Page:Life of John Boyle O'Reilly.djvu/400

360 streets were thronged with, the multitude of mourners long before the hour appointed for the funeral Mass, which was 10 o'clock,, on Wednesday, August 13.

The four daughters and other bereaved relatives were present, Mrs. O'Reilly being prostrated with grief and unable to leave her bed.

At 10.30 the Solemn Mass of Requiem was begun, the Rev. J. W. McMahon, D.D., rector of St. Mary's, celebrant; the Rev. Charles O'Reilly, D.D., of Detroit, Mich., deacon; the Rev. Richard Neagle, Chancellor of the Archdiocese of Boston, subdeacon. The Rev. W. J. Millerick, of Charlestown, was master of ceremonies; the Rev. P. H. Callanan, of Foxboro, Mass., and the Rev. Louis Walsh, of St. John's Seminary, Brighton, Mass., acolytes; the Rev. M. J. Doody, of Cambridge, censer-bearer.

The sermon of eulogy was delivered by Rev. Robert Fulton, S.J., an old and intimate friend of the deceased. Amid a silence that was almost painfully impressive the venerable priest mounted the pulpit and said: "John Boyle O'Reilly is dead!" The sermon touched every heart and reached its climax when the speaker said of his dead friend:

Has it ever struck you that for the success of our great cause Mother Church greatly needs lay champions? Some such there are in other countries; here there are none or few. Such a champion would need talent, but more would he need orthodoxy, respect for legitimate authority; he should give example in observing the ordinances of religion; his life should be a deduction from her spirit. Such was O'Reilly. I have it from one best able to know it, that he frequently, and very lately, approached that source from which we draw spiritual life. Those who knew him noticed how increasing years enriched his character, and imparted to him readiness to forgive, reluctance to pain, charity of interpretation. He was approximating Christ, for such is our Exemplar.

Father Fulton was the beloved priest for whom on his departure from Boston, ten years previously, O'Reilly had written his touching poem, "The Empty Niche."

After the sermon and the final absolution, the immense concourse of people filed past the coffin and looked their