_--and, after a heartcrushing struggle, succeeded in filling my
bottle with the holy water. It was astonishing how selfish one felt
while still in the battle, and how magnanimous when one had gained the
victory. I filled also the bottle of a voluble French priest, who
despairingly extended it toward me as he still fought in the turmoil.
"_Eh, bien!_" cried a stalwart Frenchwoman at my side, who had filled
her bottle and could not extricate herself. "If you will not permit me
to depart, I remain!" The argument was irresistible; the crowd laughed
childishly and let her out.

Now, I regret to say that once more the churches were outlined in fairy
electric lamps, that the metallic garlands round our Mother's statue
blazed with them; that, even worse, the old castle on the hill and the
far away Calvary were also illuminated; and, worst of all, that the
procession concluded with fireworks--rockets and bombs. Miracles in the
afternoon; fireworks in the evening!

Yet the more I think of it, the less am I displeased. When one reflects
that more than half of the enormous crowd came, probably, from tiny
villages in France--where a rocket is as rare as an angelic visitation;
and, on the carnal side, as beautiful in their eyes--it seems a very
narrow-minded thing to object. It is true that you and I connect
fireworks with Mafeking night or Queen Victoria's Jubilee; and that they
seem therefore incongruous when used to celebrate a visitation of God.
But it is not so with these people. For them it is a natural and
beautiful way of telling the glory of Him who is the Dayspring from on
high, who is the Light to lighten the Gentiles, whose Mother is the
_Stella Matutina_, whose people once walked in darkness and now have
seen a great Light. It is their answer--the reflection in the depths of
their sea--to the myriad lights of that heaven which shines over
Lourdes. Therefore let us leave the fireworks in peace.

It was a very moving thing to walk in that procession, with a candle in
one hand and a little paper book in the other, and help to sing the
story of Bernadette, with the unforgettable _Aves_ at the end of each
verse, and the _Laudate Mariam_, and the Nicene Creed. _Credo in ...
unam sanctam Catholicam et Apostolicam Ecclesiam._ My heart leaped at
that. For where else but in the Catholic Church do such things happen as
these that I had seen? Imagine, if you please, miracles in Manchester!
Certainly they might happen there, if the