S Father Coté By J. Cleveland Cady EE, see! a stone church!" "On the farthest hill, nearly a mile away; don't you see its steeple against the sky?' Surely there was no mistaking the Renaissance steeple, and the dignified mass that, crowning a commanding summit, was clearly outlined against the sky; it was certainly a church, and more-a stone church-which in a region of frame buildings gave it great pre-eminence and interest. This is the land of the "Acadians," the descendants of the peasantry who in 1755 were deported from Grand Pré to the southern colonies, and who, many years after, when the troubles were over, returned, only to find the lovely Grand Pré region fully occupied by newcomers. Sadly they turned their course to the sterile shores of St. Mary's Bay, where they settled, midway between Yarmouth and Digby, Nova Scotia. Though comprising the bulk of the poulation of the region, here and there may be found families of New England origin, with their peculiarities of dialect and custom. Little villages of frame cottages line the road for twenty miles-very small, humble homes, indicating the narrowest margin of living, but neat, often bright with flowering plants which fill windows and doorways, and quite free from an air of poverty. It was, however, a strange neighborhood for a large stone church! As a long ascent was before us, we dismounted, trundling our cycles. Presently we overtook a farmer riding in his cart, drawn by a small ox between the shafts, which were secured to its head by a rope bound and fastened to the horns, a device which every true Nova Scotian declares to be the only humane and efficient way of attaching beast to cart. Such incidental acquaintances usually afford opportunities for securing information, and often entertainment; no wise person will miss them. We hastened to the social feast, "Well, that's surprising; the people don't here!' seem wealthy." "No, they ain't; I don't suppose the people in any part of the Province have to work so durned hard for a living; but the church, that's all owing to Father Coté." "And who is Father Coté ?" "Oh, he's our priest; he's a mighty knowing man; he was at college at Quebec, and learned all they could teach in every line; and then I've heerd he studied abroad. He's a great man, anyhow, Father Coté is; why, he planned the church, and built it too! "Before long we all saw how knowin' he was; he'd got our farms cleared of stone so we got bigger crops, and at the same time he'd got all the stone right handy for a new church—and, of all things, a stone church! "More and more the people were glad to work under such a man; and they did it with a will. And just think-he planned it all, even the great trusses that carry the roof! The carpenters were afraid they wouldn't hold it up, and the whole business would be down on top of their heads; they'd never seen anything like 'em. But he said, I'll be responsible; go ahead.' And they stood as solid as a rock! Oh, he's a wonderful man." "I suppose the people are very proud of their church." "Yis, they love that church, they've put so much hard work into it." "Does Father Coté get much time to look after his people, and know them ?" "Before he came here we were a-going to get up some sort of a cheap church, and raise money for it by picnics and fairs, lots of 'em ; but when he came he just put his foot down, Father Coté did, put it down real hard, too, and said: We won't dishonor God's cause in that way. We'll work, and we'll beg for it first, and let people everywhere that will, have a chance to give to the Lord's House. You, François, go off to the fishing villages and see what you can get; and you, Alphonse, go over to the mines and get what you can there.' And so he set one and another to work, and worked himself the hardest of any, until nine thousand dollars were raised! Nine thousand dollars! Just think of it-wasn't that a monstrous sum! All the rest was labor and materials that our folks good-by to the enthusiastic and sociable gave. "Then he just bossed everything all the way through; why, he'd take the commonest sort of a man and in a little while break him in so he could do anything he wanted of him. Yis, sir, and he didn't mind time and agin taking off his coat and working with the rest of us; there wasn't anything stuckup about him. But wasn't he wise, though! "In the beginning, when they were set to build of wood, he said: 'I see you've got lots of stone on your land; it's very bad for the farms; you ought to get rid of it.' "But what can we do with 'em? Nobody don't want 'em, as far as ever we've heerd.' 666 Haul them all over to the church grounds; they will be out of your way there, and I can dispose of them.' "So the people cleared up their farms, and great piles of stone rose on the church grounds, until everybody began to be frightened, and were saying, 'What will he do "Tell ye he does; there are seven or eight hundred of us, and he even knows the names of all our children; seems as though he's always looking out in some way for the good of the families, big and little." We now approached the church, which we were curious to investigate, and, bidding farmer, we made our way to the interesting building. It was a large structure of the native gray stone, very simple and plain in its exterior appearance, but solid and dignified. Its front doors being locked, we proceeded to the rear, where we found men and teams preparing the foundations for a considerable annex to the main building. Presently one who seemed to be directing their efforts―a dignified and very courteous man-stepped forward and invited us into the church. Accepting his guidance, we entered what proved to be a remarkably effective building, capable of accommodating some eight hundred or a thousand people, and possessing in an unusual degree qualities not often found in conjunction-dignity and cheerfulness. Its walls, built of the rough stone that came from the farms, as well as by very common labor, had required unusual thickness for stability, and this gave deep interior jambs (some two or three feet) to the lofty windows. It was surprising how greatly this expression of mass and strength contributed a feeling of grandeur to the whole interior. A handsome barrel ceiling crowned the nave, its form and lightness contrasting agreeably with the plain, sturdy walls. The style was in the manner of the French Renaissance, simply treated; the coloring was light, relieved sparingly by gilding. The altar, which rose nearly to the height of the lofty ceiling, was the culminating point of effect, and while no costly materials or rare workmanship entered into its composition, it was very impressive, partly from proportion and mass, and in no small degree from the manner in which it was lighted-in part by concealed windows whose sole purpose was to give emphasis to some portions of the picturesque structure. As we remained in the church, we felt more and more its charm, and were led to make inquiries of our guide (who proved to be Father Coté himself) as to the history of this building which would in most places have cost thirty or forty thousand dollars. But nine thousand dollars in money, he informed us, had been raised and expended; beyond that all had been accomplished by the labor of the parish, which had been most freely and generously given. "Why," said he, "each man now gives twenty days' work in the year for the Church and its needs!" On leaving we accepted his invitation to rest a while in his study-a sunny room in the plain little manse hard by. This gave opportunity for further inquiry regarding the details of the work, especially how it was possible that this least fertile region of Nova Scotia could build the finest church of all the country districts. "More than anything else," he replied, "I think it is because the people have taken it up as a matter of service to God. That has ennobled the whole thing-has made selfdenial sweet, has made the work the great desire of their hearts. "A very usual way here, if a church is to be built-I do not know if it is so in the States' is to have a succession of fairs and festivals, and so raise the most of the money. I have never believed in it. In many country places where the fairs continue several days there is a great deal of intemperince, and it has seemed as though the evil quite outbalanced the good. But, aside from that, I do not believe it is the right way to raise money for the Lord's service. So I have told my people that they must work for the Lord's House; save for it; give and beg for it; they must do it as an offering to Him, and He would forward the undertaking, own it, and bless the House to them. They have done so, and He has favored them beyond all expectation. More than that, their efforts have made them a very different people; they love and respect their religion more, are more faithful and devoted. Is it not always true that that which we struggle and deny ourselves for, gains imperceptibly a strong hold upon our hearts? It is, I am sure, a great mistake to eliminate self-denial from God's service; we lose the best means of developing Christian character." We were greatly impressed, not only with the views which had wrought such admirable results in the Salmon River parish, but with the gentle dignity, ability, and noble spirit of the man who would have made his mark in any walk of life, but who had been content to come to the poorest population of the province, cast his lot for life with them, and, elevating their lives, do a great and lasting service. While the large, substantial church was the conspicuous symbol of what had been accomplished, of infinitely greater value was the change wrought in the community; the training in giving and doing "as unto the Lord." Bidding good-by to our new friend, we passed around the church to get our bicycles, and in doing so met one of the carpenters who was working out his share of labor on the annex. "You give very much to the Church," we said. "Yes, we have all of us given a good deal, right straight along, for the last six or seven years; but one thing I am certain of-and I've thought it over a good deal—we are each one of us to-day every bit as well off in pocket as we should have been if we had not given at all. Not a man, woman, or child is anything poorer for what they have done! know that's so." I Was it strange that, in our dreams there, and in our waking since, a personality of great dignity and force has been much before us: that of one who, with fine talents and endowments, gladly accepted a lowly lot, buried himself in its duties and interests, and upon high principles wrought a noble work? The air of the Senate, like that of all high altitudes, is clear and calm. Beneath are the clouds and storms; here prevails the serenity of remoteness and permanence. an exponent of this peculiar atmosphere, Vice-President Hobart seems the right man in the right place: he can be so somnolent and altogether comfortable. Each Senator, too, in his moments of relaxation, predicates a double-gown and a pair of slippers. He not only has arrived, but he has brought his things with him, and is going to stay a little while. And why not, indeed ?-who has a plainer right to fold the hands against political worry? In a half-dozen years one may survive a half-dozen tempests of unpopularity and yet come forth for re-election to find the sun shining never so brightly. Repre sentatives, it is true, can never escape from the eternal" next fall;" that is an old man of the sea that presses its knees and drives in its heels in House, lobby, and committeeroom. But if a sword is suspended over any Senator's head, there are six strands that must be parted before damage can be done. Time is an emollient of bitterness. When Rip Van Winkle returned, he was fat and hearty and well liked by his neighbors. Together with this security of position, a Senator has many high privileges. Like an Ambassador, he has instant access to the President. His name on a card can work all sorts of official wonders at the Departments, being a presto-change for positions not subject to civil service rules. Representatives of his party bow down before him, delighted to receive the scraps after he has taken the lion-share of the patronage. The sight of a Congressman talking with his Senator reminds one of a good little boy being sent on an errand-he looks so pleased to do as he is told. A Senator, too, is attended by the most expert of underlings. There is no clerk so full of whispered information, au. thentic, mark you, as the Senatorial clerk. There is no page so spry as the Senatorial page. When he gets to be too old to be in two places at one time, he is translated to the House, and another little brother of Puck appointed in his stead. The Sergeant-atArms is a naturalborn coddler; it is said that he supplies mufflers and galoshes in the winter, and lemonade and fans in the summer for his wardsin-arms. As for the Capitol policeman, his hours are reduced when he serves in the Senate wing, the strain of responsibility is so intense. The Senate doorkeeper is a survival of the fittest-an heirloom of deportment from the fathers. Sometimes he quavers of the days before the war, as if they were but yesterday. He means the Mexican war. interviewing so prevalent about the entrances of the House. At one side of the Senate Chamber is a large anteroom, where decorum reigns and hats are sternly admonished off if not immediately doffed. At the passageway to the inner apartment sits an elderly man, with several youths in waiting. You hand your card to this Lord Chamberlain in mufti, at the same time breathing the name of the Senator whom you desire to see, which he notes on the back. He then delivers the pasteboard, thus still further stiffened, to one of the esquires, with much of the air of Gunkeeper No. I to the King hand VICE-PRESIDENT GARRET A. HOBART The public seeking information finds a marked contrast for the better in the Senate wing of the Capitol. Officials not only know, but they seem anxious to impart. One gratefully misses that rollicking, transitory indifference so noticeable in the attachés of the House. Take Mr. Amzi Smith, for instance, Superintendent of the Senate DocumentRoom from time immemorial. Any one who has the pleasure of consulting him meets a veritable index of the rolls, who has not only the title and contents of every bill, but also abundant copies of the same, at his fingers' ends, all at the disposal of every comer. Senators are much beset by visitors, but there is none of that informal, pertinacious ing the royal musket to Gunkeeper No. 2. Away goes the messenger, speedily or slothfully in direct proportion with his length of service. On his return he stands in the doorway and makes the following an-. nouncements to those seeking audience, who again find themselves looking for pumps and knee-breeches: "Senator Blank is not here at present." "Senator Soand-so will see you, sir. Juststep right in to the receptionroom." "Senator X? Very sorry, madam, but the Senator makes it a rule not to see ladies at the Capitol." Other Senators do make it a rule to see ladies at the Capitol, as the lucky seeker after Senator So-and-so discovers as he passes right into the reception-room. For there is an aura of femininity prevalent which seems to say that America is also ruled by a queen. As for the room itself, it might well have been borrowed from a salon of mediaval Paris, or of a Hudson River night-boat, so profuse is it with heavy draperies, puffy furniture, and glittering glass ornamentations. Soon the Senator appears, beaming as to the eye and grasping as to the hand, and all aglow with the consciousness |