One sunshiny Friday morning not long ago as time is counted, or, to be exact, the 16th of August, I was present at a very quiet but intensely interesting consultation held in one of the private offices of The Menace building. At least I was personally intensely interested. Only three others were there, the beloved senior editor, Rev. Walker; Marvin Brown, our fearless associate editor, and W. F. Phelps, the executive head of The Menace---and I noted that each very keenly appreciated the importance of the commission that they were intrusting to my hands.

And so they gave me my assignment; to attend and thoroughly, impartially report the Eleventh Annual Convention of "The American Federation of Catholic Societies" at Louisville, Kentucky, from August eighteenth to twenty-first (1912). Later, as the long train of Pullmans glided slowly away from the 'Frisco depot in Aurora, looking back once more I caught a last glimpse of our editors, Mr. Walker and Mr. Brown, standing side by side just where I had clasped their hands in farewell a few moments before. And that last glance was an inspiration to me nerving me to the danger and the work before me. For I knew and realized fully their utter reliance upon the man into whose keeping as staff correspondent they constantly place some of the most important interests of The Menace.

Again, too, upon receiving this assignment I was impressed with the supreme importance of the task before me---as you read you will also appreciate to the fullest extent the fateful meaning to American liberty and the awful menace to our free institutions developed in this national convention of militant Catholicism.

As I write picture after picture from the halls of memory passes before me, but among them all, one thought, one great and overpowering desire is guiding my pen. Mentally I am reviewing that vast army of readers three hundred thousand strong now, and of which you are one, and my one great desire today is that you will read deliberately, carefully, weighing well each sentence, each statement and each description and that you will seek without any bias of prejudice to so correlate and combine the significant emblems, facts and events of this deeply momentous convention that you can clearly, distinctly read these ominous signs of the times in which we live. For this immense gathering together of MILITANT Catholics from the

four corners of our Republic is one more stupendous event of history in the making.

Hence, in writing this extensive report, seeking to cover this convention thoroughly in the next few weekly installments, I shall write dispassionately, coolly, but while adhering rigidly to a coldly analytical style still every reader of The Menace knows full well that I shall remain utterly fearless to the end. If the truth at times seems baldly blunt and at time brutal, only remember that Truth unadorned is most beautiful.

Nine o'clock Sunday morning found me standing in front of the massive "Cathedral of the Assumption," on Fifth street near Walnut, in Louisville, Kentucky, awaiting the opening of the great iron gates and the inward swinging of the huge doors to admit the thronging thousands that sweltered in the

pitiless Southern sunshine, packed in the street outside.

For within this stately cathedral the eleventh annual convention of "The American Federation of Catholic Societies" was to be formally opened, beginning as announced with "solemn pontifical mass" with the much heralded John Bonzano, "papal delegate," as "celebrant."

Suddenly the waiting throng surged forward---the doors were open. There was a short wait and a few moment's crush at one of the side doors, and I found myself almost literally carried half way down a long aisle. Towards the front of the auditorium there was now comparatively little confusion and although this part of the cathedral was now supposed to be filled I took the chance and calmly walked down the aisle to the fifth pew from the front on the left side aisle and there found a seat, which proved a most fortunate vantage point, giving an unobstructed view not only of the great altars before me but indeed of the whole cathedral. The two center divisions of pews were reserved for the convention delegates, visiting priests and nuns. These two rows of pews extending the whole length of the room are divided by an extremely wide center aisle.

There was another wait of fully half an hour, the great church was already thronged to its fullest seating capacity. Deeply interested, I gazed in admiration about me at the architectural beauty of the interior of this cathedral that is the pride and boast of the Catholic hosts of Louisville. The massive pillars supporting the classic arches and groins almost lost in the heights above us, the significant and nobly built "stations of the cross" at intervals along either wall, the exquisitely delicate touch of the hands of master craftsmen that had transfused into the wonderful stained glass windows veritable dreams of

foreign art, the great vaulted recess in front whose gracefully arched ceiling above with majestic curves covered protectingly the solemn symbolism below where the altars were lighted into dead, glittering whiteness like ancient mausoleums in some pagan temple of the long-ago---all seemed to the student dead emblems of the past seeking to mortgage the freedom of the living future!

A great hush fell upon the five thousand people gathered from all parts of these United States to do homage to the delegate of their potentate across the seas. A long, double column of armed men in uniform was now marching with muffled but martial tread up the broad center aisle of the cathedral till the leaders of the columns stood beside the two front rows of pews. The command, "Halt," rang out, then the columns were faced inward right and left, and thus facing swords leaped from scabbards and glittered and shone evilly in the "Present." Who and what were these? The "Catholic Knights of St. John," Commandery No. 130, and the "Catholic Knights of America," Company A, Uniform Rank---the "guard of honor." The powerful tones of the pipe organ in the huge choir-loft, now filled with singers, pealed forth, the military guard stood at rigid attention,---came at last with dignified tread and haughty mien the ceremonial procession led by "Father" Eugene Donahue, assistant master of ceremonies, and an unknown acolyte bearing aloft a huge, polished silver cross; this memorable and pompous procession finally slowly advancing brought to my view for the first time the "Most Reverend" John Bonzano, "Apostolic Delegate to the United States and Titular Archbishop of Mitylene," followed by the "Fransciscan Monks" in their black and brown robes and cowls, "Dominicans" in their white habits, "Benedictines," "Jesuits," followed by scores of priests and acolytes. Somber

gorgeousness was lent to the color scheme by the royally purple robes and birettas of the visiting "Archbishops," "Bishops," and "Monsiegnori," each of whom was attended by his courtiers called "Deacons of Honor," while in humble attendance upon "His Excellency," the "Papal Delegate," were "Bishop" O'Donaghue, a large number of "Deacons of Honor," a procession of priests and acolytes bearing lighted candles led by one priest carrying a large silver crucifix. The "Pope's Representative" was followed by a number of young men busily engaged in carefully carrying the extremely long train trailing from his robes behind in mid-air for many yards.

As John Bonzano, from Italy, passed thus, dressed in a brief tawdry splendor representing a foreign ruler; passed between the drawn swords of the "Knights"---those swords that Catholics openly boast shall in the

hands of the "Fourth Degree Men CUT A PATH FOR THE POPE INTO THE WHITE HOUSE!" ---the throngs upon either side knelt, some kow-towing to the floor to receive his "blessing" which he scattered broadcast to the right hand and to the left. And the saddest commentary on the frailty of humanity and the superstition of ignorance were the renegade Non-Catholics and Protestant church members that I saw kneeling!

Upon entering the "sanctuary," or place of altars, John Bonzano was escorted with all due servility by his American (?) attendants to the THRONE prepared for him at the left of the largest altar. A thousands candles burst into brilliance---again the great organ spoke thunderously, the choir high amid the arches swung grandly into the "Kyrie," and the "Pontifical Mass" had begun.

This solemn service, symbolizing the most adroit mixture of ancient Egyptian mysticism with the polyglot mummery of the Hebrews, than which there is no more powerful appeal to innate idolatry and innate superstition---an appeal that also reaches sometimes the learned and worldly-wise because of its crafty and specious promises of successful evasion of personal responsibility---this service that was now in progress is not only passing strange and weird but of deepest interest to those of our readers who would know intimately this Romish, politico-religious menace against which we are called to defend our liberty, our national honor, and perhaps just tomorrow our very homes!

From my seat of vantage I gazed narrowly at John Bonzano, a slightly built, dark eyed, typical Italian, with that slender, oval face bearing indelibly stamped thereon the femininity and weakness of the degenerated and decaying peasant class of the Italy of today, that Italy from which has faded away all the glory of her

former greatness, for, without malice, educate and vest him as you will, give him all the titles of a decayed Latin nobility if possible, heap upon him all the empty, high-sounding adjectives of an equally decadent and doomed Roman church, even hail him "Prince of the Propaganda,"---and you can never so long as the world stands change that stubborn, that unpalatable fact that John Bonzano was born an Italian peasant and John Bonzano will die an Italian peasant! (Like master; like servant--before she died Rosa Sarto explained to friends who asked her how it happened that she could neither read nor write, that her parents were very poor and that every sacrifice had been made by all the family to give all possible advantages to her brother the reigning pope and master of Catholicism throughout the world!)

Beside the usual vestments of the "mass," John Bonzano now wore in addition to the "amice," the "alb," the "cincture," the "maniple," the "stole," and the "chasuble," also the regalia sacred to every especial occasion: the "archbishop's" great cross of solid gold was suspended from his neck, the "mitre" or HELMET TYPIFYING HIS READINESS TO FIGHT FOR THE CHURCH, was set firmly upon his head, and in his feminine hand he carried the golden "crozier," or Lituus of the pagan augurs, SIGNIFYING AUTHORITY OVER THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

Thus equipped, standing before the "high altar," surrounded by a score or more of assisting "officers of the mass" and a small throng of acolytes, altar boys, etc., John Bonzano began to sing the lengthy "Ponitifical Mass" in a high-pitched insistent, nasal voice in Latin, of course. The scene was weirdly grotesque to the real thinker, to the initiated student---but subtle in imperishable suggestion to the ignorant mind.

It is fair to say that I enjoyed mentally the classic music by the cathedral choir, to which had been added fifty voices for this occasion. They first sung Stewart's "Honoring St. Anthony of Padua," Gounod's "O, Jerusalem, Jerusalem Converte ad Dominum," rang out masterfully at the "Gospel"---and at the offeratory "Cantate Domino" filled the cathedral with its powerful strains.

But I must hasten my story. Immediately following this "mass" came the sermon of the day by James A. McFaul, "bishop" of Trenton, N. J., who spoke from the pulpit in the central part of the cathedral. He read from the twenty-second chapter of Matthew the question the Pharisees asked Jesus, "Master, which is the greatest commandment?" and the Master's reply,

"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and all thy soul, and all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment, and the second is like unto this, thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself."

"Looking out into the future I SEE THE CATHOLIC CHURCH AS SHE WILL BE IN AMERICA NOT MANY CENTURIES HENCE. My vision is that of a great cathedral, built not by mortal hands, but the great Architect of the universe, the eternal mountains are the foundations and pillars, the blue vault of Heaven is the dome, THE CATHEDRAL IS AMERICA! (!) There is a long train entering this great structure---there are hundreds of bishops, with their shepherd's staffs; thousands of white-robed priests and millions upon millions of faithful children, with them all are great bodies of devoted 'religious' who minister to the fallen and the orphan and the neglected and teach and guide the young. This mighty concourse is about to worship at a shrine where the spotless Lamb offers Himself DAILY in the sacrifice of the MASS as a propitiation to His Heavenly Father and pours into the souls of men the grace that makes them saints of God and children of the King. Then can those about the throne exclaim with the apostle, 'This is the victory that overcometh the world;' Then OUR GLORIOUS FAITH THAT WILL HAVE WON AMERICA for God and His Christ."

The above excerpt forms a very fair synopsis of this representative Catholic sermon presumably of the highest grade to be obtained and as I have given these significant passages word for word as I heard them, our readers can now determine for themselves rather the slogan, "Make America Dominantly Catholic" is not the watch-cry that breathes throughout this "sermon." Especially read that last paragraph

again and yet again and note the double meanings.

As finally John Bonzano followed by the same long procession filed slowly down the center aisle between the upraised, saluting swords that glittered palely, menacingly, the great choir and the congregation joined in singing, "Te Deum Laudamus"---but some way no song was in my heart, my lips were mute---instead I felt like one who walks alone, unknown, amidst traitors to his glorious country that as a man born free he holds more precious than life itself!

For I had for the first time seen the yellow and white rag of the pope flutter from the same staff ABOVE THE STARS AND STRIPES! I had seen Catholic crosses upon the pillars of the civic buildings of an American city!

Again I stood upon the pavement in the sunlight. I looked at my watch---three hours and a half had elapsed.

Chapter 9