Born: 13 November 1820, Killarney, County Kerry
Entered: 07 September 1836, Hodder, Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England - Angliae Province (ANG)
Ordained: 1852
Final Vows: 15 August 1854
Died: 23 September 1906, Immaculate Conception Residence, Mount Street, London - Angliae Province (ANG)
Gallwey served as Provincial of the Angliae Province (ANG) from 1873 to 1876
1836-1840: Hodder, Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England (ANG), Novitiate then Rhetoric and Logic
1840-1842: Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England, Regency
1842-1843: St Mary’s Hall, Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England, Theology
1843-1846: St Francis Xavier College SJ, Salisbury Street, Liverpool, Lanacshire, Regency
1846-1849: Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England, Regency
1849-1854: St Beuno’s, St Asaph, Flintshire, Wales, Teheology
1854-1855: St Stanislaus, Beaumont Lodge, Old Windsor, Berkshire, England, Socius to Novice Master
1855-1857: Stonyhurst College SJ, Lancashire, England, Minister, Prefect of Studies
1857-1868: St Ignatius College, Hill Street, Berkeley Square, London, England, Vice Rector, working in London
1858-1867: Rector from 01/152/1859 to 28/11/1867; Province Comsultor from 17/05/1860 to 26/11/1864
1867-1868: Spiritual Father
1868-1869: St Ignatius College, Mount Street, Berkeley Square, London, England, Spiritual Father and working
1869-1873: Manresa, Roehampton, London, England, Rector and Novice Master from 19/10/1869; Province Consultor from 19/10/1869
1873-1876: Mount Street, Berkeley Square, London, England, PROVINCIAL from 09/07/1873 to 01/09/1876
1876-1877: St Beuno’s, St Asaph, Flintshire, Wales, Rector from 16/10/1876 to 02/10/1877; Prefect of Studies, Teaching
1877-1906: St Ignatius College, Mount Street, Berkeley Square, London, England, , Rector from 08/10/1877 to 06/10/1885; Province Consultor from 01/12/1877
1881-1906: Immaculate Conception Residence, Mount Street, London, Curate and Province Consultor from 01/12/1877 to 17/03/1881
◆ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Gallwey#:~:text=Peter%20Gallwey%20(13%20November%201820,who%20worked%20primarily%20in%20London.
Peter Gallwey
Peter Gallwey (13 November 1820, Killarney – 23 September 1906, London) was a Jesuit priest and writer, who worked primarily in London.
Life
Stonyhurst College
He was educated at Stonyhurst College, and joined the Society of Jesus at Hodder, 7 September 1836. He was ordained priest in 1852, and professed of four vows in 1854. As prefect of studies at Stonyhurst, 1855–1857, he made improvements in the method of study.[1]
In 1857 he was sent to the Jesuit church in Farm Street, London, where—except for an interval of eight years during which he held the provincialate and other offices—he spent the rest of his life. A man of deep spirituality, he was much venerated as a preacher, spiritual director and giver of retreats. In October 1869, he left Farm Street to become novice master at Manresa House in Roehampton, where Gerard Manley Hopkins was one of his novices.[2] Gallwey served as Provincial of the English Province from 1873 to 1876, after which he became Rector at St Beuno's College in Wales.[1]
In 1878, Gallwey returned to Farm Street as pastor and brought Hopkins with him, having been impressed by the originality of one of Hopkins' sermons.[3] One of Gallwey's notable converts was Janet Erskine Stuart, daughter of an Anglican clergyman, and granddaughter of the Earl Castle Stewart. She joined the Society of the Sacred Heart, eventually becoming Superior General.[4]
Works
His writings include:
The Lady Chapel and Dr. Pusey's Peacemaker (1865)
Lectures on Ritualism (1879, two volumes)
Salvage from the Wreck: A Few Memories of Friends Departed Preserved in Funeral Discourses (1890), sermons preached at the funerals of some notable Catholics.
The Watches of the Passion (1894), a series of meditations on the Passion, embodying the substance of his retreats.
Legacy
In 1905, St. Joseph's Hospice for the Dying in Hackney by the Religious Sisters of Charity at Gallwey's suggestion. He was the Rector of the Farm Street Church at the time, and was instrumental in obtaining the necessary donations for establishing the hospice.[5] St Joseph's continues to provide care for anyone with serious and life threatening conditions.[6]
References
Smith, Sydney. "Peter Gallwey." The Catholic Encyclopedia Vol. 6. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1909. 9 June 2019Public Domain This article incorporates text from this source, which is in the public domain.
Allsopp, Michael A. “Peter Gallwey and Gerard Manley Hopkins: An Unrecorded Influence.” Studies: An Irish Quarterly Review, vol. 72, no. 287, 1983, pp. 242–251. JSTOR
Feeney, Joseph J., The Playfulness of Gerard Manley Hopkins, Routledge, 2016, p. 40 ISBN 9781317021193
"Janet Erskine Stuart rscj", The Bridge, Academy of the Sacred Heart, winter 2014
Gavin SJ, Michael. Memoirs of Father P. Gallwey, S.J., Burns and Oates, 1913, p. 44Public Domain This article incorporates text from this source, which is in the public domain.
"Earl's Visit to East End Hospice", Jesuits in Britain, 10 Jul 2014
Attribution
This article incorporates text from a publication now in the public domain: Herbermann, Charles, ed. (1913). "Peter Gallwey". Catholic Encyclopedia. New York: Robert Appleton Company. The entry cites:
Concise Dictionary of National Biography
Further reading
Michael Gavin, S.J. (ed.), Memoirs of Fr. P. Gallwey, S.J. London: Burns & Oates, 1913
◆ https://www.catholic.com/encyclopedia/peter-gallwey
ENCYCLOPEDIA
Peter Gallwey
One of the best-known London priests in his time; b. at Killarney, Nov. 13, 1820; d. in London, Sept. 23, 1906
Gallwey, PETER; b. at Killarney, November 13, 1820; d. in London, September 23, 1906; one of the best-known London priests in his time. He was educated at Stonyhurst, joined the Society of Jesus at Hodder, September 7, 1836, was ordained priest in 1852, and professed of four vows in 1854. As prefect of studies at Stonyhurst, 1855-57, he made important improvements in the methods of study. In 1857 he was sent to the Jesuit church in London, where—except for an interval of eight years during which he held the provincialate and other offices—he spent the remainder of his life. He was a man of deep spirituality, much venerated as a preacher, spiritual director, and giver of retreats; he was also noted for his love of the poor and his earnest advocacy of almsdeeds. So great were his energy and enterprise that he set his stamp on all he undertook. Several London convents and Catholic institutions owe largely to his zeal and encouragement both their first foundation and their successful subsequent development. His writings comprise among others: “Salvage from the Wreck”, sermons preached at the funerals of some notable Catholics (1890); “Watches of the Passion” (3 vols., 1894), a series of meditations on the Passion, embodying the substance of his retreats; a number of sermons, tracts, and other small publications, mostly of a topical kind.
SYDNEY F. SMITH
◆ Woodstock Letters SJ : Vol 35, Number 3
“Varia : England - Father Peter Gallwey SJ” p424
Father Peter Gallwey the well-known author of “The Watches of the Passion” died on Sept 23, 1906, in his eightysixth year. When a young man his doctor hinted that he had but a short life before him, but he lived to be a striking instance of the that '”men of condemned constitutions live long”. His was a very commanding personality and all through a life of ceaseless activity his influence was as great as it was widespread. A combative instinct and masterful will helped him to override what to others would have appeared insurmountable difficulties. To this physical energy he added a flow of gentle wit and humor and an insatiable thrist for work, which sustained him in the exercise of almost every function which the Society in- cludes wtthin the sphere of its activity.
Father Gallwey was born on the thirteenth of November, 1820, at Killarney, where his father was agent to the Earl of Kenmare. After his earlier education at Boulogne he was
sent to Stonyhurst and thence entered the Society at Hodder, on Sept. 7th 1836. On completlng his studies, his lungs began to be affected and he was sent to Ireland to recruit his health. A year after he was teaching at Liverpool. In 1846 he taught Poetry and Rhetoric at Stonyhurst and in 1849 began his theology at St Bueno's. After his profession in 1854 he became Prefect of studies at Stonyhurst. He revived and made of obligation the camp system in the classes, and “Concertations”, or contests between the different classes, were of frequent occurence in the community refectory, at meal time, a practice which is still in vogue at Stonyhurst.
Father Gallwey afterwards became, at separate periods, Rector of Farm Street, Master of Novices at Manresa, and in 1873 Provincial. After his Provincialate he was made Superior of St Beuno's College and Professor of Moral Theology until 1877, when he resumed his old post at Farm Street, where he remained until his death. Twice, namely in 1883 and 1892, he was sent to Rome to take part in the election of a General of the Society and it was on this second occasion that Father Villiger accompanied him on his visit to the Holy Land, whither he went to travel the same ground, view the same scenes and breathe the same atmosphere that Our Lord did and be thus enabled to realize for himself and others the interior lessons of each mystery. This he has done in the great literary work of his life. “The Watches if the Passion”, a perfect mine of spirituality. Father Gallwey displayed his untiring energy in varied fields of labor, in preaching, giving retreats and missions, writing, assisting and supervising the publication of books and promoting every Catholic interest that came to his notice. His power as a preacher and director of souls lay in this that his own life was an object lesson of what he taught to others. When a non-Catholic clergyman asked him what he considered the best proximate preparation for a sermon, Father Gallwey's answer was: “Taking a good discipline”. He was a great and simple man of God, a lover of the Blessed Sacrament and a lover of Christ's poor. Two other classes of persons commanded his special sympathy, his converts and those who were in any difficulty or trouble, comforting and encouraging, shielding them from observation, accounting for their position, explaining away whatever might give rise to a suspicion that they were under a cloud. A mark of his loving kindness was his habit, as Provincial, of accompanying to the train or seaport of departure those of his subjects who were leaving for a foreign mission. Yet in matters of serious duty he could act with an unyielding decision and sterness which some might regard as harsh and domineering. But to know Fr Gallwey was to love him, and to any subject who wouldd meet him with frankness and sincerity he was the kindest of fathers. RIP
◆ Woodstock Letters SJ : Vol 16, Number 1
“Varia : New York” p91
Very Rev Fr Provincial (Fulton) sailed from New York on the 26th of Nov and reached Cork on the 4th of December. He was announced in Dublin as Visitor of the Irish Province on the 5th of the same mouth. He is expected back in the United States about the beginning of April. During his absence Fr. R W Brady is Vice-Provincial.
◆ Woodstock Letters SJ : Vol 25, Number 1
“Father Robert Fulton SJ : A Sketch” p90
Robert Fulton was born in Alexandria, Virginia, June 28, 1826. His father was a sturdy Presbyterian, his mother a devout Catholic. Robert was the scion of a race that has played an important part in the nation's history, being related to ex-president Harrison and the late Governor Wise of Virginia. His grandfather on the mother's side was an O'Brien, at one time a prominent diplomatist in the service of the United States. Young Robert was left fatherless in his seventh year; yet even at that early age, he evinced a force of character worthy of note. The following incident told by his mother is an illustration in point. When he was a little tot he constantly went to St Peter's Church in Washington with his mother, no remonstrance being as yet made by his father. Upon arriving at the dignity of his first pair of trowsers, his father said to him, :-
“My son, you have been going long enough to your mother's church, henceforth you will come to mine”.
Upon hearing these words, Mrs. Fulton heaved a deep sigh, exclaiming within herself, “Dear Lord, now my sorrows begin. What shall I do if my dear boy is lost to the faith”? Sunday came around, and little Robert started off with his father, leaving his mother in tears. On the way they had to pass St Peter's. The child hesitated, looked at his father, then stopped.
“Papa”, said he, “this is my church”.
“No”, was the stern reply, while the father held him firmly by the hand; “you are not going to that church any more. You must come to my church”.
Young Robert stood still, and would not be forced from his position. Open rebellion it was and crowds of churchgoers around enjoying it. The father threatened; it was no use, and much to his disappointment he found himself : obliged to retrace his steps homeward with his young hero by his side, unconquerable and unconquered.
“Here”, said he to his wife, “take this youngster and do what you like with him. He shall never enter my church, after the holy show he has made of me to-day”.
The first years of boyhood were spent in the US Senate in the capacity of page. Here day after day he drank in the strong lessons of devotion to duty and sterling patriotism from the stirring appeals of such men as Webster, Clay, and Calhoun, whose genius to this day are the beacon lights to those aspiring to the name and honor of American statesmanship and oratory. With these models before him abroad, and the example and training of a careful Catholic mother at home, Robert grew up in the esteem and practice of those manly virtues which make the Catholic and the citizen.
Golden days were these; he never forgot them. They were the text of many and many a talk to the boys, and, needless to say, his reminiscences, always so classically told, instructed and delighted all, whilst they uplifted and inspired his youthful hearers with a love for literature, self-develop- ment and a nobler ideal of conduct than they ever had before.
A year or two prior to his death, Father Fulton made an address to the students of Fordham on the great men he had met in the nation's capitol. A delighted auditor writes that despite the march of years and growing infirmities, he spoke with all the glow and enthusiasm of one in the vigor of manhood.
As a boy, Robert was a great lover of books. He read in season and out of season. His mother said that from his first ABC lesson in spelling, he was hardly ever seen without a volume in his hands. This reading habit combined with a retentive memory, ready wit, and facility of expression far beyond his age, distinguished him even then as an extraordinary conversationalist. What was said of Macauley by his nurse, may be said equally of him: “This child speaks printed words”. What perfection he afterwards attained in this art is familiar history to us all. He was without a peer even among such men as Holmes, OReilly and others of that ilk. The story is told, which may as well be inserted here, that at a dinner in Boston, where Father Fulton and the “Autocrat” met togrether the genial author of the “Breakfast Table” turned him'and said:-
“Why, Father Fulton, are you here too?” “Yes, all that’s left of me”, was the reply. “Will”, said Holmes, “either you or I must get out. This place ts too small for both of us”.
Years afterwards, on hearing that Father Fulton was about to bid adieu to his beloved Boston, Holmes exclaimed: I am very sorry, indeed ; Father Fulton is among the brightest men in Massachusetts”.
When asked by a young man, what he should do to come a good talker, Father Fulton replied: “Avoid slang, keep good company, read good books, write carefully, speak carefully at all times and in all places. Why bless you”, he continued, good naturedly tapping his snuff box, “from my eleventh year I have formulated my every sentence previous to utterance, and as a boy was more scrupulous about the grammar than about the commandments”.
But to return. At sixteen Robert was sent to Georgetown College, where his name was destined to grace the honor roll of the great and good men that have gone from her classic halls, and have achieved enviable success in ecclesiastical, no less than in civil preferments. A contemporary writes that he easily distanced his fellows in English composition, and was a model of good behavior. Long before he met his friend Horace, the sentiment was strong in him that it was sweet and honorable to die for one's country. The glories of the battlefield had been the Utopian dream of his boyhood years. In fact, Georgetown College was merely intended as a stepping-stone to West Point. But the “Best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee”. God had other designs. The inspirations of grace, the prayers of a pious mother, the general-like discipline of the sons of Ignatius were slowly but surely directing the current of his thoughts into a higher and nobler channel. Upon communicating his purpose to his mother her heart leaped for very joy. She told him that she also intended to give herself to God's service in tiie religious life. A prayer of thanksgiving ascended from the lips of mother and son, and we venture to say that seldom is it given to witness a scene more touching, more solemn, more blissful, than that in which heaven came to earth to be wedded by a nobler, a purer, and a holier love.
The next step was to dispose of their worldly possessions, which were not inconsiderable. Accordingly measures were taken without delay for the manumission of their slaves. All, from first to last, were invited to a sumptuous banquet, where each one found his freedom papers by the side of his plate, while mother and son served their former servants at the joyous repast. The slaves, in token of gratitude, gracefully tendered their liberators a banquet in their turn, which was graced by the presence of eminent guests from the US Senate. The day of parting came between mother and son: she entered the convent of the Visitation at Georgetown, he the Jesuit novitiate at Frederick. The sacrifice was now complete, but the strong link of natural affection became all the stronger by a closer union with the well-head of all love, the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
Mrs Fulton, in religion Sister Olympias, lived to a ripe old age, having died in the nineties. Her memory is still in benediction, as an efficient, edifying servant of the com- munity. She was a woman of fine mind and of strong character, had excellent business capacity, was the very soul of hospitality, and generous almost to a fault, though a scrupulous observer of the poverty of her order.
Father Fulton, like all good men, was very fond of his mother. His veneration for her was closely allied to worship. He never could speak of her without emotion, and, as he often told his boys, had no hope either in this life or in the next for the young man who did not reverence and love, that noblest of beings, his mother.
As a novice, Father Fulton was distinguished for a high sense of duty, and a tender love for the Society. His term of novitiate having expired, he was admitted to his vows, and resumed his favorite study of literature with renewed zest and ardor. As was to be expected, his marked ability in the department of letters very soon approved itself to his superiors: literature became the study of his life, and had he given himself exclusively to composition, he would doubtless, have won an international reputation. He might easily have become the Johnson of the nineteenth century, with the odds in his favor in point of original, elevated thought, and refined expression, seasoned by a copious infusion from the vigorous Saxon.
Father Fulton's literary style was, as we all know, pre-eminently his own. He believed in the axiom: “Le style c'est l'homme”. He was a thorough advocate of the "”Multum in parvo” or rather “Plurimum in minimo”.
As professor of rhetoric at the novitiate and at Georgetown, his success is a household word in the Province. It could not well be otherwise; command of choicest phrase, wide information, wealth of illustration, copious commentary, boundless reading, ready wit, retentive memory, enthusiastic love for the classics, made him a teacher unto the manner born.
His class was the most delightful and profitable of Hours. To say that his scholars loved him would be to speak mildly indeed; they fairly worshipped him. One of them on hearing of his death, wrote that he considered it the privilege of his life, worthy of thanksgiving even, to have known the man. Under such a master, the young mind at an impressionable age found the pages of antiquity a thing of living beauty. Not a few of his qjsciples were noteq in after life for their attachment to the classics, which they had learned to love and appreciate so well in his sunlit classroom. To arouse even a passing enthusiasm for the author under study is certainly no small merit in the teacher, at any time, but so to teach that the scholar, in the prosy business of life, will return with renewed delight to his Cicero, or his Horace, is the gift of very few, and a great desideratum in the educational training of youth.
As we are on the subject of letters, it may not be out of place here to say something of Father Fulton's methods and literary preferences. In the first place he strongly insisted on reading. It was his daily text to the boys. He drew up a list of books for the students, established class libraries, and at the mid-year and final examinations exacted an account of the authors prescribed. Without continuous reading, he repeatedly urged, no man will ever rise out of the commonplace, whether in preaching, teaching, or in conversation. “We Jesuits”, he used to say, “must talk like educated men; there should ever appear in our dealings with others an elevation of thought and diction, which will draw scholars to our schools, and force the most critical to admit, that we are what we profess to be, educators of the young, leaders of thought”.
Imitation he earnestly inculcated; not that imitation which is akin to transcription and destructive of originality, but that which enriches and develops the mind, and by observation teaches one how to think for himself. He distinguished between the style of an author and the philosophy of his style. This latter was ever to be the main object of study in the exercise of imitation. A favorite practice of his own when a scholastic, was to synopsize the argument of an author, set this aside for a day or two, then elaborate it into a formal composition, after which he compared his own production with the model before him.
Whilst he had his pet authors, he was by no means a man of one book. Hero worship was not one of his weak points. Being asked what he thought of Newman, “I think very highly of him, indeed”, he replied, “but take care not to fall into the error now prevailing, that canonizes Newman and Newman alone, as the only one who ever wrote English. Wherever I go I hear nothing but Newman. Indeed, I am almost tempted to buy up the whole edition of his works, to check in some way this excessive adulation. Why don't you say something about Ruskin and others whose names are legion, all of whom spoke and wrote English to admiration?”
In the matter of reading, he always advised to keep a poet side by side with a prose writer. As a priest of God and a man of true taste, he worshipped the Holy Bible. Shakespeare was his daily food, as was also his friend Horace, whom he knew almost by heart. His theory was that no one could be considered a scholar, who failed to appreciate Rome's favored lyrist, and the favorite of the entire host of Englishmen of letters. It is quite noticeable, he used to say, how all have tried their hand at Horace; even the great Gladstone himself found in him a revived inspiration at an age in which the “divinus afflatus” is supposed to be well nigh extinct. For sentence-building he read De Quincey; for classic erudition and copious, elevated thought, he studied Landor; whilst Johnson's oddities, and Lamb's quaint originality, pathos and exquisite humor, were ever a source of relief to him in his spells of frequent and violent headache. Such men as Emerson and Browning he did not admire nor read. He gave as his reason, that life was too short, time too precious to be groping in the clouds, when the sun was shining hard by. A prominent Boston physician on him one evening, launched forth into a learned discussion on the depth and originality of Emerson.
“Yes”, said Father Fulton, “there's the rub. It is a depth that has no bottom to it. Here”, says he, taking up a volume of the author that was on his desk, “I open at haphazard: pray, tell me, what does the man mean?” The doctor looked wise, scanned carefully the contents of the page,- “Well really I don't just see what he is driving at; I confess I have read little or nothing of Mr Emerson, but those in a position to know tell me he is the greatest thinker of his age”. “Possibly”, was the reply, “but it's a good deal like the Scotchman’s definition of metaphysics: Twa men disputin thegither; yin man dinna ken what the ither man says, and he dinna ken himsel. Emerson, like Wagner's music, may be appreciated in the far-off future. But it is quite the fad now-a-days to talk about and admire what we least understand. Omne ignotum pro magnificio.
In the year 1857, Father Fulton was crowned with the dignity of the holy priesthood, in company with Fathers O’Callaghan, Brady and McAtee. He was next sent to his old Alma Mater at Georgetown, where he succeeded Father Fenwick as prefect of studies and professor of rhetoric. In 1861 his superiors appointed him to Boston, which for twenty years was to be the theatre of his splendid labors. Here he taught moral theology in Boston College, which was then used as a scholasticate.
Those were the old pioneer days, still redolent with the memory of the venerable Father McElroy, and his many splendid efforts for the beauty of God's temple. It was not long before the people of Boston began to recognize the treasure they possessed in Father Fulton. They seemeci to understand him at the very outset of his career. There was about him that which just suited them. They looked upon him and loved him, and assuredly he loved them in turn. There was no gush about it, if you will, but a species of cool, calculating, platonic regard, so peculiar to the Yankee, and which intellect: never fails to inspire.
His sermons, which were usually on the argumentative plan, soon began to attract wide attention even among those not of the faith. Men of refinement and education were pleased with his logical, terse, original, classic expression, judiciously flavored with a dash of grim humor to facilitate the digestion of a hard doctrine, that, now and then, had to be swallowed. To one who confounds oratory with loud declamation, animated gesture, and the tearing a passion to tatters, Father Fulton's calm, deliberate style would, indeed, prove tame and uninteresting.
Wherever he went he was a marked personality. True, his methods were rather unique, and any attempt at analysis were futile in the extreme. But, whether one censure or praise, it must be admitted that his way suited him best, and achieved victories where others would have met with defeat. He had but to his needs, and forthwith helping hands, and open purses were at his command. With apparently little effort, he was enabled in a few years to clear the church in Boston of an immense indebtedness.
But Father Fulton's great work as an educator was now about to begin. In the year of grace, 1864, on Sept. 7, the schools of Boston College for the first time·were opened to the public. Extensive preparations had been made for months. Father Fulton was aglow with enthusiasm. The church had attracted the elite of the city; why not the college? His hopes ran high. The field was white unto the harvest. All looked bright. But, alas! it was the old story over again, “parturiunt montes”. The opening day came; Father Fulton stood at the small iron gate on James St, awaiting the throng that in numbers at least, if not in quality, would respond to his expectations, and the preparations made. The immense throng came; twenty-five urchins marched in solemn file before him to form the nucleus of an institution which was to be one of the glories of Boston. Father Fulton was a disappointed man. Who could blame him? But the occasion for the display of strong character was now all the greater. Though discouraged, he determined to push on to the goal. He reasoned and reasoned correctly, that the frustration of his hopes was not the result of ill will, but of indifference to, or rather ignorance of, the necessity of a Catholic education. The people had their public schools, their high schools, both Latin and English, with Harvard close by for those wishing to follow a professional career. As for the religious training, the Sunday school was they thought quite sufficient. It remained now to bring home to the Catholics of Boston the advantages and necessity of higher Catholic education. Father Fulton saw the Herculean task before him. He dared pick up the gauntlet thrown down in defiance, so to speak. It was intellect pitted against intellect. The struggle was to be sharp and continuous. Tension was high; every one was on his metal. Teaching in Boston was clearly not teaching elsewhere. The glorification of the public schools, their standing in the community, the cold self-sufficiency of the New Englander called forth the best efforts at all times and in all places. It was but too evident that Catholic Boston believed it had nothing to learn in the matter of education. In proof of this, we instance the following:-
About this period a lecture was given in the Boston theatre by a Mr Maguire from Dublin, on “Catholic Education”, at which Father Fulton had been a delighted auditor. Alluding to this topic shortly afterwards, he took occasion to commend the lecture and the lecturer, when a lady present exclaimed - “Why, Father Fulton, I am amazed to hear you talk so; the idea of a foreigner telling us how to educate our children!”
.”Yes”, replied Father Fulton, “the poor man made a mtstake, I fear; he thought, of course, he was talking to Catholics; had he consulted me I would have· suggested a more practical topic”. “What would that be?” asked the lady. “Well, Buddhism, for example, or the Platonic idea of happiness, or some of the more refined cults among the pagans, such as the custom obtaining among the Hindoos - and would it obtained now! - of the surviving half burying herself in the same tomb with the other half that has ceased to survive”.
Naturally enough, the college for some time lived in the shadow of the Church. Rome could not be built in a day. Father Fulton believed in hastening slowly, modifying, introducing and extending, as exigencies demanded. From the start he aimed at a model college, model in its material, as well as in its intellectual equipments. “No school can flourish”, he often said, “without generous expenditure. Keep a boy in the mud, and he will stay there. Surround him with respectability, and he will begin to respect himself after a time. The school furniture should ever be in keeping with the dignity of one's position”.
What he said he did. The desks in Boston College, both for teachers and scholars, are all that can be desired. The conspicuous absence of etchings, wood-cuts and other memorials of puerile genius, to this day in and around the class rooms are proof enough that Father Fulton's theory was the correct one, and that the iconoclastic propensity of youth can be educated to a sense of the eternal fitness of things. “Bear in mind”, he used to say to the teachers, “that these lads of ours look to us for everything. What grand men then, we ought to be! Remember we are not hired pedagogues; we are teachers of the Society. Boys are like monkeys, they imitate what they see. God forfend they should ever see in their teachers, aught that would tarnish their ideals of the true Jesuit”.
Thus the years went by, Catholic Boston was beginning to listen to and respect the claims of Catholic education. The old time prejudice was waning slowly but surely: Step by step the college was making its way into public favor. Some were of opinion that the government was too conservative; but Father Fulton did not believe in mushroom growth. He never for a moment lowered his colors, never for a moment lost sight of the noble ideal he had put before his mind in the beginning. “If we cannot have quantity, at least let us try to have quality”, he said. “We still re member”, writes one of his old boys, “how unsparingly he execrated the golden mean, so extolled by the Roman poet. ‘I would have you aim, young gentlemen’, was his daily strain, ‘at the highest in everything, in gentlemanly deportment, in splendid scholarship. I love the young man, whose banner bore that strange device Excelsior. Oh, that it be said of each and every one of you, that though the world should fall, you will never descend one jot or tittle from the highest perfection attainable. Truth, duty, consummate scholarship, by these shall all men know you are students of Boston College’.” He could not abide one who omitted a duty just because he didn't feel like it. But a fault committed through frailty was always sure to be for- given. He did not believe that people should be harder than God Almighty. “Boys”, he would often say, “if any of you do wrong, even were it the firing of this building, and the same nobly acknowledge his misdeed, he will render me powerless to punish. A boy that acts above board is always to be trusted”.
This constant appeal to high motives had its wholesome effect and witnesses contemporary with those days cheerfully testify to the spirit of conscientiousness that animated the vast majority of the students.
Father Fulton considered the moral and religious training above everything else. Despite his multiplicity of duties, and the almost hourly demands on his time, he never omitted the weekly catechism, and the annual retreat, both of which he conducted himself. This latter duty, however, he entrusted to others when thecollege had been sufficiently established, to go on almost by its own momentum. The boys never tired of listening to him. He could say the same thing in twenty different ways. His resources seemed inexhaustible. His influence was supreme, his authority absolute, his simple “ipse dixit” settled doubts, or created opinions. An author recommended or condemned by him was thereby enshrined or excluded forever by the students from the temple of fame. As a natural consequence he was everywhere quoted. His name became a very household word in the family circle. The college being thus advertised by the best of all advertisers, the students, the scholarly president soon began to be recognized among the prominent educators of Massachusetts. Words of praise began to come in from press, clergy and people. A prominent lawyer and graduate of Holy Cross College declared, in a public lecture, that the college of the Jesuit Fathers was a great boon to the city of Boston. Next followed the unqualified approval of the Archbishop who publicly and privately recommended the school to the priests and laity.
About this time, in the year 1869, the question of a graduating class was mooted. Father Fulton would not hear of it, giving as his reason that the body was too weak yet to sustain a head. There could be no thought of such a thtng until all the lower classes were strong and numerous enough to secure an unbroken succession. Eight more years rolled by before the college attained her majority. That was a veritable red-letter day, a day of family rejoicing and legitimate pride for the faculty and students of Boston College. Expectancy had been crowned with a crown that was destined to grow brighter and more glorious in the flight of time. Father Fulton's foresight and conservative policy have long since approved themselves; for since that memorable year of 1877 the graduates of the college have added, and are still adding, fresh laurels to the honored brow of their alma mater, in the cause of religion and letters; and without hesitancy it may be said that, with fewer numbers and a plentiful lack of financial patronage, they have reflected more credit on themselves and the positions they occupy, than the graduates of famous non-Catholic institutions, with greater nnmbers, bounteous patronage, handsome bequests, splendid architecture, and the social prestige of the land at their command.
Whilst Father Fulton was pre-eminently adapted for scholastic work, he was none the less efficient in matters spiritual. He was known in the church, even more perhaps than in the college. The Rev William O'Connell, lately appointed Rector of the American College in Rome, in his eulogy of him said that, whilst there are those who excel in one branch, it is rare that we find one who excels in many. Father Fulton was among the latter. His specialties were numerous. It was not surprising then that his influence in Boston was far reaching and varied. No literary gathering of any prominence was thought complete that was not graced by his presence. He believed that the college to succeed must have social and literary prestige, and should be the Mecca of the representative Catholics of the city. He certainly tried hard to make it so. He would tolerate no literary or dramatic performance that was not refined and elevating; and established the law, which is still in force, that the Commencement play should always he a tragedy from Shakspeare. His society was courted by the social and literary celebrfties of the day. Many an evening found him at table with the “Autocrat”, who pronounced him one of the brightest of men. Professors Agassiz and Sophocles, both of Harvard, were among his warmest friends He was invited to lecture before the University students in the school of Ethics, and examine them; he was nominated for the Public School Board and would have been elected, had he not fled the city until the crisis was over.
Father Fulton kept in touch with all the leading ques- tions of the day, and was often consulted by Catholics and non-Catholics on important dogmatical and social issues. The scholarly ex-Governor Rice, both during and after his administration was among his frequent visitors, and the writer has more than once seen him in Father Fulton's room discussing the grave problems of the hour.
One, the mention of whose name, we must beg the reader to forgive, the infamously famous Justin D Fulton, came to the college one day and asked to see the Rev President. The Rev President came. “Well, sir” said Father Fulton, “as you have not sent me your card, I must ask you who you are”. “Mr. Fulton”, replied Justin. “Mr. Fulton”, exclaimed his reverence, “there be many who shelter their rascality behind that title. May I ask you what is your front name?” “Oh, I am Justin D Fulton, sir”, was the reply. “Of Music Hall fame, I ween?” rejoined Father Fulton. '”Well, yes, Sir”, answered Justin, rather hesitatingly. “Dear me”, exclaimed Father Fulton: “brother, where are you?” The good brother who was nearby answered promptly, “here I am, Father”. “Bring me the holy water as fast as you can”, he said. Justin looked dazed. The thought of some dark Jesuit deed dawned upon his mind. As he was about to rise, he apologized for his disturbance, when Father Fulton very courteously bade him be seated and asked him if there was anything he could do for him.
“Oh, nothing”, replied Justin, “but both of us having the same name, I thought possibly we might be relatives. I have heard much about you, Father Fulton”, he continued. “I have heard much about you, too”, was the reply, “more really than I cared to hear, and that not of a very complimentary character. Whether you are a relative of mine or not, I can't say. But if I suspected you were, I should be the very first man in Boston to conceal the fact. Good morning, sir”.
A few days afterwards, the bill-boards throughout the city were littered with placards announcing a lecture by Fulton vs. Fulton. The Rev lecturer took occasion to lash the Society
in general, and Boston College in particular, as the inarnation of all that was vile and unprincipled, and stated, moreover, if the people of Boston knew the deeds of iniquity perpetrated within the college walls under the mask of education and virtue, the building had long since been razed to the ground.
Some one calling Father Fulton's attention to these assertions strongly urged him to bring a lawsuit against the Rev Doctor for libel. “Don't you think one fool is enough?” Was the reply. “Besides, those who swallow down such stuff, would not swallow down anything else even though convmced ten times over”.
Father Fulton was always a very busy man; yet despite his numerous social and scholastic employments, he somehow found time to interrupt the solid day to peruse four and five volumes a week. Being asked how he found leisure for so much reading, he replied “Well, you don't suppose I read every line in the book, do you? If the book be one of ficion, I skip the sunsets, small parlor-talk, analyze the leading characters,and following the stage direaions of my friend, Horace, Qui nil molitur inepte -rush on to the denouement. By practice, you know, one learns the art of gutting the page. When I read for mere information, I imitate Balmes, who seleaed the chapters he did not know, and passed over the rest”. Father Fulton had the enviable capacity of knowing when and how to skip without becoming superficial. He could take in a whole page at a glance, assimilating, diversifying, and applying when the occasion offered. He always had something new to say, or at least a new way of saying it. Some one has well styled this method of reading creative, which does not make a mere lumber room out of the mind; but which digests, animates with one's own individuality, and makes what is read part and parcel of the reader himself. Yet none knew better than he that while some books are to be tasted, there are others to be chewed, swallowed and digested.
Father Fulton worked rapidly and worked all the time; he would have a thing done when an ordinary person would be getting ready to do it. What cost others many hours of thought and consultation was to him a matter of a few moments. Thus for instance his sermons, which were always thoughtful, cost him simply the time it took to read over the gospel, choose his subject, and find the middle term of his thesis. The rest of the plan, its divisions and subdivisions, with language to suit, came at his bidding in the pulpit. Whether in the pulpit or on the platform, he had in an eminent degree the art of thinking on his feet. And even when called upon suddenly to on a topic about which he knew little or nothing, he could entertain an audience pleasantly and profitably for an hour by telling them all he did not know about it. “Many”, he used to say, “have the art of saying nothing; but few the art of saying nothing well”. Father Fulton's capacity and love for work was born with him. Work was his life. Inaction his death. Endowed with an Herculean constitution, nature gave him no warning to stop. The ills that human flesh is heir to seemed to pass him by. “When one begins to think he has a stomach, he is sure to be sick”, he used to say. “For my part, I don't much mind, so long as I can worry it down. The vires digestivae, according to St Thomas, do not come under the immediate cognizance of the will, you know. “Yet though unacquainted with sickness himself he was most kind to the suffering members of his community. He visited them regularly, and though not cut out by nature for a nurse, saw to it that the sick were puctaually supplied with whatever they needed. We may well imagine then, what a shock it was to one of his temperament to discover that he was the victim of disease, and must now retire from the arena of action into the solitude of rest. That rest was for him one of his heaviest crosses; he chafed under It, from the very fact that he never could realize that in the charitable judgment of his superiors, and the advice of his physicians, work was simply out of the question. He never took rest when he was at all able to work. In bilious spells to which he was subject, his greatest and only distraction was a ride in an open street car through the suburbs, or a whiff of the ocean between Boston and Nantasket beach.
Of course, he never could have accomplished so much had he not been a scrupulous economist of his time. In this he was a model. His calls to the parlor were as short as they were numerous and as a rule were conducted on strictly business principles. The devout sex he despatched with brevity, when courtesy allowed it. In fact one would hardly dare to call on him who had not business of importance to transact. A certain lady wishing him to call on her for some not very important matter, wrote him a note saying that she would be at home at four o'clock. She received the laconic reply: Dear Madam, so will I.
Father Fulton took a great delight in the company of young men. Young men were his hobby. Well remembered still are those Noctes Ambrosianae spent in the Association rooms of Boston College, where he discoursed wisely and wittily to the charmed circle around him, throughout the whole gamut of things knowable and unknown. Many a mind and many a heart owe their high principles of moral conduct to those hours of Attic refinement. No one ever left his presence without resolving to be a better man.
As in the Association, so in the college, he was the heart and soul of everything. His animating spirit was everywhere felt. At no time was this zeal for the college shown to more advantage, than when the opening of Woodstock necessitated the recall of so manv of our scholastics. Father Fulton's presence was well nigh ubiquitous. Every class seemed to be taught by him. The same programme c?ntt.nued to be followed out; the usual weekly report was distributed by his own hand to each pupil, with a lively running commentary which was not always to be sure, complimentary to the recipient. Yet when a boy did well, his laudation was as liberal as his censure was keen. Among the early students of the college there was one who for some time had been getting his weekly prescription without any apparent amendment. In fact, the strange story still goes the rounds, that the Rev President promised the mother of the youthful delinquent, to sing vespers for his conversion. A change however for the better came at last. His class standing had climbed into the region of respectability. The prescription was changed; censure yielded to praise, with an ominous, “But, my boy, will you persevere?” The boy has persevered and is now a father of this Province, beloved and respcted by all his brethren.
While there was any hope of reform, Father Fulton advocated toleration, “A quality”, he used to say, “not unfrequently desiderated in our younger teachers, who expect perfection at the very start. To be successful, one must appreciate boy nature and become a boy, so to speak, without being one; repuerasccre quin sit puer”. Whilst he would almost hope against hope for the student that made some effort, he would not tolerate one that made no effort at all. In this latter class was a youth who seemed utterly impervious to all counsel and threat. Monday came around as usual. Father Fulton looked at the weekly statement, then looked at the boy. “John”, said he, “what does your brother do for a living”? “He walks, Father”, was the reply. “Does he? well, walk in his footsteps”, said Father Fulton; and John walked out of the college.
The weekly catechetical instruction was always looked forward to as a treat. Many a student of theology has since declared that Fatlier Fulton had so stored his mind with dogmatic erudition, that his course in the seminary did little more than fill up the cracks of the edifice he had built up in his college career. It was during these familiar instructions that Father Fulton revealed himself as a friend to a friend, as a father among his children. It is indeed a great loss that he had not a Boswell among his listeners, who could easily have found matter for a good sized spicy Fultoniana volume, and even then the half would not have been told.
Wherever he went he was sure to say something either to draw a moral or to point a tale. He indulged in repartee not to down a foe, not to curry favor, not to pay court to superiority, still less to offend, but simply because nature had endowed him with a keen sense of the ludicrous, a fine perception of the incongruities of things, which on occasions asserted itself, do what he would to conceal it.
He never said “yes” when he meant “no”; never laughed or smiled at a joke, no matter who perpetrated it, unless he saw something to laugh or to smile at. On one occasion a gentleman in authority said to him by way of consolation,- “Why, I shouldn't mind that if I were you”. “No”, replied Father Fulton, with a touch of grim humor, “neither would I, if it had happened to you”. Father Fulton was proud of his Faith, and had no patience with those who thought the Church ought to be grateful for being tolerated in this country. A Protestant gentleman of distinction calling on him one day, said with an air of condescension, “Father Fulton I begin to like you Catholics very much”. “Indeed”, exclaimed Father Fulton, “permit me to thank you, sir, in the name of the universal Church”. “Ah”, says the Protestant, “but there is one thing that shocks me”. “Pray what is that?” asked Father Fulton. “It is”, solemnly replied the Puritan, “that your little boys play marbles on the Sabbath”. “The rascals!” rejoined his Reverence with a roguish twinkle in his eye; “but, my dear sir”, he continued, “I am pained to say that not only you but your wife and children, do something which shocks me still more”. “What is that, pray?” quoth the gentleman, looking rather alarmed. “It is that you all eat meat on Friday”, was the reply. “Oh, yes”, rejoined the Protestant, “but of course that is not a sin with us, you know”. “Neither is it reputed a sin”, replied Father Fulton, “in our poor little urchins to roll marbles on Sunday. If you want us to conform to your ideas, why not begin by conforming to ours?”
As a confessor, Father Fulton invariably gave the preference to young men, not that he despised the devout sex, but as he was wont to say, that class is generally well cared for, and besides demands less supervision. “All you need do for a woman”, he remarked on another occasion, “is to put her on the train for Heaven and she'll stay aboard; but you have to watch out for the men at all the way stations”.
He never sought friends for his own sake. His friends were the friends of the church or the college, and when they ceased to patronize one or the other, they were quickly dropped from his list. Whilst he strongly objectd to mixing up friendship with finance, he did not hesitate to let his needs be known, when his friends could afford to help him. He was grateful and sensitive to a degree; and believed that there was some truth in the adage that “Gratitude is a keen sense of favors to come”. Where his duty as a priest demanded his presence, he made no distinaion between Jew and Gentile,- “Tros tyriusque mihi nullo discrimine habentur”. But when for some good reason a social call was accepted, then he seleaed those only whose influence was refined and elevating.
There were few priests better known or more highly respected in the diocese than Father Fulton. He was a prominent figure in the Conferences, where his skill as a casuist was universally recognized.
He had a pleasant but effective way of telling people their faults. Meeting in the street car a man somewhat intoxicated, his Reverence turned away from him with an air of disgust. The man exclaimed, “Why Father Fulton, you know me”. “I did”, was the reply, “when you were not so disguised. How can you expect me to know you, when you don't know yourself?”
Passing the Boston Cathedral, a well dressed gentleman who sat next him in the car, ventured the remark that he thought it strange charity for Catholics to lavish on magnificent churches large sums of money which should be given to the poor. “I think I have heard that remark before”, said Father Fulton. “From whom?” asked the gentleman. “From one named Judas Iscariot. Good morning, sir”, and he left the man to his reflections, whilst he got out of the car that was just then passing the street leading to the college.
The newsboys were frequently a source of amusement to him, though on more than one occasion those irreverent creatures gave him more than he bargained for. A smart looking lad offered his Reverence one day a copy of Harper's Illustrated Weekly. “'Well, sonny, what do you want?” asked Father Fulton. “Buy the paper sir”, was the reply. “Ah yes, but how do you know I can read?” “Well”, retorted the youngster, “probably you can't, but I thought you might like to look over the pictures”. Father Fulton bought the paper, called the urchin to his side and said, “See here, Johnnie, if you want to go to school, come to Boston College and I will gladly educate you for nothing”.
As a rule, Father Fulton did not care to engage in conversation while travelling, and whenever he went abroad he generally carried with him a pocket edition of some classical author. Riding along the picturesque Hudson on his way to Albany, a young man, decked out á la mode, with goggles and cane to match, had turned himself into an interrogation point for the particular amusement of Father Fulton. Thinking to discourage him, his Reverence adopted the policy of replying, “I don't know” to every question that was put him. After numberless vain efforts to elicit some spark of information, the interrogation point asked with an air of triumph, “Do you know Adam, sir?” “Adam”, replied Father Fulton, with a look of indescribable fatigue, “what Adam?” “Why, Adam, of course”, rejoined the interlocutor rather surprised. “Adam who?” asked Father Fulton. The conversation suddenly came to a full stop, while the gentleman fell to reading his paper the rest of the journey. On another occasion when he got off at Poughkeepsie, a stylish lad who had watched him closely during the journey, and was anxious to introduce himself, made bold to ask him if he were going as far as Albany. “Are you?” inquired Father “Yes, sir”, he answered. “Well, go ahead then”, he replied. The story ends here; but doubtless his Reverence called to mind Horace's encounter with the bore, “Sic me servavit Apollo”.
Wherever he went, his striking personality was sure to attract attention, and it were an endless task indeed, to weave into detail the strange happenings, the incidents numerous as they were humorous that characterized his encounters with men. We have instanced but a few out of the many that came to mind, for without some mention made of them, his biography would be that of a class, not of an individual such as Father Fulton certainly was.
As a superior in the Society, Father Fulton had often occasion to address Ours, and in his exhortations he strongly insisted on two things - supernatural motives, and love for the Spciety. This latter subject was a favorite theme with him - a marked feature of his spiritual life from the days of his novitiate. “To one who loves the Society”, he often said, “everything is easy. The less we love the less we will accomplish. He who loves much is the ideal Jesuit. One St Francis Xavier was enough for a whole nation because he loved much. Without this love we become one of your listless, negative, milk-and-water, laissez faire sort of characters. We cannot be too careful not to confound weakness with gentleness, indifference with patience, lack of energy with equanimity. Our one test is sacrifice, ‘agere contra”. If you love me take up my cross”. Being a man of ideals, the ideal Jesuit was the leading thought in his every instruction. He had the very greatest admiration for the early companions of our holy Founder, and his discourses on that topic, couched in his own classic phrase, very often transcended the beautiful.
As superior, Father Fulton's first and tenderest care was the welfare of his own brethren. However busily engaged, he was always accessible, always greeted one with his pleasant, “Good morning”. He exercised the most fatherly supervision over the scholastics in their intellectual, no less than in their spiritual training, exacting an account at stated intervals of what they read, and how they read, and in general what they were doing in the way of self-culture. In the early days of Boston College, he hired a trained elocutionist for the more thorough formation of his teachers, and was a very Aristarchus in pronunciation and emphasis, and always reserved to himself the duty of corrector at table, to a degree that made one rather uncomfortable at times. A blunder in Latin prosody was almost a reserved case. As an aid to elocution, he counselled and required the teachers to exact with rigor the proper reading of the Greek or Latin text under translation; “a practice”, he said, “much neglected in our schools”. He contended that he could generally tell from reading of a passage, how much he knew about it.
Father Fulton always arose at the first sound of the bell even when business had kept him up late, the night before. He was ever among the first at the visit to the Blessed Sacrament, and continually insisted in his exhortations on the morning visit to our Lord. And even when the hand of sickness was heavy upon him, he could always be seen at prayer with the rest of the community. Though he was a man of affairs, he was seldom absent from meals, or the common recreation. Nay, he gave strict orders not to be called at that time, save in cases of grave importance.
As prefect of studies, he permitted nothing to interfere with his regular and frequent visits to the classes, and the meetings of the teachers. Not unfrequently he was present at our little festive board, where he entertained, enlivened, and cheered on each one in his work. His instructions to teachers may be thus summed up: prayer, good example, careful preparation, study of character, patience, good temper, punishments seldom. He considered that frequent punishment showed great weakness on the part of the teacher.
Father Fulton's long career as President of Boston College was now drawing to a close, and after a glorious decade of years as rector, he was transferred to the pastorship of St. Lawrence's Church in New York, where he left substantial souvenirs of his administration, in the shape of a handsome parochial residence, and a sodality of married men that still bless and honor his name.
We still remember the parting scene in Boston when priests, people and a goodly number of representative citizens, Catholic and non-Catholic, gathered together in the college hall to bid God-speed to their distinguished guest. Many addresses were made that were as sincere as they were complimentary. The Mayor of the city declared that in the departure of Father Fulton, he felt that Boston had been robbed of half its sunlight. It was on that occasion .that the learned John Boyle O'Reilly read the poem of his life,”The Empty Niche”, concluding with the true and beautiful sentiment:-
We who love and lose, will, like the king,
Still keep the alcove empty in the hall ;
And hope firm-hearted that some day will bring
Our absent one to fill his pedestal.
Little did the Rev Father then think that in a few years he would be called to preach over the remains of one at that time in the full vigor of his noble manhood.
Shortly before leaving Boston, Father Fulton started to make the round of the classes with Father Jeremiah O'Connor the incoming rector, for the twofold purpose of bidding adieu
to the students and of introducing his successor. He did not go very far however. The strain was too much for him. After a few pleasant remarks to the philosophers, his eyes filled up, and finding himself unable to proceed further, he retreated with hasty steps to his room. Some one asked htm what was the matter. “Everything is the matter”, he answered. “These rascally boys never will know how much I think of them. Why, I am just after making a great baby of myself”.
After a year spent at St Lawrence's, he was appointed rector of Gonzaga College, Washington, DC, but as he remained in Washington but one year, the people had just begun to know him, when he was elevated to a still more responsible position. Few inqeed knew Washington better than he, but time and the hand of death had removed so many of the old landmarks that he used to say, he felt like Marius amid the ruins of Carthage. There was one however who still lived and never changed, and that one was his venerable mother in the convent at Georgetown. It was in one of his visits to her that his good mother, observing the obsoleteness of his dress, ventured to say to him, “Robert, suppose someone were to find fault with your personal apparel what answer would you make to him?” “I should distinguish the proposition, madam”, he good-naturedly replied. “If the fault-finder intended to purchase me a new one, I should say, thank you; if not, I should recommend to him the counsel of St Paul, ‘Attende tibi et doarince’.”
During his administration as Provincial he was particularly solicitous for the young men of the Society, whilst his prudence and foresight effected many useful legislative measures for the well-being and permanent stability of the Province. As Provincial he combined the “fortiter in re” with the “suaviter in modo”. He strictly observed the rule himself, and enforced its strict observance upon others; religious observance was the constant theme of his exhortations, which he never failed to conclude by a strong appeal to supernatural motives, and renewed effort to fashion our condcta according to the pattern presented to us in the lives of our saints, and of those ideal Jesuits who formed the noble band of the Primeval Society.
During his term of office he went ex officio to the general congregation which eleaed Very Rev Father Anderledy. In the December of 1886, he was appointed by Very Rev Father General Visitor to the Irish Province; and for his labors in this important charge he received from his Paternity warm personal letters of thanks and congratulation.
He returned to Boston College once again in capacity of rector, but alas he was no longer the Father Fulton of yore. Years were beginning to tell on his powerful physique. Still this second but brief sojourn was distinguished by an energy and activity that would have done credit to many a younger man. He enlarged the college, created spacious and commodious apartments for the “Young Men's Association”, founded as far back as '75, and ever among his tenderest cares. The ceremony of inauguration was presided over by Father Fulton himself. Besides his own and other addresses, words of praise were heard from the lips of his Grace, the Archbishop of Boston, and the Hon P A Collins, a warm friend and admirer of Father Fulton. This was Father Fulton's last public appearance in the city of his love. Among other good things, he said, “I feel somewhat like Moses, for we have passed the Red Sea, and now I stand upon the mount looking down into the promised land. I see the grapes and the pomegranates, the shining rivers, and the land flowing with milk and honey”.
About this time failing health obliged him to seek relief from his onerous duties. By the decision of his physician he went to the renowned Hot Springs of Arkansas, but this and various other experiments failed to effect the desired cure. Superiors did everything that kindness and charity could suggest; but all was in vain. Father Fulton was clearly a broken down man. It remained but to ease his painful pathway to the grave. He spent some time in New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and other houses of the Province, and was finally assigned to the chair of English Literature in the post-
