself, as ambassador to the Court of Pekin, Iago de Pereyra, a man who had the heart of s prince, says a contemporaneous historian, although he pursued the calling of a merchant. In order worthily to represent the most Christian King at the Celestial Court, he embarked his whole wealth in costly presents and a lavish outfit. But an unexpected obstacle interposed. The Governor of Malacca, a haughty grandee, coveted the dignity of envoy for himself. He therefore laid an embargo upon Pereyra's ship, the Holy Cross. Whereupon Xavier produced a document which clothed him with supreme authority, to wit, the Papal brief appointing him Apostolic Nuncio in the Eastern Hemisphere. The secret of this august dignity had slumbered in his bosom all these years, and he unvailed it now only to remove a barrier to his mission of mercy to a perishing nation.

The Governor still proved unrelenting. The envoy of heaven now denounced the judgments of God, in solemn excommunication and anathema, against the obdurate civil potentate. These spiritual terrors were recklessly defied. "One appeal was still open," records the historian, “and prostrate before the altar the zealous missionary invoked the aid of Heaven." Compunction seems to have pricked the callous conscience of the Governor. He detained Pereyra, but permitted Xavier to depart, not to Pekin, the

Xavier shook off the dust from his feet against the ungrateful city. A multitude followed him to the beach. He fell prostrate on the earth in passionate prayer that convulsed his frame. Rising from the ground with the symbolic action of an inspired Hebrew prophet, he took off his sandals and smote them together, and cast them from him as a testimony against the doomed city that, despite the judgments of Heaven, continued wedded to its sins. He then leaped barefooted into the vessel that was to bear him to his fate.

He embarked eagerly upon his forlorn hope. Shipwreck and sickness, bonds and imprisonment, and probably a cruel martyrdom, was the prospect before him. But he gladly braved them all if only he might plant the seeds of Christ's Kingdom in the pagan Empire of China. But this hallowed ambition was to be disappointed. He reached the very threshold of his desired achievement only to find an insuperable barrier interposed. The agents of Alvaro prevented his reaching the mainland, although it was almost in sight. Miracles multiplied around his pathway as he approached his end. As he wandered in the forest the ravenous tigers, at the sign of the cross, fled from his presence. But the hearts of his countrymen were harder than those of savage beasts, and they abandoned him on the desolate shore of Soucian without shelter and without food. He was about to return to Siam, in hope of joining an embassy to China and so gaining entrance to the Empire. But death, the deliverer, came to his release. All his weary wanderings at last were over. The following is the account of his death given by his most eloquent biographer, Sir James Stephen:

"At his own request he was removed to the shore, that he might meet his end with the greater composure. Stretched on the naked beach, with the cold blasts of a Chinese Winter aggravating his pains, he contended alone with the agonies of the fever which wasted his vital power. It was a solitude and an agony for which the happiest of the sons of men might well have exchanged the dearest society and the purest of the joys of life. It was an agony in which his still uplifted crucifix reminded him of a still more awful woe endured for his deliverance, and a solitude thronged by blessed ministers of peace and consolation, visible in all their bright and lovely aspects to the now unclouded eye of faith; and audible to the dying martyr through the yielding bars of his mortal prison-house, in strains of exulting joy till then unheard and unimagined. Tears burst from his fading eyes, tears of an emotion too big for utterance. In the cold collapse of death his features were for a few brief moments irradiated as with the first beams of approaching glory. He raised himself on his crucifix, and exclaiming, "In te Domine, speravi; non confundar in æternum!-In Thee, O Lord, have I trusted; let me never be put to shame !"-he bowed his head and died.

Xavier, at the time of his death, was in the forty-sixth year of his age. In his brief but glorious missionary career of ten short years he had traversed, through strange and stormy seas and unknown continents, a distance more than twice the circumference of the earth. His land journeys were mostly made on foot, alone and unprotected, save by the providence of God and supported by His bounty. Everywhere his infectious zeal kindled kindred enthusiasm. He is recorded to have baptized 700,000 converts, and sometimes as many as 10,000 in a single month. But the majority were converts only in name. They retained their superstition, and often their idolatry, while

followed the example of their rulers through a sort of political constraint without mental assent-performing intellectual hara-kiri in the spirit of absolute Oriental submission. Xavier, therefore, sought especially the conversion of rajahs and rulers, but only that he might the more successfully win the masses to the Catholic faith. In many cases, however, a purer form of morality supplanted the social corruptions of paganism.

The noble and simple character of Xavier has been obscured and distorted by the atmosphere of miracle by which it has been surrounded. It has been vulgarized and degraded by the religious romance of which he has been made the unwilling hero. He disavowed the wonder-working power with which, even during his life, his admirers endowed him. When asked if he had really wrought a miracle as was reported, he replied, with unfeigned humility, "What! Can you really believe such a thing of a wretch like me?"

The greatest miracle in an age of self-seeking, simony and religious corruption was his life of passionate philanthropy, his enthusiastic zeal for souls, his dauntless daring and unflagging toil. The spell of his strong will and absorbing earnestness, his wondrous gift of successful leadership, constraining multitudes to embrace his teachings, might well seem miraculous to natures incapable of the same self-sacrifice and concentration of energy. In the process of his canonization, however, half a century after his death, all the miracles reported during his life, together with many more, were solemnly avouched on the papal infallibility of Urban VIII.

When all these "vile lendings " are shred away, and the man stands forth in his simple majesty and modest heroism, he commands for ever the admiration of mankind. However false we may feel was his creed, and however erroneous were his teachings, the moral sublimity of his character remains. His burning love of souls, constraining to a life of toil and travail unparalleled in the annals of missionary labors, are akin to the divine self-sacrifice of Him who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His life a ransom for many.

Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sin, Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within, Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou, who hast given me eyes to see
And love this sight so fair,
Cive me a heart to find out Thee,
And read Thee everywhere

THE growing good of the world is partly dependen on unhistoric facts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.-George Eliot.

Do GOOD, and leave behind you a monument of virtue that the storm of time can never destroy. Write your name in kindness, love and mercy on the hearts of the thousands you come in contact with year by year; you will never be forgotten. No, your name, your deeds, will be as legible on the hearts you leave behind as the stars on the brow of evening. Good deeds will shine as the stars of heaven.-Dr. Chalmers.