The First American 
 Sister of Charity 
 
 Rev. John C. Reville, S. J., Ph. D. 
 
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 The First American 
 Sister of Charity 
 
 
 ELIZABETH BAYLEY SETON 
 
 * - 
 
 By the 
 
 Rev. John C. Reville, S. J., Ph. D. 
 
 Associate Editor of "America” 
 
 . 
 
 
 boston college libkak> 
 
 CHBSTNUT HILL, Mass. 
 
 THE AMERICA PRESS 
 173 E. 83rd St. 
 New York, N. Y. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS 
 
 I—A Lady of Old New York 
 
 II—The Angel of the Lazaretto 
 
 III— The Cross in Barclay Street 
 
 IV— The Lilies of the Valley 
 
 V—The Fruit of Her Hands 
 
 Copyright, 1921 
 By 
 
 The America Press 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 i 
 
 A LADY OF OLD NEW YORK 
 HE year 1774 marks an epcch in the history of the 
 
 i United States scarcely less memorable than the one 
 which gave to the world the-Declaration of Independence. 
 The events of 1774 prepared the way for the heroic deeds 
 of 1776. The Boston Tea Party of 1773 had made the 
 English Government realize that the colonies must be 
 cowed or that an appeal to arms was the only outcome. 
 The “Intolerable Acts” of 1774 attempted to accomplish 
 the first purpose. One closed the port of Boston until the 
 town should pay for the tea so summarily thrown over¬ 
 board from the English ships. A second, the Regulating 
 act, remodeled the charter of Massachusetts and at- . 
 tempted to destroy those free institutions which were so 
 dearly prized by the people. A third, the Administration 
 of Justice act, provided that any British soldier accused 
 of murder in putting down riots or while enforcing the 
 revenue laws might be taken for trial to another colony 
 or to Great Britain. A fourth, the Quartering act, im¬ 
 posed English soldiers as unwelcome guests on Ameri¬ 
 can householders, and the fifth, or Quebec act, extended 
 the boundaries of that province southward to the Ohio 
 River, thus, as the colonists claimed, ignoring the rights 
 of Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York and Virginia, 
 and doing away within that territory with such cherished 
 institutions as the popular meeting and the freedom of the 
 press. The “Intolerable Acts” roused the spirit of the 
 people. From Virginia, in reply, came the suggestion for 
 a general congress “to' deliberate on those measures 
 which the united interests of America may from time to 
 time require.” At the call of Massachusetts, the First 
 Continental Congress assembled at Carpenter’s Hall, 
 Philadelphia, September 5, 1774. Fifty-five delegates 
 
4 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 from every colony, Georgia excepted, answered the sum¬ 
 mons. Massachusetts sent John and Samuel Adams; 
 Connecticut, her shoemaker statesman, Roger Sherman; 
 Pennsylvania, John Dickinson; New York, John Jay; 
 South Carolina was represented by Christopher Gadsden 
 and John Rutledge, while Virginia sent Richard Henry 
 
 Lee, Patrick Henry, and the man who was a host and a 
 
 \ 
 
 congress in himself, the incomparable Washington. 
 
 The first Continental Congress exercised a powerful 
 influence on the destinies of America. Without it, the 
 work of the second Continental Congress would never 
 have been accomplished. It prepared the way for the 
 crowning act of that body, the protest of an entire nation 
 that it would no longer submit to tyranny. The nation 
 has seen no more stirring times than those in which these 
 great events were taking place. The very spirit of liberty 
 seemed to be borne through the land, everywhere light¬ 
 ing the flame of high resolve in the breasts of its citizens. 
 Great things were being done for that most sacred of all 
 causes, after the cause of God Himself, human freedom 
 and progress. 
 
 It was amidst these throes that the American Repub¬ 
 lic came into being. Only a few days before the first Con¬ 
 tinental Congress assembled at Philadelphia, a child was 
 born whose life and example were to exercise a large 
 influence on the destines of the Catholic Church in the 
 country which Washington and Jefferson were trying to 
 save from tyranny. That child, Elizabeth AnnJBayley, 
 was born in New York City on the 28th of August, 1774. 
 She is better known as that Mother Seton, whose calm 
 and sweet image appears on the very first pages of the 
 history of the Catholic Church in our country, reminding 
 us of an epic age and epic deeds in both Church and State. 
 She was the second of the three daughters of a distin¬ 
 guished physician, Dr. Richard Bayley and of Catharine 
 Charlton, his first wife. The Bayleys and the Charltons 
 were well-known members of the best society of early 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 5 
 
 New York. In the beginning of the struggle of the col¬ 
 onies with the mother-country, the Bayleys were stanch 
 loyalists, but when the contest was over and the former 
 dependencies of Great Britain became the free, sovereign 
 and independent United States of America, Dr. Bayley 
 threw in his lot with th£ new Republic and became one of 
 its most loyal citizens. He had left no doubt as to his 
 sympathies with England, during the struggle. The war 
 over, no one ever doubted his loyalty to the United States. 
 His service as first Health Officer of the Port of New 
 York, and his sympathetic and unceasing labors for the 
 sick in the Quarantine Station on Staten Island can never 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Stirring times were those in which little Elizabeth Bay- 
 ley played down by the Battery where the citizens strolled 
 to watch the ships swing up the harbor, or trudged to 
 school with the little misses of the better class, or later on, 
 from the heights of Craigdon, her father-in-law’s country 
 house on a neck of land, that is now Forty-third Street, 
 between Eleventh Avenue and the Hudson, looked down 
 on that beautiful river and watched the ships riding at 
 anchor. She was only two years old when King George’s 
 red-coats marched into the city, which they held from 
 1776 to 1783. The din of war sounded around her cradle, 
 and if she slumbered peacefully while Howe and Wash¬ 
 ington were locked in the death struggle of Long Island, 
 others feared and trembled for her. She was nine years 
 old when she saw the British regiments march out from 
 the city they had so long held. From some window along 
 the way, or held perhaps by a friendly hand in some 
 crowded street, she watched other troops marching in, 
 the ragged but indomitable veterans of Washington, and 
 the great Virginian at their head. She saw the British 
 flag hauled down and the Stars and Stripes flung to the 
 breeze. The heart of the little maid must have felt a sen¬ 
 sation of genuine pride as it was unfolded before her, and 
 she heard thousands loudly hailing it as the emblem of 
 
6 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 justice and liberty. That year, 1783, Elizabeth’s fellow- 
 New Yorker, Washington Irving, was born. 
 
 The child lost her mother when she was three years old._, 
 
 Her stepmother, a member of that Barclay family whose 
 name is perpetuated to this day in New York by a well- 
 known thoroughfare, was strongly attracted to her and 
 to some extent, if that be possible, took the place of the 
 dead Catharine Charlton, the mother so early lost, but 
 whose image still lingered in her daughter’s heart. But 
 good Dr. Bayley was “Bettie’s” idol, while the kindly 
 physician was mother, guide, philosopher and friend to 
 his bright and attractive daughter. If Bettie was sent to 
 the rather formal and unprogressive schools of the 
 metropolis, it was from her father that she learned jmpstr— 
 As far as his duties would allow, he presided over her 
 studies. His word was law. The little New Yorker 
 liked neither French nor music, and independent Ameri¬ 
 can that she was, flung her music book and her grammar 
 aside, declaring that she would have no such foreign 
 importations. But Dr. Bayley was an old-fashioned 
 father, and even Miss Elizabeth Ann Bayley, loved, petted 
 and idolized though she was, was not to be the mistress 
 in his household. A word of warning soon brought the 
 wayward little rebel back to the hated French and the 
 neglected piano. A man of sterling character, of the high¬ 
 est integrity, of a charity that knew no bounds, fearless 
 in the performance of his duties as an army surgeon, and 
 in the presence of the contagious diseases that too often 
 ravaged the city, Dr. Bayley had but one fault. He had 
 been tainted by the false philosophy of the age, by the 
 Deism of Rousseau and Voltaire. His religion seems to 
 have been that which too often rules the conduct of other¬ 
 wise high-minded and noble-hearted men, service to hu¬ 
 manity. Such a religion is inadequate and unjust, for it 
 looks to the present only, and neglects the Creator. 
 
 Dr. Bayley’s daughter seems, for a very brief moment, 
 to have been dazzled by the glittering sophisms of Rous- 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 7 
 
 seau and his school, but she was too deeply religious to 
 remain long under that malignant spell. She was reared 
 Jn an atmosphere of strict Episcopalianism. But her 
 soul was naturally Catholic. In her innocent girlhood 
 and during that painful stage of her married life, when, 
 in a foreign land, she watched like an angel of consolation 
 over the last moments of her dying husband, we can see 
 how deeply attached she was to the religion in which she 
 was brought up. What u nconsciously attracted her in it, 
 was that element of Catholicism which it still retained, 
 belief in the Divinity of Christ and attachment to His 
 Sacred Person. Already as a child, and when growing to 
 womanhood, she is strongly drawn to Him. After the 
 Bible, which she reads on the seashore and in the quiet 
 recesses of Craigdon or New Rochelle, she loves the “Imi¬ 
 tation of Christ,” and tries to regulate her life according 
 to its lessons. She wears a little crucifix over her heart. 
 The Holy Name has for her an irresistible charm, she 
 bows reverently at its sacred sound. That distinctively 
 Catholic doctrine that tells us that guardian spirits watch 
 over our steps, appeals strongly to her, and she commends 
 her acts and her life to these heavenly protectors. She 
 yearns to be incorporated into Christ by the participation 
 of His Sacred Body and Blood. Although the Episcopal 
 Church can offer her nothing else but the shadow of that 
 life-giving Body, even for that she hungers, and prepares 
 with the greatest fervor for the reception of the empty 
 elements of the bread and wine. How admirably this 
 foreshadows the fervor with which she will approach the 
 Altar later on in life, when, under the Sacramental spe¬ 
 cies she will receive really and truly, and not merely in 
 image and in shadow, the Body and the Blood of her 
 Lord! 
 
 But childhood and girlhood passed. With thousands of 
 her fellow-citizens, Elizabeth Bayley, then in her fifteenth 
 year, witnessed the inauguration in New York of George 
 Washington as President of the United States. It was 
 the 30th of April, 1789. The inauguration took place at 
 
8 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 Federal Hall on the corner of Wall and Broad Streets. It 
 was noon, and the great Virginian, accompanied by Chan¬ 
 cellor Livingston, Adams, Hamilton, Knox, Steuben and 
 St. Clair stepped forth on the balcony. After Livingston 
 had pronounced the oath of office, Washington kissed the 
 Bible and solemnly swore to keep and safeguard the Con¬ 
 stitution of the United States. 
 
 The official recorder of the proceedings was Thomas 
 Lloyd, a Catholic, a former student at St. Omer, under 
 the Jesuits Carroll and John Leonard Neale. From the 
 notes taken down by him, the address of our first Presi¬ 
 dent was given to the public. Thomas Lloyd is rightly 
 called the Father of American stenography. It was one 
 of his boasts that at St. Omer he had acquired, not only 
 his ability at shorthand, but his republican principles. 
 The solemnity of the scene must have deeply impressed 
 the susceptible mind of the young girl. A crisis had come 
 in the nation’s life. One was facing her. 
 
 It was time for Elizabeth Bayley to decide what her 
 future career should be. Her social position admitted her 
 into the inner circles of fashionable society. Cultured 
 and refined, gentle and singularly affectionate, she united 
 to grace of form and charm of manner unusual strength 
 of character and that easy self-control which she had 
 learned from her father. She was rather small in stature, 
 says one of her biographers, but slenderly and gracefully 
 formed. Her face, with finely cut features, and lit by 
 brilliant black eyes, was framed with masses of dark curl¬ 
 ing hair. Her presence breathed refinement and inno¬ 
 cence. She had lived through stirring and trying times. 
 Under the reserve of her perfect womanliness, there were 
 the warm heart and the sprightliness of a childlike nature 
 
 / ^+"*K*m* 
 
 unconscious of evil. Admirers and suitors came. Of 
 their going and coming and lingering we have little 
 record. The young girl was waiting for the man to whom, 
 without fear or scruple, she could give her hand and 
 heart, and entrust her happiness and her life. He came at 
 last. It was William Magee Seton, eldest son of William 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 9 
 
 Seton, a wealthy New York merchant, who, in his later 
 years, was cashier of the old Bank of New York, of which 
 President Roosevelt’s grandfather was president. Wil- 
 . liam Magee Seton had all that Elizabeth Bayley’s heart 
 could desire. The name he bore had long been famous in 
 Scottish romance and story. He had wealth and social 
 position. He was a refined and cultured gentleman. Miss 
 Bayley rpade her choice calmly, deliberately, and if her 
 heart dictated that choice, it was ruled and controlled by 
 her reason and her faith. To William Seton she gave her¬ 
 self entirely in the bloom of her maidenhood and inno¬ 
 cence, with a childlike and nobly romantic trust that 
 never faltered. A model daughter, she became a model 
 bride. 
 
 The marriage of the youthful couple, for the bride was 
 not yet twenty years old, took place in John Street, New 
 York, the ceremony being performed by Doctor Provost, 
 the Episcopalian Bishop of New York. » William Seton 
 carried his young wife to his father’s house and into her 
 new family, Elizabeth Seton came as an angel of com¬ 
 fort and joy. To the shrewd and kindly old merchant, she 
 came as a beloved daughter, an adviser and friend. The 
 younger brothers and sisters of her husband loved her as 
 a second mother, while in the eldest unmarried daughter 
 of the house, Rebecca Seton, the young matron found “the 
 friend of her soul.” In the autumn of 1794, the year that 
 saw John Jay negotiate his famous treaty with England, 
 and Mad Anthony Wayne deal a death-blow to the 
 treacherous Indians at Fallen Timbers, the young couple 
 “moved” to No. 8 State Street, to a house which at pres¬ 
 ent is the Mission of Our Lady of the Rosary, for the 
 Protection of Irish Immigrant Girls. Here in May, 1795, 
 Elizabeth gave birth to a daughter. The child was named 
 Anna Maria. Four other children subsequently blessed 
 the union: William, Richard Bayley, Catharine and Re¬ 
 becca. - 
 
 We cannot but admire the Providence of God when we 
 read the truly idyllic pages of this part of Mrs. Seton’s 
 
10 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 life. God was working wonders in this pure and unselfish 
 soul. Her husband, her children, her household duties, 
 her father, the new family with which she was in daily 
 contact, the poor, her domestics: these absorbed her ener¬ 
 gies and called upon all her love. The duties of the 
 mother and the wife, the cares of the mistress of a full 
 household, the works of charity she performed among the 
 poor of the city were preparing the heart and the soul of 
 Elizabeth Seton for her nun’s life in the cloistered peace 
 of Emmitsburg. Even now her deep faith, her love of her 
 Redeemer and her longing for His presence and His grace 
 in her soul, her zeal and piety, were foreshadowing the 
 sanctity of future days. 
 
 Calmly glided the early years of Elizabeth Seton’s mar¬ 
 ried life. Proud of her young husband, prouder if possible 
 of the happy brood of children that crowded her nurs¬ 
 ery floor, she saw no cloud on the horizon. Those were 
 sunny days as they sauntered down to the Battery to 
 watch the ever-changeful waters of the changeless sea, 
 or rested under the shade of the Craigdon trees, or sailed 
 up the noble river under the mighty ramparts of the Pali¬ 
 sades, the young bride and mother little dreaming that 
 there, on that eminence a few miles from the city of her 
 birth, an eminence then crowned with the banners of a 
 noble forest, a cloistered pile would one day rise, and the 
 voices of the young and of a thousand and more of her 
 spiritual daughters would be lifted up to call her blessed. 
 
 But trial comes to all the friends of God. By it He 
 tests the vigor of their faith, the strength of their loyalty 
 and their love. It came -to William Seton’s bride. In 
 June 1798, her loved father-in-lav/ died. Elizabeth 
 mourned over him as over another father, A heavier 
 blow awaited her. In the summer of 1801 yellow fever 
 appeared in New York. Dr. Bayley was at his post of 
 danger. As Health Officer of the Port he was untiring in 
 his labors to stem the disease and to help the .fever- 
 stricken. While attending to a band of Irish immigrants, 
 
11 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 whose marvelous faith and resignation to their wretched 
 fate deeply impressed him, he was himself attacked by the 
 contagion. The anguish of Elizabeth was heart-break¬ 
 ing. She had been her father’s darling. He had been her 
 idol and her playmate, her best friend. He was dying} 
 almost without a thought of God or His Blessed Son, the 
 Redeemer of the world. What could she do for him? 
 Gladly would that incomparable daughter have given up 
 her own life that her father might not die without some 
 sign of faith and repentance. Her own life was as noth¬ 
 ing to such a gain. But the young mother had something 
 more precious to give. Bending over the cradle, where 
 her little Catharine was sleeping, she lifted the innocent 
 babe in her arms and offered her darling’s life to God for 
 the salvation of her father’s soul. The child was spared, 
 but when he felt the last moment come, Dr. Bayley 
 repeated with every sign of faith and love the Sacred 
 Name which Elizabeth, kneeling at his side, was mur¬ 
 muring in his ear. 
 
 But still another blow was to fall. The death of the 
 elder Setcn, had deprived his son of a wise and prudent 
 guide. Young Seton “had many ventures forth.” But 
 they that carry on their-business in ships on the treacher¬ 
 ous seas are seldom safe from the bitter jests of fortune. 
 The ordinary vicissitudes of commerce and the war or 
 rather threat of war between France and the United 
 States caused a suspension of trade with French ports. 
 The Seton firm was threatened with financial failure. 
 The anxieties and worries which were the natural results 
 of these reverses grievously affected the health of Mr. 
 Seton. In all his troubles Elizabeth stood courageously 
 af his side. Her husband’s trials were hers. With him, 
 if necessary, she would share the most trying lot. Pov¬ 
 erty, loss of social position and prestige, what was all that, 
 while they had their mutual love and the affection of their 
 children? Never was the mother and the wife more 
 heroic, more unselfish. Every social pleasure she gave 
 
12 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 up, every absolutely unnecessary expense was gradually 
 curtailed. They had lived in so methin g like luxury. They 
 now were satisfied with the lot of the poon Not once did 
 the affection, the tenderness, the buoyancy, the soul-deep 
 loyalty of this admirable woman fail. Her trust in God 
 was the trust of the great Saints, of Teresa of Jesus, and 
 the Little Flower, of Frances de Chantal and Margaret 
 Mary, and the great Saint, of whom, unconsciously she 
 was already the spiritual daughter, Vincent de Paul. 
 
 But William Seton’s health was shattered. To regain 
 it was absolutely necessary if he were to make good the 
 heavy losses of the last year. In his early youth he had 
 visited Haly, and in the course of business had become 
 acquainted with a family of merchant princes, theJFilic- 
 chis of Leghorn. His physician had told the sufferer that 
 a sea voyage might restore his waning health. Time and 
 again the Filicchis had offered him the hospitality of 
 their home. It was now a duty for the patient to accept 
 the generous offer. He resolved to make the journey. 
 Elizabeth could not think for a moment of abandoning 
 him. Whatever his fate, she would share it, sickness or 
 stormy sea, loneliness or death. When she had plighted 
 her troth to William Seton, it had been no idle word nor 
 empty ceremony. She meant to fulfill it to the letter. 
 She had made the promise before God. He would give 
 her the courage and strength to carry it through. On! 
 Him she relied and on her love. Neither was to fail her. 
 She thought it wise to let her eldest child, Anna Maria, 
 now nine years old, accompany her. To her, Anna Maria 
 would be a help, to the suffering husband a companion 
 and a source of joy. The preparations were made. On 
 October 2, 1803, the little party boarded the “Shepherd- 
 ess”, bound for Leghorn. A sturdy and kindly Irish sea¬ 
 man, Captain O’Brien, name of happy omen, as we shall 
 see, for Elizabeth Seton, commanded the little vessel. 
 The voyage was uneventful. Six weeks after, the “Shep¬ 
 herdess” dropped anchor in the harbor of Leghorn. 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 13 
 
 II. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE LAZARETTO 
 
 T O the stranger who for the first time sets foot upon 
 her shores, Italy is a land of enchantment. Her sunny 
 skies, the music and the laughter of her children, the 
 treasures of art found in her great cities and the hum¬ 
 blest of her hamlets, the monuments of bygone ages that 
 everywhere meet the eye, the ruins of her pagan shrines, 
 the splendor of the temples she has raised to the worship 
 of the true God, her sufferings, her victories, the glory of 
 her mountains helmeted with snow, the wizardry of her 
 valleys, weave an irresistible spell over the imagination 
 and the heart. To those magic shores, the “Shepherdess” 
 had carried William Seton and his beloved wife and child. 
 In the words of the Trojan exiles well might they have 
 exclaimed: 
 
 Tendimus in Latium sedes ubi fata beat as 
 Ostendunt. 
 
 “To Italy we sail, where Providence points out to us a 
 peaceful, a blessed home!” Yet, Elizabeth may have 
 heard something like the echo of those words that 
 sounded in the hero’s ears of old, bidding him fly from an 
 inhospitable shore. “Fuge crudeles terras, fuge littus 
 avarum !” “Fly, Lady, fly from those cruel, those deadly 
 shores!” For beautiful and kindly to others, to her that 
 enchanting land was at first to be an abode of sorrow and 
 death. Yet the hand of God seemed to guide her thither 
 almost in spite of herself. 
 
 To Leghorn the “Shepherdess” brought the news that 
 yellow fever had again ravaged New York. The very 
 mention of the disease smote like a funeral knell on the 
 officials of the port. To make matters worse, the little 
 American vessel anchored in the roads could produce no 
 health certificate. Its passengers therefore were forbid¬ 
 den to land and condemned to the lazaretto or detention 
 hospital for a well-nigh interminable quarantine. On the 
 
14 - The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 ears of William Seton, worn out by the long sea-journey, 
 weaker even than when he had left New York, shattered 
 in spirit, the sentence was a sentence of death. Elizabeth 
 and Anna Maria could scarcely check their tears. But 
 the heroic mother and the brave little daughter did not 
 think of themselves. For that dear one’s sake, they en¬ 
 deavored to hide their cruel disappointment. They had 
 come, they thought, to the land of sunshine and flowers 
 and balmy breezes. They were doomed to a prison and 
 a tomb. For such it looked, when after being rowed in a 
 barge from the ship, the three ill-fated voyagers reached 
 a canal from which they heard the grinding of the lifted 
 chains, and then passing between high stone walls and 
 frowning piers, came to the damp and cheerless quaran¬ 
 tine station. They were treated kindly by the warden 
 and the health officers. But the nature of the mysterious 
 disease of which they might perhaps be carrying the 
 • deadly germs, prevented anything like familiar inter¬ 
 course between the exiles and their guardians. 
 
 The lives of some of the greatest servants of God might 
 be well summarized in these words: heroism in suffer¬ 
 ing. But in the splendid record these great men and 
 women have left us, it might be difficult to find anything 
 to surpass the heroic constancy, magnanimity, tenderness 
 and love which were now displayed by Elizabeth Seton, 
 this magnificent type of American and Christian woman¬ 
 hood. She was not yet the Foundress of the Sisters of 
 Charity of Emmitsburg. But she was the Sister of Char¬ 
 ity and the Angel of the Lazaretto. She had not as yet 
 the full light of the Truth for which she longed. But 
 there can be no doubt that one of the reasons why later 
 on she was given to see the plentitude of the Truth, was 
 that she had never been rebellious to the light and that, 
 as far as she knew, arid as far as her feeble strength would 
 allow, she had never failed in her duties as wife and 
 mother. Devoted wife, gentlest of mothers! If God 
 gave the infant Church of America great models and 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 15 
 
 leaders in saintly prelates like Carroll and Cheverus and 
 Brute and Dubois and Dubourg, it was also by a special 
 Providence that He gave it a model for the womanhood 
 of the great Republic in this gentle but indomitable spirit. 
 
 The record which Mrs. Seton wrote of the tragic days 
 spent with her dying husband and suffering daughter in 
 the lazaretto of Leghorn is one of the most touching and 
 soul-affecting ever written by a woman’s hand. It is the 
 story of a great sorrow, and a great love. Simple, artless, 
 but poignant in its very simplicity, it unconsciously 
 reveals the nobility of her soul, the depth of her Christian 
 faith and the strength of her woman’s heart. 
 
 On entering the lazaretto, the three prisoners, for such 
 they were, had caught a hasty glimpse of Antonio Filic- 
 chi, one of that merchant family with which William 
 Seton had long been bound by the ties of the closest 
 friendship. Antonio Filicchi and his brother Filippo 
 deserve the gratitude of every American Catholic. To 
 them Mrs. Seton owed, first, whatever alleviation was 
 allowed her, her suffering husband and child in the laza¬ 
 retto. Noble-hearted gentlemen, merchant princes, they 
 used their wealth for no sordid or selfish aims. They 
 used it now for the relief of three exiles, a dying husband, 
 an agonizing wife, a little child, all longing for the sun¬ 
 shine and the flowers, and locked in a sunless tomb. Good 
 Samaritans, they did not look merely to the wine, the oil 
 and the lodging for the welfare of the body, they thought 
 more of the soul of their suffering friends. To Antonio 
 Filicchi, Mrs. Seton owed the beginning of her conver¬ 
 sion. His example and his words were decisive influences 
 in her acceptance of the Faith of which he was such a 
 splendid example. 
 
 The Angel of the Lazaretto soon realized that God 
 asked of her the sacrifice of her husband’s life. The chills, 
 the fever, the racking cough, the sleepless nights, the 
 wasting frame and sunken eyes of the patient told her that 
 the end was near. Even with all the kindness of Antonio 
 
16 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 Filicchi to help her, she could do but little to relieve 
 Seton’s pain. Even if her gentle ministrations could for 
 a moment relieve the sufferer, the gloomy walls of their 
 prison, the brick floor, the wind that swept through every 
 crevice of their cell, the beating of the waves against the 
 rocks on the shore not far away, created an atmosphere of 
 fear and terror against which it seemed impossible to 
 fight. 
 
 William Seton had been a model husband, a man of 
 spotless honor and life. But, like Dr. Bayley, he had been 
 but little influenced by religion. One of the blessings of 
 suffering is that it turns the soul to God. The prisoner of 
 the lazaretto, moved undoubtedly more than ever by the 
 gentleness, the love and patience of the angel that knelt 
 by his side, murmuring his name in her prayers that God 
 might spare him to her love, must have asked himself 
 what was the source of her fortitude and her love. It 
 could be none other than the religion she so conscienti¬ 
 ously obeyed and which as a boy he had practised with 
 unhesitating faith and then forgotten. With Elizabeth 
 and the innocent Anna Maria, poor little lamb, already 
 exposed to the cruel winds of suffering, he prayed again, 
 and the Sacred Name fell from his lips. In his suffering 
 he recognized the hand of God, and submitted to His holy 
 will. Taught by that guardian angel whom God had 
 given him for his consolation and joy, he sincerely and 
 humbly turned to Him, begging pardon for his sins with 
 filial trust in His mercy and goodness. 
 
 It was almost Christmas and memories of home and the 
 loved ones left beyond the seas crowded upon the exiles. 
 Only for the devotion of the Filicchis, the great feast 
 would have been passed in the dreary cell of the hospital. 
 Thanks no doubt to these good Samaritans, the days of 
 quarantine were slightly abridged and though barely able 
 to move, so weak was he and so near to death, William 
 Seton was carried to Pisa followed by his heroic wife and 
 child. It was the 19th of December. Christmas day - 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 17 
 
 dawned, and the bells were ringing their merry peal from 
 every steeple along the Arno. When Seton opened his 
 eyes after a feverish night’s rest, the watchful and unrest¬ 
 ing angel-wife was at his side announcing tidings of great 
 joy, for it was the day, she told him, of their dear Redeem¬ 
 er’s birth, the day that opened to them the gates of ever¬ 
 lasting life. Husband, wife and child prayed together., 
 Two days after, early in the morning of December 27, his 
 hand in the grasp of wife and child, William Seton quietly 
 passed away. His last words were: “My dear wife and 
 little ones! My Jesus, have mercy and receive me!” x 
 
 The trial had been severe. But fortified by her unques¬ 
 tioning faith, her never-faltering trust in God, her wifely 
 devotion, the sufferer had borne her slow martyrdom 
 without a murmur. If she trembled under the blow, her 
 brave spirit was not broken. She lifted her tear-dimmed 
 eyes to Heaven. One day she would rejoin the husband 
 of her youth. He had not entirely forsaken her, for Anna 
 and the little babes he had left her, still remained. For 
 them she would live and toil, and in living for them, she- 
 was but carrying out his wishes and cherishing his mem¬ 
 ory. 
 
 In her hour of sorrow, the exiled American lady real¬ 
 ized that she had more friends in this strange land than 
 she had ever suspected. The kindly warden, or captain 
 of the lazaretto, the officers of the hospital, and the 
 attendants who had helped her in her seclusion, gave her 
 unmistakable signs of their delicate sympathy. But the 
 generous and kind-hearted Filicchis especially proved her 
 stanchest friends. Under their hospitable roof in Leg¬ 
 horn, the sorrowing widow and her daughter found at last 
 that rest and comfort which after their tragic experience 
 they so sadly needed. Elizabeth found more. Here for the 
 first time practically, she was brought into intimate con¬ 
 tact with a genuine Catholic family. That noble Catho¬ 
 lic household deserves a place of honor in the memory 
 and the heart of every Catholic in the United States. It 
 
18 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 was the deeply spiritual atmosphere, the genuine Catholic 
 piety, simple, sincere, tender, which reigned in the home 
 of Antonio Filicchi and his brother Filippo, which first 
 opened the eyes of Mrs. Seton to the beauty, the worth, 
 the real meaning of the Catholic religion. Their good 
 example was one of the deciding factors in her conversion. 
 Later on in life when asked why she had become a Catho¬ 
 lic, she answered that “She had seen in Italy the practical 
 workings of the Catholic Church.” It was her commen¬ 
 tary on the words of Our Lord: “By their fruits you shall 
 know them.” 
 
 During the few months they stayed in Leghorn and in 
 Florence with their friends, Anna fell grievously ill, and 
 then the devoted mother who tended her caught the same 
 disease. The charity, the tenderness and watchful care of 
 the Filicchis never failed. Mrs. Seton realized more and 
 more every day that her noble-hearted hosts drew their 
 charity from seme supernatural source. That hidden 
 source she discovered, when with them in some quiet lit¬ 
 tle shrine, or in the v/onderful churches of Florence, 
 where men and women were not ashamed to pray before 
 their Sacramental God, she attended Mass, or saw them 
 receive Holy Communion. Her soul was naturally Catho¬ 
 lic, and it is not astonishing that when she heard the 
 sound of the little bell under her window that told the 
 passers-by that the Viaticum was borne to the dying, she 
 knelt and prayed that, if her Lord and God was really 
 present under the white round of the Host, He might 
 bless and guide her. When Antonio Filicchi taught her 
 how to make the Sign of the Cross, she trembled with a 
 sacred awe. In these few months her soul made rapid 
 strides in the knowledge of God and in holiness. To An¬ 
 tonio Filicchi and a learned and zealous Irish priest, the 
 Abbe Plunkett, she exposed her doubts. Merchant and 
 priest solved them, but above all things told her to pray. 
 
 But from across the waters the voices of her little ones 
 seemed to be calling to her. She longed to press them to 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 19 
 
 her heart. For the last time she knelt at her “dear Seton’s 
 grave,” and a Catholic already in instinct, prayed for that 
 loved one’s soul. At the last moment Antonio Filicchi, 
 who had for some time intended to visit the United States 
 in the interest of his business affairs, decided to sail with 
 her. To their dear Filicchis then, mother and daughter 
 bade a loving farewell. Then the sailors’ cry that Mrs. 
 Seton loved, the long and hearty “Yo ho, Yo ho” of 
 sturdy men straining at the capstan bars, sounded from 
 the “Flamingo’s” crew as the ship spread wings to the 
 breeze and turned her prow to the west. Fifty-six days 
 after, on the third of June, the “Flamingo” brought the 
 voyagers safely home. A little more than a month after, 
 tragic news spread dismay through New York and the 
 entire country. Alexander Hamilton, victim to the absurd 
 and sinful code of honor of the duelist, had fallen mortally-? 
 wounded under the murderous pistol fire of Aaron Burr, 
 on the rocky heights of Weehawken. 
 
20 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 . ' \ : 
 
 III. 
 
 THE CROSS IN BARCLAY STREET 
 
 S ORELY tried and wounded, but victorious, Elizabeth 
 Seton had returned from one battlefield. Another and 
 a fiercer conflict awaited her at home. A few days after 
 she had clasped her children to her heart, the “friend of 
 her soul” Rebecca Seton, her sister-in-law, died in her 
 arms. The blows of adversity and sorrow were falling 
 heavily upon this valiant woman. Five children whom 
 she loved with all the tenderness of a mother were to be 
 educated, provided for, and God had taken away father, 
 husband, the elder Seton her second father, and that pru¬ 
 dent and unselfish Rebecca so dearly loved of her little 
 ones, so true and kind to her. Her present burdens were 
 heavy, the future was dark and uncertain. But great was 
 her trust in God. We hear of no idle complaints, of no 
 empty murmurings. Her children absorbed her time and 
 care and on them she lavished all the treasures of her 
 motherly affection. Now that the fortune which she 
 hoped to leave them was greatly reduced, if not entirely 
 impaired-by her husband’s death, she realized more than 
 ever that they could never face the world and fight the bat¬ 
 tles of life unless their minds and their hearts were trained 
 to the highest ideals of virtue. With these they might 
 still successfully wage their battles, without them they 
 were already defeated before the battle began. Elizabeth 
 Seton, the angel of the Lazaretto, is a tragic figure. Eliza¬ 
 beth Seton, widowed of the husband of her youth, as dig¬ 
 nified in her poverty as she had been fascinating in the 
 hour of her prosperity and social triumph, teaching her 
 little ones, toiling and watching for them, sharing their 
 pains and joys, is a still more appealing picture. 
 
 Yet all the while a fierce struggle was going on in her 
 soul. A voice seemed to be calling to her. In that voice 
 there sounded echoes of the consecrated bells she had 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 21 
 
 heard along the banks of the Arno calling the people to 
 
 Mass, echoes of the prayers she had joined in under the 
 
 * 
 
 hospitable roof of the Filicchis, faint reminders of the 
 words heard from Antonio Filicchi’s lips as they sat on 
 the deck of the “Flamingo” and that true Christian gentle¬ 
 man explained to her the doctrines of the Catholic 
 Church. At times she heard the sound of the little bell of 
 St. Peter’s Church on Barclay Street, a stone’s throw 
 from Trinity and St. Paul’s Church, where she went to 
 the Protestant service. That bell was calling the few 
 faithful Catholics, the poor, despised but noble children of 
 Erin to Mass, the same Mass which she had heard with 
 such deep emotion in the Old World. And over St. 
 Peter’s there rose the Cross, silent monitor and apostle 
 lifting up its nlessage for all to hear, far above the 
 crowded streets of already busy and bustling New York. 
 The Cross she had long borne on her heart. But the Cross 
 over that humble church where a handful of Catholics 
 gathered at the Altar, seemed to mean much more to her 
 now. It had a special message for her. She knew it. It 
 was too insistent not to be heard. 
 
 All her life, as maid and wife, in the peace of her father’s 
 house, at the bedside of her dying husband, this noble 
 woman had made God the center of her being. That ex¬ 
 plains the depth and the tenderness, the strength and the 
 purity of her love and affection for all those with whom 
 God had linked her fate. God she meant to serve above 
 all. Ever she had had the most intimate sense of Hisi 
 presence, the most compelling realization of His rights 
 over her love. She meant to serve Him now, no matter 
 what the cost. But, where was He to be truly found? In 
 the Church of her Baptism, in that Episcopal Church so 
 dignified, so serene, so orderly, but so cold, so unable to 
 give her a sense of nearness to God and His Blessed Son, 
 or in that Church, represented by the cross-crowned edi¬ 
 fice in Barclay Street, which she had seen in Italy so 
 strong and so tender and so happy in the possession of 
 
22 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 that very God whom it worshiped? Elizabeth had read 
 her Bible over and over. From its pages she realized 
 what the Church Christ had founded must be. Was the 
 Church of her Baptism the true and only Church of 
 Christ? 
 
 We know from the pages of another illustrious convert, 
 the soul-stirring pages of Newman’s “Apologia”, that no 
 conflict equals in poignant agcyiy, the struggle of the 
 seeker after religious truth asking himself where that 
 truth is to be found, and facing the difficulties and the 
 sacrifices that must be made to follow that truth, no mat¬ 
 ter over what thorny path or frowning heights it projects 
 its beams. That terrible fight raged for some time in the 
 soul of Elizabeth Seton. Writing to a Protestant friend, 
 
 who had alluded to her conversion, she says: 
 
 * . •* , ' 
 
 I assure you my becoming a Catholic was a very 
 simple consequence of going to a Catholic coun¬ 
 try, where it was impossible for anyone inter¬ 
 ested in religion, not to see the wide difference 
 between the first established Faith, given and 
 founded by Our Lord and His Apostles, and the 
 various forms it has since taken; and as I had 
 always delighted in reading the Scriptures, I had 
 so deep an impression of the mysteries of Divine 
 revelation, that, though full of the sweet thought 
 that every good and well-meaning soul was 
 right, I was determined when I came home, both 
 in duty to my children and my own soul, to 
 learn all I was capable of understanding on the 
 subject. If ever a soul did make a fair inquiry, 
 our God knows that mine did, and every day of 
 life increases more and more my gratitude to 
 Him for having made me what I am. . . . . 
 
 It was the knowledge of the Protestant doctrine 
 with regard to faith that made me a Catholic; 
 for as soon as on inquiry I found that Episcopal¬ 
 ians did not think everybody right, I was con¬ 
 vinced that the safe plan was to unite with the 
 Church in which, at all events, they admitted 
 that I would find salvation, and where also I 
 would be sure of the Apostolic succession, as 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 23 
 
 well as of the many consolations which no other 
 religion but the Catholic can afford. 
 
 This passage and similar ones to be found in the cor¬ 
 respondence of Mrs. Seton show that her strength and 
 nobility of character were equaled by her clear and logi¬ 
 cal intellect. She needed now all the aid that it could 
 give. And well might she thank good Dr. Bayley for the 
 rather stern training under which she was brought up. 
 She fought the battle of truth with her own heart, with 
 her own immediate friends and family, who were soon 
 made aware that a change was taking place in her con¬ 
 victions. With a dear friend of her earlier years, one who 
 had been a spiritual guide, and to whom she was genu¬ 
 inely attached, an Episcopalian minister of unusual at¬ 
 tainments, the Rev. M. Hobart, who tried to keep her in 
 the Church of her Baptism, she quietly but boldly fought 
 the battle of truth. She was, it must be confessed in some 
 respects not well equipped for the task. Serious in 
 thought and clear-visioned, she had after all but little for¬ 
 mal Catholic teaching, nor had she read many Catholic 
 books. But her heart was instinctively Catholic. She 
 wanted the truth. She prayed. She was willing, nay 
 nobly anxious to do whatever God willed. Then she had 
 seen Catholicism at work. Even from the capitano of the 
 lazaretto, she had learnt a lesson of kindness. The exam¬ 
 ple of the Filicchis had spoken more eloquently to her of 
 the beauty and the nobility of the Faith, than learned 
 treatises could do. At this very moment Filippo Filicchi 
 was writing to her to encourage her in the struggle and 
 to solve her doubts, while Antonio, during the time which 
 he could spare from his trips to other parts of the country, 
 was at her side with his cheering words, his generous aid, 
 his ever-open purse. And ever the Cross on St f Peter’s in 
 Barclay Street was pointing skyward. Silent apostle! 
 Stern-spoken herald of the Truth! How eloquent its 
 warning! And in that church, in the tabernacle to which, 
 as she tells us, her eyes unconsciously turned as she sat 
 
24 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 in her pew at Trinity or in St. Paul’s, the God she loved 
 dwelt, not in shadow, not as some vague energy, but 
 really, truly and substantially. The poor worshipers 
 of St. Peter’s, the humble laborers of the docks and mills 
 and warehouses along the riverside, possessed Him. 
 They could hold Him in their hearts. She, too, must 
 share their joy and their happiness. Encouraging words 
 from the saintly Cheverus in Boston, to whom she had 
 exposed her doubts, from Bishop Carroll of Baltimore, 
 whom Antonio Filicchi had interested in his friend, 
 showed her the path she must inevitably follow, if she 
 wished to please God'. On the Feast of the Epiphany, 
 1805, she happened to read a passage from one of the 
 sermons of the saintly Bourdaloue, the great Jesuit 
 preacher who had died just a hundred years before. 
 Speaking of the disappearance of the star that had led 
 the Wise Men on their way, and addressing those who 
 had lost the star of faith, this great master of the spir¬ 
 itual life says: 
 
 • 
 
 When light has been vouchsafed and then 
 withdrawn, the memory of the light must take 
 the place of the light. It suffices for us to be 
 
 able to say ‘‘We have seen the star”. 
 
 There are in the Church doctors and priests as 
 there were then; men appointed to conduct you 
 whom you have only to listen to. Inquire of 
 them as to your course and they will tell you 
 what to do. 
 
 The words were as a flash of heavenly light. Some 
 days after, she had in all likelihood some short confer¬ 
 ences with the Rev. Matthew O’Brien, then pastor of St. 
 Peter’s, who found her well grounded in the truths of 
 Faith. ^On Ash Wednesday, 1805, in the presence of An¬ 
 tonio Filicchi, the seeke r after truth had reached the go al. 
 For the first time she entered St. Peter’s. It was home 
 at last and the peace of God. The altar rails were'\ 
 crowded and the Faithful were receiving the ashes. The 
 first words she heard told her of human frailty and the \ 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 25 
 
 grave: “ Memento homo quia pulvis es et in pulverem.rev¬ 
 ert eris.” “Remember man, that thou art dust, and into 
 dust thou shalt return.’ , Elizabeth heard, and was not 
 afraid. She had faced death once for a husband’s love. 
 She would face it now a hundred times for the love of God. 
 And as she lifted her eyes above the tabernacle, she saw 
 Vallejo’s painting of the Crucifixion. Her God had died 
 for her! As they rested on the tabernacle, she knew that 
 her God was living there for her and wanted her love. 
 She gave it to Him without reserve. A few moments 
 later, she had made her profession of faith in the hands 
 of the pastor and in the presence of Antonio Filicchi. On 
 the Feast of the Annunciation, after her first Confession, 
 she made her first Communion, and a peace beyond tell¬ 
 ing flooded her soul. No other comment can be made on 
 this solemn event than the one which Elizabeth her¬ 
 self makes in a letter to Amabilia Filicchi, Antonio’s wife: 
 “I am His, and He is mine.” 
 
 Elizabeth needed these heavenly consolations. Once 
 a Catholic, she lost caste with her relations. Doors 
 hitherto open to her were now closed. For the moment, 
 social standing and prestige were lost. Poverty was fac¬ 
 ing her. To ward it off from her children—for herself she 
 cared little,-—she had to open a little school in “Stuyve- 
 sant’s Lane, Bowery, near St. Mark’s Church.” But at a 
 time when anti-Catholic riots were taking place in Augus¬ 
 tus Street, now City Hall Place, and Mayor De Witt Clin¬ 
 ton was obliged to issue a proclamation to protect the 
 lives and property of Catholics, it is not astonishing that 
 the venture should be a failure. But God never leaves 
 His servants quite helpless before the storm. Generous 
 friends Elizabeth found in the family of James Barry, a\ 
 rich and noble-hearted Irish merchant, in Bishop Carroll, 
 the champion of every form of helplessness, and in those 
 saintly priests who laid the foundation of the Catholic 
 Church in the United States: Tisserant, Sibourd, Matig- 
 non, Cheverus, Dubois and Dubourg. The Filicchis 
 
26 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 never failed her and thanks to an annuity of $600.00, 
 which they had settled upon her, Mrs. Seton was enabled 
 to face the crisis. The noble brothers of Leghorn wished 
 even that she should make her home with them, but she 
 had gratefully to decline. The future might be dark, but 
 with her trust in God, she knew that her paths would 
 be made smooth. When she knelt before Bishop Carroll 
 to receive the soldier’s Sacrament of Confirmation, and 
 then listened to his words of advice and comfort, it was 
 as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. 
 Another sturdy pioneer of the Faith in the newly-born 
 Republic, Father Dubourg, Superior of St. Mary’s Sem¬ 
 inary,.Baltimore, realizing that for the present New York 
 was barren ground for the task which God intended, told 
 her of a work calling for generous hearts and sturdy 
 hands. Baltimore had no school for Catholic girls. Why 
 would she not attempt to open one? The words were a 
 revelation. Elizabeth did not hesitate, especially when 
 the plan had received the emphatic endorsement of 
 Bishop Carroll, of Fathers Matignon and Cheverus. With 
 her two boys safely placed in Georgetov/n College, the 
 dauntless woman bade farewell to the city she loved, to 
 the friends of childhood, to the house in which she had 
 spent so many happy days with her father, her husband, 
 and her beloved Rebecca. The parting must have been 
 painful. For hers was an affectionate and loving nature. 
 
 In June, 1808, in company with her daughters, Anna, 
 the little fairy of the lazaretto, with Rebecca and Cathar¬ 
 ine, she sailed on the packet, “Grand Sachem” for Balti¬ 
 more. After a seven days’ journey in the year that fol¬ 
 lowed the record-making voyage from New York to 
 Albany, of Robert Fulton’s steam-driven “Clermont”, 
 they arrived in the metropolis of Maryland. It was June 
 16, 1808, the Feast of Corpus Christi. That day marks 
 an epoch in the history of the Catholic Church in the 
 United States. 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE LILIES OF THE VALLEY 
 
 T HE house on Paca Street, where Mrs. Seton opened 
 her school, may well be compared to one of those rest¬ 
 ing places mentioned in the history of the Hebrew people 
 on their long journey from the house of bondage to the 
 Promised Land. Like the chosen people, she was not to 
 tarry long, for it was but a halt on the journey towards 
 the goal. Yet great things were done there. It was her 
 novitiate both as a religious and as a teacher. The at¬ 
 mosphere of the city, where John Carroll was undoubt¬ 
 edly the most important figure, and where Catholics were 
 numerous and prominent in every walk of life, was quite 
 different from that of New York, where Catholics were 
 few and where they did not have the prestige of possess¬ 
 ing among them such a commanding figure as the illus¬ 
 trious shepherd of Baltimore. The exile was welcomed 
 by Catholics and Protestants alike with true Southern 
 hospitality. The little school soon had all that its narrow 
 limits could hold, and its teachers supervise. These were 
 Mrs. Seton herself, her bright and faithful Anna, and Miss 
 Cecilia O’Conway, the daughter of an eccentric but 
 learned Irish schoolmaster, Mathias James O’Conway, 
 “philologist, lexicographer, and interpreter of langu¬ 
 ages” as he styled himself, who was well known in Pitts¬ 
 burgh and Philadelphia in the beginning of the nineteenth 
 century. The brave father himself brought his daughter 
 to Baltimore and offered her to Elizabeth. 
 
 Providence had despoiled the schoolmistress of Paca 
 Street, of money and wealth. It made her rich in friends 
 who never forgot her. Even now Antonio and Filippo 
 Filicchi were watching over their American sister’s tem¬ 
 poral welfare, just as they had formerly been so solicit¬ 
 ous for her spiritual good. At this moment God sent 
 Elizabeth the generous help of one whose name should 
 
28 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 also be remembered by American Catholics, Mr. Samuel 
 Cooper, a convert from an old Virginia family, and then 
 studying for the priesthood in St. Mary’s Seminary. Mr. 
 Cooper had some fortune, and was anxious to spend it in 
 behalf of Christian education. The valiant woman of 
 Paca Street asked herself in the silence of her heart 
 whether the fervent convert might not be willing to help 
 in the work she yearned to begin. Without any previous 
 arrangement, both spoke of the matter to Father Du- 
 bourg. After a month during which the zealous priest 
 and the two souls whom he directed had commended 
 their plans to God, it was decided that a larger field 
 should be found for the work. Yielding to Mr. Cooper’s 
 wise advice, the house on Paca Street was to be aban¬ 
 doned, and the community over which Mrs. Seton pre¬ 
 sided, for her household really deserved that name, was to 
 be transferred to a piece of property known as the Flem¬ 
 ing Farm, bought by Mr. Cooper, at Emmitsburg, a vil¬ 
 lage about fifty miles northwest of Baltimore. The words 
 of Wisdom were being fulfilled in our heroine and 
 in those through whom she was accomplishing her task. 
 “She hath considered a field and bought it.”. (Wis. 21; 
 16) Verily in the words of the same Holy Book which 
 follow, her traffic was good: “Her lamp shall not be put 
 out in the night.” 
 
 The ladies in the house on Paca Street were religious 
 in all but the name. Their number had been increased by 
 the arrival of Maria Murphy, niece of the illustrious Mat¬ 
 thew Carey, first publisher of the Douai Bible in the 
 United States, champion of Irish rights and one of the 
 ablest publicists of the time. Then Mary Ann Butler 
 and Susan Clossy arrived from New York and joined the 
 little band. They were soon followed by Rose White and 
 Catharine Mullen. Then, some time before the departure 
 for Emmitsburg, came Cecilia and Harriet Seton, sisters 
 of William Magee Seton, and dearer to the heart of Eliza¬ 
 beth than words can tell, the first already a Catholic, the 
 second soon to follow her sister into the Fold. 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 29 
 
 The first American Sister of Charity had made her 
 novitiate. The - dress she and her companions wore 
 marked them off as consecrated to God. The life she led, 
 
 _a life of prayer, abnegation, often of downright suffering 
 
 and want, but always of deepest trust and union with 
 God, had more and more cleansed her heart, already puri¬ 
 fied by the sufferings of the lazaretto, by the estrange¬ 
 ment showed her by her loved ones in the hour of her 
 conversion, by the death of her nearest and dearest. It 
 made her ready for the sacrifice she was now going to 
 offer to God. A more formal consecration of herself 
 seemed to be needed. So in the presence of Bishop Car- 
 roll and a few priests, she was admitted to pronounce the 
 simple vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. These V 
 vows bound her only for the space of one year, but could 
 be renewed when that term expired. Her heart over¬ 
 flowed with joy, but she could not look upon the honor 
 thus conferred upon her without a sentiment of deep hu¬ 
 mility and almost of fear. Her vows made her in a still 
 more formal manner than before the Superior of her 
 little community. The task terrified her. On the very 
 evening of the day when she had pronounced them, she 
 fell upon her knees in the presence of her Sisters, openly 
 acknowledged her sins and exclaimed: “How can I teach 
 others, who know so little of myself and am so miserable 
 and imperfect.” Her Sisters mingled their tears with 
 hers, but they were tears of admiration and love. 
 
 The time for the exodus to Emmitsburg had come. The 
 noble-hearted Father Dubois, Superior of Mount St. 
 Mary’s College, close to the Sisters’ new home, had a 
 house ready for their coming, although they lacked every 
 comfort, almost'every necessity. In this apostle, one day 
 to become Bishop of New York, Mother Seton and her 
 children found a father and a guide. He was the friend of 
 Lafayette. A future President of the United States, 
 James Monroe, had given him hospitality in his Vir¬ 
 ginia home, and Patrick Henry, the American Demos- 
 
30 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 thenes, had taught him English. The aristocratic so¬ 
 ciety of Virginia pronounced John Dubois the most cul¬ 
 tured and refined gentleman in the United States. The 
 poor and the suffering as well as great men like Chev- 
 eriis and Carroll reverenced and loved him as a priest 
 after God’s own heart. Mother Seton could find no bet¬ 
 ter spiritual director for her household. Divided into 
 groups, Mother Seton, her beloved Anna, Harriet and 
 Cecilia Seton and Cecilia O’Conway pioneering the way, 
 the community had made the long journey of fifty miles 
 from Baltimore to the valley which was to be their per¬ 
 manent home. The exodus began on June 21, 1809, The 
 “Stone House” on the Fleming farm soon had its first 
 Mass, said by Father DubOurg on the 31 of July, the 
 Feast of St. Ignatius. There were by this time ten 
 Sisters in the community. The names of these dauntless 
 pioneers and brides of Christ, among the first of our 
 American womanhood to give themselves to God in 
 religion, deserve to be remembered: Elizabeth Bayley 
 Seton, Cecilia O’Conway, Maria Murphy, Maria Burke, 
 Suzanne Clossy, Mary Anne Butler, Rose White, Cath¬ 
 arine Mullen, Sara Thompson and Helen Thompson. The 
 fairest lilies were they that grew in St. Joseph’s Valley, 
 “green-walled by the hills of Maryland.” 
 
 Nature had prepared them a dwelling place. The little 
 village near which their convent home was slowly grow¬ 
 ing, slumbered quietly between the upper stream of the 
 Monocacy and the Catocktin ridge of the South Moun¬ 
 tain. In her beautiful life of Mother Seton, Madame de 
 Barberey has well described the scene. The travelers had 
 come to the valley, when nature wore its loveliest hues, 
 when the freshness of spring still lingered and blended 
 with summer’s early bloom. The delicate pink and snowy 
 blossoms of the apple and cherry trees had vanished, but 
 the boughs of the cherry trees were loaded with fruit that 
 glowed like rubies. Beneath, flamed the scarlet Virginia 
 strawberry growing in riotous profusion amid the moss 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 31 
 
 and the sworded ferns. The hedges were bright with 
 roses. The superb beauty of the rhododendron, the white 
 and yellow azaleas, the trailing clusters of the jasmine's 
 scarlet flowers, the white trumpet-shaped blooms of the 
 convolvulus, the sassafras, whose tiny fruit dangled like a 
 ball of jet from a coral thread, smilax and phlox and be¬ 
 gonia everywhere dazzled the eye and made Elizabeth 
 think of the gardens of Florence. For over them bent a 
 sky as blue as Italy’s, while through thicket and wood 
 darted like a flame the cardinal bird, and the mocking 
 bird’s deceptive and polyglot symphonies fell upon the 
 ear. 
 
 This was home! This was sacred ground! To this 
 cloistered solitude, God had called Elizabeth and her spir¬ 
 itual children. Here would they rest and find peace.__F.gr 
 twelve years she was to be the Lady of the Valley* the 
 mistress of this calm abode, the guide, the mother of all 
 who dwelt in this oasis far from the turmoil and passions 
 of the world. Of that world and its doings little filtered 
 into the solitude of St. Joseph’s Valley. When the school 
 was ready, children came and at the end of 1810 the board¬ 
 ers alone numbered over fifty. Between their scholastic 
 duties and their religious exercises, the Sisters’ life was 
 divided. They heard of great wars desolating Europe, of 
 the power“ancT conquests of Napoleon, of the captivity of 
 the saintly Pius VII, and they prayed for the return of 
 peace and the triumph of justice. Such events as the in¬ 
 auguration of James Madison as President, our disasters 
 and successes in the War of 1812, the burning of Wash¬ 
 ington, our skill and gallantry on the seas and on the 
 lakes, the victory of Andrew Jackson at New Orleans, 
 after which, at the entrance of the Cathedral, Father Du- 
 bourg crowned the victor’s brow with laurel, the election 
 of James Monroe to the Presidency: these tidings reached 
 of course the secluded valley of St. Joseph, and filled the 
 heart of Mother Seton and her community with joy for 
 our triumphs, with sorrow for our disasters. They were 
 
32 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 Sisters of Charity, and they loved the great country 
 where in freedom and peace, and honored of all they were 
 trying to serve God and help their neighbor. But the 
 world and its ways little affected their lives. Indirectly, 
 though most efficaciously, they were toiling for its better¬ 
 ment in the cause of sound and Christian education, and 
 by their sanctity and unselfishness. In their secluded 
 dell, the lilies lifted their white flowers to the sunshine 
 and the dews of heaven, little disturbed by the storm that 
 in other parts of the world swept by, bending the proud¬ 
 est heads beneath the gale. 
 
 In the spring of 1810, the Apostle of Kentucky, Bene¬ 
 dict Flaget, Bishop-elect of Bardstown, sailed from Bor¬ 
 deaux for the United States. Twice the ship that bore 
 him was stopped by English cruisers. When their com¬ 
 manders learned who the distinguished Frenchman was, 
 they courteously let him pass. It is quite likely that it 
 was only to men like him, to Cheverus or Dubois or Du- 
 bourg, the fame of whose apostolic labors had gone 
 abroad, that England, then impressing our seamen, would 
 have accorded that honor. Bishop Flaget bore a precious 
 document, a copy of the Constitution of the Daughters 
 of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul. This Constitution 
 Mother Seton and her daughters were anxious to know 
 and understand. For they thought that the spirit of Vin¬ 
 cent de Paul, so broad, so human, so kindly, so Christ-like, 
 so full of the simplicity of the Gospel, would suit the 
 needs and ideals of the young Republic of the West and 
 satisfy the head and the heart of the daughters of the 
 sturdy democracy of the United States. They were not 
 mistaken. With some slight changes, endorsed and ap¬ 
 proved by the prudent and far-seeing Archbishop Car- 
 roll, the Constitution was adopted by the community. 
 It was an inspiration which the Daughters of St. Vincent 
 have never regretted, and for which the Catholics of 
 America must ever be profoundly grateful. The finger of 
 God was evident in its adoption. His grace has for 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 33 
 
 one hundred years been everywhere manifest in the fidel¬ 
 ity and the love with which the Daughters of Mother 
 Seton have followed St. Vincent’s Constitution. 
 
 There was a Constitution then to observe. It was not 
 hard to find a leader. In spite of some difficulties con¬ 
 nected with the necessary care which Mother Seton had 
 to bestow on her children, at the election of officers of the 
 new community and Congregation held in 1812, she was 
 unanimously chosen Superioress. She kept that post for 
 three terms until her death in 1821. While she lived, her 
 daughters could think of no other Mother. The same 
 election made Rose White, Assistant Mother, Catharine 
 Mullen, Treasurer—a splendid sinecure, for the money¬ 
 box was empty—and Anna Gruber, Procuratrix. A year 
 was fixed for a trial of the new Constitution. The limit 
 prescribed passed, eighteen Sisters pronounced the sim¬ 
 ple vows of religion. To the names already familiar to 
 us we must now add those of Elizabeth Boyle, Angela 
 Brady, Adele, Salva, Louise Roger, Margaret George, 
 Martina Quinn, Fanny Jordan, Theresa Conway, and 
 Julia Shirk. Their vow-day was the nineteenth of July, 
 1813, the Feast of their Patron and Patriarch, St. Vincent 
 de Paul. A week later, a regular novitiate was estab¬ 
 lished, with Sister Catharine Mullen as Mistress of Nov¬ 
 ices. The Lilies of the Valley were in full bloom. 
 
 No, not at all. For like flowers bending under heavy 
 showers, Harriet Seton, her sister Cecilia, both so dearly 
 loved of Mother Seton, and lastly her darling Anna, now 
 by her vows doubly her child, had dropped to earth and 
 were sleeping quietly in their humble graves. Over Har¬ 
 riet and Cecilia, Elizabeth deeply mourned. But when 
 Anna, whose exquisite beauty was but the outward sign 
 of the angelic purity of her soul, her mother’s pride and 
 joy, her helpmeet and comforter in the dark days of the 
 lazaretto, was taken away, she was like Rachel mourning 
 over her dead. But the saintly Simon Gabriel Brute had 
 prepared Anna for that eternity with God for which she 
 
34 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 longed. He comforted the mother. Anna’s sisters, 
 Rebecca and Catharine, had joined their innocent voices 
 when, on her death-bed, Anna had asked them to sing 
 her favorite hymn. Mother Seton had knelt near them 
 and pressed the Crucifix to the lips of her dying child, 
 while Father Brute’s priestly hand was lifted in a parting 
 blessing over what seemed to be the form of some celes¬ 
 tial being that had strayed from Paradise. At her darl¬ 
 ing’s grave, the Mother had but the strength to murmur 
 the words: “Father, Thy will be done.” 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 35 
 
 V. 
 
 THE FRUIT OF HER. HANDS 
 
 I T IS no difficult task to analyze the character and sanc¬ 
 tity of Mother Seton. Her character was as transpar¬ 
 ent as crystal, marked by directness, simplicity, tender¬ 
 ness, nobility and strength. It was frank, open, cordial, 
 sincere, and sealed by a refinement and charm of man¬ 
 ner that won all hearts: those of her husband and chil¬ 
 dren, of the little ones under her care, the Sisters of her 
 community, the Filicchis, and saintly men like Carroll, 
 Dubois, Cheverus and Brute, whom God gave her as 
 directors and guides. She was a woman well fitted to 
 become the model of Catholic American womanhood. 
 Made perfect in many things, she can be proposed as a 
 pattern to maid, mother, wife and widow, to teacher and 
 religious. She knew what it is to be tenderly loved. She 
 felt the heavy burden of her friends* forgetfulness and 
 disdain. To her children, her husband and her friends 
 she was devotedly attached, for her affections were as 
 strong as they were pure. Though she walked through 
 life by her loved ones* open graves, she never lost her 
 trust and faith in God. In every stage of her life, she had 
 made duty her watchword; in that duty she never failed. 
 
 Her naturally beautiful character was spiritualized and 
 supernaturalized by prayer and union with God. As an 
 Episcopalian she had longed to be united with Christ. 
 As a Catholic and a religious she centered her life around 
 the Altar of her Eucharistic God. In Holy Communion, in 
 Holy Mass, she found her strength and her greatest hap¬ 
 piness. When those patriarchs of the Catholic Church 
 in America, Brute or Dubourg or Dubois offered the 
 Great Sacrifice in the little chapel in the Valley, and 
 Mother Seton with Cecilia and Harriet and Anna at her 
 side, followed by her spiritual daughters, approached the 
 Holy Table, the beholder, forgot that they were living in 
 
36 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 the New World, and imagined they were summoned back 
 to the early days of Christianity, so fervent and so pure 
 did the Sisters appear. Deeply pious, she was thoroughly 
 mortified. The Cross, she knew, was both the symbol 
 and the summary of the Gospel. Self-abnegation was its 
 first law. So she was mistress of herself, of her heart and 
 its affections. Unselfishness had been her distinguishing 
 mark in the world. It stamped still more distinctly her 
 whole life in religion. Had Elizabeth Seton died as the 
 wife of William Magee Seton, she well might have ut¬ 
 tered the words which the world’s greatest dramatist puts 
 on the lips of the dying Catharine of Aragon: “Cover me 
 with maiden flowers, that all the world may know I died 
 a chaste wife.” What might not be said of the innocence 
 and purity of her life in the cloister? Guide of others and 
 invested with authority over them, she had first learnt 
 to obey. Not once in her life as a Catholic do we find her 
 judgment or her will in opposition to the commands or 
 suggestions of her superiors or spiritual guides. With a 
 childlike simplicity she yielded herself to their wise direc¬ 
 tion. Yet she was a woman of unusual strength of char¬ 
 acter. 
 
 Like the valiant woman of the Proverbs, she put out 
 
 4 
 
 her hand to strong things, and her fingers took hold of the 
 spindle. Elizabeth was an indefatigable worker in the 
 cause of education, in the cause of the poor, in the inter¬ 
 ests of God. Under the guidance of the far-seeing men 
 whom Providence sent her with such clearly-marked de¬ 
 sign, she realized that a Christian education was the chief 
 need of her times. Of formal pedagogy, she knew little, 
 perhaps. R ut shej iajd known the joys and_the responsi¬ 
 bilities of motherhood. She understood children and 
 loved them. Sympathy, kindness, gentleness marked her 
 dealing with~them. Like her own children, all children 
 loved her and knew that in her they had a second mother. 
 'She had once known the stress of poverty. The poor 
 were her friends. Her daughters, whether they wear the 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 37 
 
 white cornette of Emmitsburg or the darker head-dress 
 of Mount St. Vincent-on-Hudson, or its fair daughters, 
 Mount St. Vincent,. Halifax, and Madison, New Jersey, 
 whether they belong to the Cincinnati or the Greensburg, 
 Pennsylvania, foundations, are ever- welcome and hon¬ 
 ored visitors among the lowly and the poor in the homes 
 of suffering and want. 
 
 Like the valiant woman described by the sacred writer, 
 Mother Seton opened her hand to the needy and stretched 
 out her hands to the poor. In 1814 almost at the very 
 moment in that year when Washington was sacked, the 
 capital burnt by the British, and an English fleet under 
 Admiral Cockburn was ruthlessly harrying the shores of 
 the Chesapeake, while mid the rockets’ red glare, Francis 
 Scott Key was writing the “Star-Spangled Banner,” on 
 the request of Bishop Egan of Philadelphia, she sent Sis¬ 
 ter Rose White to take charge of the orphan asylum in 
 that city. It was the first_J!niission” of the Sisters of 
 Charity in the United States. Their first labors were for 
 the outcast. In 1817 Bishop Connolly of New York, 
 hearing of the nohle work done by the little Philadelphia 
 community, earnestly begged the Superior of Emmits¬ 
 burg to come to the help of the abandoned children of 
 her own native city. It was a request that could not be 
 denied. The zealous Sister White, whose executive abil¬ 
 ity was remarkable, was detailed for the work. She and 
 her two companions, Sister Cecilia O’Conway and Sister 
 Felicite Brady, arrived in New York on June 23, 1817, and 
 immediately began their work in a humble frame house 
 in Mott Street. Here they laid the cornerstone of a 
 mighty edifice, the splendor and beauty of which these 
 humble workers did not dare foresee. A hundred years 
 ago Mother Seton’s daughters had but one house in her 
 native city. They now count there thirty-five convents, 
 forty-nine parochial schools, fourteen academies and high 
 schools, one vocational school, six child-caring institu-N 
 tions, four hospitals, one home for the aged and one col- 
 
38 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 lege. They are seen in the magic city on the Hudson, 
 doing God’s work, whatever it be, from the streets 
 through which Elizabeth strolled as a child, almost from 
 the Battery she knew so well, to the woods fifteen miles 
 away, where the gray Norman towers of Fonthill and 
 the massive pile of Mount St. Vineent-on-Hudson over¬ 
 look the river and eloquently speak of the magnitude and 
 the growth of a work which was evidently the work of 
 God, for He has singularly blessed its every stage. 
 
 Another pen, we hope, will describe more fully the 
 growth of the work of the Sisters of Charity in New York. 
 That work received an extraordinary impulse in 1846 at 
 the time when the Emmitsburg community was making 
 plans to be affiliated to the French Sisters of Charity of 
 St. Vincent de Paul, to adopt their dress and their rule. 
 On the request of Bishop Hughes of New York, who 
 wanted the Sisters in his diocese to take charge of schools 
 and asylums for boys, the New York Sisters, with full 
 ecclesiastical sanction, formed a second Mother House, 
 that now known as Mount St. Vincent-on-Hudson. 
 Its first Superior was Elizabeth Doyle, in whom the spirit 
 of the Foundress lived anew. 
 
 • The fruit of Mother Seton’s hands had now grown to 
 maturity. The hands themselves were drooping with 
 fatigue. They had toiled unselfishly and unremittingly at 
 every task God had confided to them. Great joy had come 
 to the foundress in the success of her work in the Val-. 
 ley and in the missions of New York and Philadelphia. 
 Sorrow was not wanting now. Her beloved friend Rebecca 
 was taken away from her by a premature death. Filippo 
 Filicchi had gone to his reward, while all Baltimore, the 
 Catholic Church in the United States, and the Holy Fa¬ 
 ther in Rome, had mourned over the death of Archbishop 
 Carroll. She could never dream that her nephew, James 
 Roosevelt Bayley, born in 1814, the year before John Car- 
 roll’s death, would be one of his successors in his archi- 
 episcopal see., 
 
The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 39 
 
 Never strong, worn out by her austerities and labor, 
 Mother Seton became so ill in the autumn of 1820 that it 
 was thought she would die. Of death she was not afraid 
 and she calmly prepared for the last summons. Her da^rs 
 of sickness were one long meditation and prayer. Her 
 memory was a storehouse of holy and pious thoughts. It 
 was not difficult for her to commune with God, then, for 
 she had ever been most fervent in meditation and prayer. 
 Her children who now realized that they would soon lose 
 her, showed her how deeply they loved her. Every care 
 and attention that affection could lavish was given to the 
 patient. They read to her the books she prized, passages 
 from the Life of St. Vincent de Paul, and Mademoiselle 
 Le Gras, now known as Blessed Louise de Marillac, his 
 spiritual daughter, from the “Meditations” of Father Da 
 Pcnte, works which she herself had translated with un- 
 usual care and elegance from the French. They prayed 
 with her. With her they were preparing for death, for the 
 last lesson this valiant woman taught her children, was 
 how a Christian and a religious should die. Her daughter 
 Catharine, one day to become a holy Sister of Mercy, 
 never left her mother’s side. The last scenes that took 
 place between them were marked by such pathos, such 
 faith and resignation to God’s holy will, as to cause all 
 that witnessed them the holiest emotions. To William Se¬ 
 ton, then at sea as an officer on the U. S. S. “Macedonian” 
 returning from a lengthy cruise, her mother’s heart turned 
 with yearning for she knew that she would never again 
 press him in her arms. 
 
 Winter came and the patient grew weaker every day. 
 The long nights reminded her of eternity. She yearned to 
 pass it with God, but, with her deep humility she feared 
 the judgment seat of an all-just Judge. But her friends 
 and spiritual guides, Fathers Brute and Dubois, re¬ 
 minded her of God’s mercy. She had known it too well 
 to doubt their words. Her heart thanked Him once 
 more, for all His fatherly tenderness, and above all, for 
 
40 
 
 The First American Sister of Charity 
 
 having brought her, in spite of her unworthiness, into the 
 bosom of the true Church. On December 31, 1920, she 
 was able to receive Holy Communion. It was the last 
 time she was privileged to receive her Eucharistic Lord7 
 On the second of January Father Dubois administered 
 Extreme Unction. Through their blinding tears, her 
 beloved Catharine and her spiritual daughters could only 
 see her face transfigured with faith and love. Too weak 
 to address her children, she begged Father Dubois, who 
 was deeply moved, to ask her Sisters to forgive her the 
 scandal she might have caused and begged them to be 
 true children of the Church, and to love and keep their 
 rules and holy vows. It was a simple but a sublime 
 testament. She asked one of her Sisters to recite her 
 favorite prayer, the Anima Christi. Two days after, early 
 in the morning of Thursday, January 4, with her 
 Crucifix pressed to. her lips and murmuring the Sacred 
 Names of Jesus and Mary, she quietly passed away. 
 
 In the presence of such a scene, our thoughts are those 
 of her friend, Father Brute, who reached the death-bed 
 a few moments after Mother Seton had expired. The 
 next day he jotted down the following words: 
 
 O mother! O Elizabeth! O Faith profound! 
 
 O tender piety! . . . Her eminent character; 
 her indulgence to others; her charity so careful 
 to spare others! . . . Her attachment and 
 
 gratitude to friends! Her deep respect for the 
 ministers of God and the least things of religion! 
 Heart so loving, so compassionate, so religious, 
 so generous. Excellent Mother! We lose you 
 and mourn for you! But you are happy. 
 
 But Mother Seton is not lost to us. She lives in the 
 memory of her saintly life and virtues. She lives in her 
 works and in the thousands of her daughters who follow 
 her rule and reproduce her virtues. On the first centem 
 nial of her saintly death, we thank God for His gift of 
 Mother Seton and of the American Sisters of Charity to 
 the Catholic Church in the United States. 
 
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