t the time our story opens, a bloody persecution of the Church was
going on, and all the prisons of Rome were filled with Christians
condemned to death for the Faith. Some were to die on the morrow, and to
these it was necessary to send the Holy Viaticum to strengthen their
souls for the battle before them. On this day, when the hostile passions
of heathen Rome were unusually excited by the coming slaughter of so
many Christian victims, it was a work of more than common danger to
discharge this duty.

The Sacred Bread was prepared, and the priest turned round from the
altar on which it was placed, to see who would be its safest bearer.
Before any other could step forward, the young acolyte Tarcisius knelt
at his feet. With his hands extended before him, ready to receive the
sacred deposit, with a countenance beautiful in its lovely innocence as
an angel's, he seemed to entreat for preference, and even to claim it.

"Thou art too young, my child," said the kind priest, filled with
admiration of the picture before him.

"My youth, holy father, will be my best protection. Oh! do not refuse me
this great honor." The tears stood in the boy's eyes, and his cheeks
glowed with a modest emotion, as he spoke these words. He stretched
forth his hands eagerly, and his entreaty was so full of fervor and
courage, that the plea was irresistible. The priest took the Divine
Mysteries, wrapped up carefully in a linen cloth, then in an outer
covering, and put them on his palms, saying--

"Remember, Tarcisius, what a treasure is intrusted to thy feeble care.
Avoid public places as thou goest along; and remember that holy things
must not be delivered to dogs, nor pearls be cast before swine. Thou
wilt keep safely God's sacred gifts?"

"I will die rather than betray them," answered the holy youth, as he
folded the heavenly trust in the bosom of his tunic, and with cheerful
reverence started on his journey. There was a gravity beyond the usual
expression of his years stamped upon his countenance, as he tripped
lightly along the streets, avoiding equally the more public, and the too
low, thoroughfares.

As he was approaching the door of a large mansion, its mistress, a rich
lady without children, saw him coming, and was struck with his beauty
and sweetness, as, with arms folded on his breast, he was hastening on.
"Stay one moment, dear child," she said, putting herself in his way;
"tell me thy name, and where do thy parents live?"

"I