coarse in
material but perfect in its saintly lines, separated him from the world
in which he moved so unostentatiously and humbly, and marked him as
one who went about doing good. His life was that of self-absorption and
hardship, mortification of the body, denial of the solicitation of the
senses, struggling of the spirit for more holiness of purpose--a life
of supplication for the perishing souls about him. And yet he was so
informed with the modern spirit that he was not content, as a zealot
formerly might have been, to snatch souls out of the evil that is in
the world, but he strove to lessen the evil. He was a reformer. It was
probably this feature of his activity, and not his spiritual mission,
that attracted to him the little group of positivists on the East
Side, the demagogues of the labor lodges, the practical workers of the
working-girls' clubs, and the humanitarian agnostics like Dr. Leigh,
who were literally giving their lives without the least expectation of
reward. Even the refined ethical-culture groups had no sneer for Father
Damon. The little chapel of St. Anselm was well known. It was always
open. It was plain, but its plainness was not the barrenness of a
non-conformist chapel. There were two confessionals; a great bronze lamp
attached to one of the pillars scarcely dispelled the obscurity, but
cast an unnatural light upon the gigantic crucifix that hung from a
beam in front of the chancel. There were half a dozen rows of backless
benches in the centre of the chapel. The bronze lamp, and the candles
always burning upon the altar, rather accented than dissipated the heavy
shadows in the vaulted roof. At no hour was it empty, but at morning
prayer and at vespers the benches were apt to be filled, and groups
of penitents or spectators were kneeling or standing on the floor. At
vespers there were sure to be carriages in front of the door, and among
the kneeling figures were ladies who brought into these simple services
for the poor something of the refinement of grace as it is in the higher
circles. Indeed, at the hour set apart for confession, there were in the
boxes saints from up-town as well as sinners from the slums. Sometimes
the sinners were from up-town and the saints from the slums.

When the organ sounded, and through a low door in the chancel the priest
entered, preceded by a couple of acolytes, and advanced swiftly to the
reading-desk, there was an awed hush in the congregation. One would no