Memoir. (continued 5)

The funeral obsequies were of necessity accelerated more than his friends would have desired, so that few from distant places were able to attend them. A few intimate friends from Baltimore, and some clergymen from places out of town, were, however, present; a large number of the clergy of New York and its vicinity; and as great a number of the faithful as the church could contain. The funeral was on Thursday in Passion Week, April 6, two days after the decease. The previous Thursday was F. Baker's birthday, and the anniversary of his conversion to the Catholic Church also occurred within the week of his death and burial. He had just completed the forty-fifth year of his age, and was in the ninth year of his priesthood. The following Sunday was the twelfth anniversary of his formal reconciliation to the Church, in the chapel of the Sisters' of Charity, in Baltimore. Early on Thursday morning, four private Masses of Requiem were said for the repose of his soul in the church. At the usual hour for High Mass on Sundays, a solemn Mass of Requiem was celebrated by the superior of the house, in presence of the Archbishop, who performed the closing rite of absolution, and a short funeral discourse was preached. The coffin was ornamented with the sacerdotal vestments, the chalice, and the missionary crucifix of the deceased, and covered with wreaths of flowers. The altar was deeply draped in mourning, and F. Baker's confessional was also similarly draped. Never did these exterior symbols indicate a more sincere and universal sorrow on the part of all who participated in them. It was a very difficult task to summon up sufficient fortitude to perform these last sad rites. The voice of the celebrant was interrupted by his tears; the sub-deacon faltered as he sang the elevating and comforting words of the Epistle; the choir-boys showed in their candid and ingenuous faces their sorrow for the one who had trained them up in the sanctuary; the choir, composed, not of professional singers, but of members of the congregation, undertook their solemn task with trembling; every countenance was sad and every eye moistened, in the assemblage of the clergy who sat in white-robed ranks nearest the sanctuary, and of the laity who filled the church. I had the last duty of friendship to perform, in preaching the funeral sermon; and the wish to do full justice to F. Baker, and to satisfy the eager desire of all present to hear something of his life, enabled me to fulfil this duty with composure, and restrain the tide of emotion which I saw swelling all around me, quieted only by the hallowing and tranquillizing influence of the sacred rites of the Church, and the high, celestial hope inspired by the contemplation of a life so noble and a death so holy. The music was in the sweet, plaintive, solemn style of the true ecclesiastical chant; all the means of celebrating the holy rites of the obsequies had been prepared by F. Baker's own pious and careful hand; his own spirit seemed to hover over the spot, and a divine consolation stole gently over all. Sad as it is, there is nothing so beautiful, so soothing, so elevating to the soul, as the funeral of a holy priest, who has achieved his course and attained the crown of his labors. Many of those who were present remained for a long time after the service was completed, and some were still found there unwilling to leave the spot, at nightfall. The remains were taken from the church to St. Patrick's Cathedral, escorted by a band of young men, and followed by a train of carriages, and by others on foot, although it rained heavily; the Vicar-General recited the concluding prayers of the ritual; the coffin was placed in the episcopal vault next to that of the late archbishop; a few wreaths of flowers were placed upon it, the entrance was closed, and all withdrew; leaving the earthly form of the departed to the silent repose of the tomb.

For some days after, a portion of the mourning drapery was left on the altar, and requiems continued to be offered by all the priests of the community. Many Masses were also said by other priests in various parts of the country, and prayers offered by the people, although the common sentiment of all was, that the one for whom they were offered was already among the blessed in heaven. On Saturday evening, as we all went to our confessionals, and a large congregation of people was assembled in the church, preparing for their Easter duty, a peculiarly holy calm seemed to pervade the spot. The people were hushed and still, unusually intent upon their devotions. The penitents of F. Baker looked with sadness upon the place where, just two weeks before, he had sat for the last time in the tribunal of penance, and came weeping to some one of the other fathers to request him to take the direction of their consciences. It was a sad Holy Week; and a difficult task to us, wearied with labor, and some with watching, oppressed with a grief which time and repose had not yet diminished, to fulfil the arduous duties of the season. Our greatest consolation was in the sympathy manifested by our people, and in the proof they gave of the love and gratitude which our labors had awakened in their hearts. Easter Sunday came; the altar was superbly decorated with the choicest flowers of the season, the triumphant chant of the Church resounded as usual; but all felt that the one whose presence in the sanctuary and whose eloquent voice had given the day one of its greatest charms, was gone forever; and besides, the gloom of the great crime committed on Good Friday had overspread the whole nation, and the drapery of universal mourning had turned the city into one great necropolis. The admirable pastoral letter of the archbishop on the assassination of the President was read in all the churches, giving eloquent expression to the indignation and grief which oppressed all Christian and all honest and just hearts; and never was there seen an Easter more sad and mournful, more like a day of unusual humiliation and sorrow, than that Easter Sunday; which had been anticipated as a day of peculiar joy and thanksgiving for the cessation of bloody war and the restoration of peace.

It is in just such times as these, however, that we appreciate most fully the strength and support which is given us by our holy faith, the Divine Sacrament of the Altar, and the grace of God, and that those who have given themselves to a religious life learn the inestimable blessing of their vocation, which raises them above all private and all public tribulation. A few days brought back serenity and cheerfulness to our little community, and we took new courage from the blessed death of our companion, closing so beautifully his holy life, to resume quietly and resolutely our ordinary duties, and to rely more completely on the providence of God; trusting that we had gained an advocate in heaven, and hoping to persevere like him to the end. His course was short, and his reward speedily gained. What a happiness for him that he listened to the voice of God; and, as his day was declining to its close, though he knew it not, gathered up his strength and courage to leave all and run that brief and swift race, which in later years gained for him the brilliant and unfading crown of a true and faithful priest of Jesus Christ, who had brought thousands of souls into the way of justice; and had practised himself that Christian perfection which he preached to others!

There must be many young men equally gifted, and fitted to accomplish an equally apostolic work, to whom God has given the same vocation. What hidden consequences were involved in the result of that struggle and deliberation which was the crisis of grace in the life of Francis Baker! What a loss to himself and to the Church of God, if he had proved cowardly and unfaithful! The simple question before his mind was one of personal obedience to the commandment of Christ to arise and follow Him. But because of his obedience, God chose him to be the instrument of an amount of good to others which would be sufficient to enrich with merit a priesthood of fifty years. The immediate fruits of his own labors in preaching the word of God and administering His sacraments can never perish. The fruits of his example and his teaching will, I trust, continue to multiply and increase after his death in rich abundance. If the blessing of God perpetuates and extends the congregation which he aided in forming, and which, so far as we can see, could not have been established without him, his character and spirit will be perpetuated in those who will for all time venerate him as a spiritual father, and imitate him as one of their most perfect models. If he is to have no imitators and no successors, it will be because God can find none among our choice and gifted youth, who have enough of sincerity, generosity, and the spirit of self-sacrifice, to obey the inspirations of His Divine Spirit, and consecrate themselves to His glory and the good of their fellow-men. The need is pressing, the career is glorious and inviting, and the vocation of God will not be wanting. There is no hope for religion, except in the multiplication of priests animated with the apostolic spirit. If the example of Francis Baker enkindles the spirit of emulation in some generous youthful hearts; and encourages some timid, fearful souls who are vacillating between the Church of God and the interests of this world, to imitate his fidelity to the voice of conscience; the end I have had in view will be accomplished. If not, it will stand as a perpetual reproach to a frivolous and unworthy generation, incapable of appreciating and imitating high Christian virtue. And now I lay the last stone on this monument of one who was once the friend and bosom companion of my youth; afterwards my spiritual child; then my brother in the priesthood; and who is now exalted to such a height above me that my eye and my mind can no longer follow him.